Time to Let Go (10 page)

On her way into town she saw another ambulance passing. Her ride in one of those with Biddy yesterday seemed now somewhat surreal. How could she have jumped the gun so quickly when it turned out to be nothing? What did the paramedic really think of that spectacle? Her amusement, however, vanished when she remembered the emergency rooms and all the medical and life saving equipment she had seen. Yesterday it had not bothered her but today the images were severely frightening. It made her stomach clench and brought back a vision of the scene on the plane. She found it difficult to focus her mind on anything else.

She parked her car in a particularly tight spot, which took a long time and required an awful lot of manoeuvring. In her head she could hear Henrik’s instructions on parking during the driving lessons he gave her twenty odd years ago. She started to get really angry at him for not calling her back.

Edgy, nervous and pre-occupied, she arrived at the Indian restaurant. She was greeted by a doorman in a traditional Indian costume. She had to go down several flights of stairs to get to the reception area of the restaurant, where Karim was already waiting with a glass of water.

“Sorry I’m late,” Hanna apologised.

“Did your mother give you any more trouble?” Karim asked. He was also dressed casually, with black jeans and a white woollen jumper.

“More my father than her.”

“Well, I am glad you could make it,” he said and shook her hand, then he sat back down at his stool by the bar.

“This is such a beautiful place.”

“Yes, I agree,” she said, grabbing the seat next to him. “I love the Hindu statues everywhere and those silk outfits the staff are wearing. I love all things oriental,” she said.

Karim was looking to the floor and didn’t reply.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Hanna apologised. “What a stupid thing to say. My mind is all over the shop today. I hope I haven’t offended you.” She feared that this meal, not a date anymore in her eyes, would be as awkward and as stilted as the first meeting between them.

“Not at all,” Karim said with a gentle grin.

“You never got to tell me about your family background,” she said. “I’d actually love to hear about that.”

“Oh well, my family fled from Iran before the Islamic revolution in 1979. We were brought to the UK by one of my father’s British business friends. I was four years old when we
left and I cannot recall much about the country. All I remember is the plane and the airport but anything before then seems a blur,” he said. “My father had enjoyed close ties to the British oil industry from the days when the Iranian oil plants had not yet been nationalised.”

“And you never went back?”

“They would not let me back in. Not that I would want to. I know it sounds odd but I almost resent being associated with a nation and people I have so little in common with. Many think that it is my heritage but really, I am British. My parents always lived a very westernised and modern life under the Shah, which was why they left when it became clear the government was going to change. The images you see of Iran on TV these days have nothing to do with the place my family left behind.”

“I see. Well, I wish I knew more about Iran.
I work as an air stewardess but we don’t fly there, so I have never been.”

“It seems to be
an interesting profession. I had a colleague once who left to become a flight attendant. Her training as paramedic helped her a lot in the interview, she said. You probably know a fair bit about medical situations, too?”

Hanna shrugged un
comfortably and was saved by a waiter who took their drinks order.

“You don’t drink?” Hanna asked Karim, who had ordered a bottle of still water. “Is that for religious reasons?”

“No, that is for professional reasons. If there is an emergency at work I could volunteer to help.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about your
family?” Hanna asked.

“Ok
ay, well, my mother is one of the loveliest people you will ever meet,” Karim claimed. “She had a stroke three years ago but she is still the most patient and kind person imaginable. She has only physically recovered a little, and still struggles with it. Our family life revolves pretty much around her care now. She is doing well, all things considered, and never complains.”

“I am sorry to hear that. How badly affected is she, if I may ask? Can she speak and walk?”

“Her speech came back almost immediately. Fortunately she never developed real problems with that, which is very lucky because my mother likes to talk a lot. If there is such a thing as divine intervention then the gods had mercy on her and left her the thing most precious to her heart.”

“I had no idea that it was possible to have a stroke that does not affect
your speech,” Hanna said surprised. “Can she walk on her own?”

“Not yet. But we are wor
king on it,” Karim said. “She gets the best care we can get. She even had the best paramedic,” he said with a wink.

“Why, did you find her? That must have been awful.”

“I was on duty and my team was called out for it.”

“They did not substitute you?” Her heart went out to him for having gone through such an ordeal.

“I didn’t tell them. It should have been my responsibility to remove myself from the team, but as a health care professional I have learned to detach myself from emotional involvement, and just deal with the situation.”

“That is a very confident statement.”

“I guess it is. I am sorry. I think we people from the medical profession can be a little arrogant and overly confident; the infamous God complex. I assure you I only have a mild version of it,” Karim said.

“I work with pilots. Many of them have a very similar mind set. I became immune to it years ago, or I would have left the job by now,” Hanna said with a dismissive hand gesture. “I must say I would have thought you’d be scared that your emotions might cause you to make a mistake while helping your mother that night.”

“Not at the time. I did not think twice about it. Helping people and helping them quickly is drilled into us so much, it has become second nature. You must know about that yourself.”

“Of course,” Hanna said, closing her menu abruptly. “Well, I am ready to order when you are. I’m starving.”

Karim called the waiter over who took their order and then led them to a more secluded dining area. The lighting was darker and there were separate booths, giving the setting a very intimate feeling.

“This is very cosy,” Karim observed.

