Where Love Lies (29 page)

‘How are you feeling?’ asks the nurse.

‘I want to sleep.’

‘You can do that
in just a minute. Do you remember anything about what happened?’

‘I … remember floating in the air looking down at us. But that probably didn’t happen.’

I also remember being in the garden, with my mother-in-law flinging recriminations at me. I remember what I did to earn them. I want to bury my head under the pillow and go back to sleep, so I let my eyes close again and do that.

When I wake
up again, Quinn is there, watching me. I expect him to say, ‘Good morning, love,’ but he doesn’t. Then I hear the beep. Hospital.

I try to sit up, but everything aches. ‘Did I do anything stupid?’

‘You fell down and had convulsions. It was very sudden.’

‘I hope I didn’t freak out your mum.’

‘She’s not bad in a crisis.’ Meaning, I freaked her out.

‘Poor Molly.’

Molly, her eyes blazing, telling
me to stay away from her son.

‘Are you all here? Your mum?’ I look around; we’re in a ward, curtains drawn around the bed.

‘Just me. They stayed at home. They’re waiting for news.’

‘Have I been out for long?’

‘You were out for a while. You had a fit, and then you lost consciousness. Sometimes you seemed awake, but not aware. You’ve been sleeping since we’ve been at the hospital. You seem very
tired.’

‘Yes.’ Very tired, of everything. Ready to rest and not think for a while. I close my eyes and then open them. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘They took you for a CAT scan and you slept through it, I think. Do