“Yes, I don’t remember it ever being like this,” Hanna replied. “When I last came here with my family they took us to a larger room with big tables and bright lights. Maybe this section of the restaurant is new.”

“So, have you ever been in an emergency?” Karim asked.

“Well…ehm…we hear a lot about the emergencies that have happened to other airlines. I have a lot of second hand information.”

She took a large sip of her water.

“Anything you would like to share?” he said playfully.

She looked at the ceiling searching for a story that had nothing to do with what had happened to her, but it was hard to think of one.

“A friend of mine evacuated an aircraft in an emergency. Everyone ran to the exit ahead of them. My friend stood alone by her open door at the back of the plane. The people were in such a panic they did not listen to her calling them and preferred sliding down the slide over the wing.”

“People are just sheep, aren’t they,” he said smiling.
“Anything medical?”

“Eh
m…I remember a guy who was on anxiety drugs, pain killers and alcohol. He fell into a prolonged unconsciousness in the middle of the flight and we had to divert the plane to a military base. I was not involved first hand.”

“But with all of your
medical training you must be confident that you would manage an emergency without hiccups,” he said.

She hesitated for a moment, swallowing down another wave of nauseating guilt.

“I used to doubt myself more,” she said as forcefully as she could muster, “but the longer I have been flying the more I hear that crew respond remarkably well in emergencies. But enough about work,” she said. “Let’s talk more about your family. You said you are all sharing the burden of looking after your mother?”

“
To start with I would not call it a burden. To me it is a privilege,” he corrected her in a pedantic way.

“Of course,” Hanna agreed.

“She raised us all with pure selflessness and motherly devotion. I am glad I can repay her that favour. With my work commitments I could not do it alone. Being medically trained I feel I should have a bigger share in it than I currently do,” he explained.

“Is she still in her own home?”

“No, that would be unthinkable. She is a widow. After the stroke she had to move in with my sister and her family,” he said, clearly with a guilty conscience. “My brother is divorced and lives alone in a tiny flat, just like myself.”

“But you all chip in,” Hanna said.

“Yes, as much as is possible. How have you organised the care for your mother?”

“My father is still alive and fit,” Hanna explained. “My parents live together in our old family home.”

“Is anyone else helping your father?” Karim wondered.

“I am afraid not really. I have two brothers but they both have commitments already and are total workaholics, following in my father’s footsteps. We all live too far away.”

“I am certain you do more than you let on,” Karim said. “You see, what I liked about you most when I saw you and your mother was that you had such a caring attitude towards her.”

“Do you ever get people in
an ambulance that don’t care about the patient they are with?”

“You would be surprised!” he told her.
“It is not necessarily that they don’t care but many fear they’d be in the way or are scared of what they might see, so they don’t really get involved.”

“Not everyone has got that strength within them,” Hanna pointed out. “We are all different.”

“Well, I was living with my last girlfriend when my mother had the stroke. We had plans to get married. I offered to support her financially if she could help looking after my mother, but she was so horrified by that idea that she moved out and left me before my mother even came out of hospital. She always said she hated her job as secretary and was desperate to give it up to have children, so you can imagine my surprise. All of her friends implied that I was a monster for asking her to give up her career for my family,” Karim said, sounding rather bitter.

“For many people the thought of becoming dependent on someone is rather frightening. You can’t really judge her for th
at,” Hanna defended the woman. “The divorce rate in this country is so high, we don’t expect a happily ever after any more. Did you put pressure on her?”

“She was free to do as she pleased, but she claimed the very discussion was pressure and that it had taken away her trust in me. She did not want to marry someone who had such strange and ancient ideas about family.”

“We are all weak in our own ways. She was maybe not strong enough to give up her safety net. You can’t blame people for their weaknesses. Besides, would you really be happy with a wife who lives only for you and your family?” Hanna asked provocatively.

“We were a couple about to be married. My family was her family and vice versa. Giving up a part time job with little meaning is hardly giving up her entire life,” he explained. “I would have done the same for her family if I had been in a mindless job. It has nothing to do with wanting an obedient Persian wife, as one of her
friends described the situation.”

“Ouch!”

“Exactly, and I am not Persian or Iranian. I am British and I am talking about family values that you might find in the Conservative Party Manifesto or in Christian circles, too. I became a paramedic to do good and to save lives. You of all people must know about this.”

“Me, why?”
Hanna began to look searchingly around for a waiter but there was nobody around.

“The way you are with your mother. You really care for her.”

“Oh that, yes, well it is more complicated though. The last couple of days have been a real eye opener for me in that regard,” Hanna said, sounding rather subdued. “I realise that up to now I have let my family down. I have done next to nothing to help my father. He is starting to struggle and gets more rigid every day. Not only have I left him in the lurch, I am also beginning to realise that I don’t know how much time my mother has left.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Karim consoled her. “You are there for her now and you care.”

Hanna hid her head in her palms and said nothing.

“Don’t you start crying on me,” Karim said, playfully disapproving of her. “What is wrong?”

“I am not crying,” Hanna said as she lifted her head back up and faced him. “Really, I am ok.”

“You don’t look it. Hanna, I am sure your father appreciates what you do. You have a natural talent with your mother.”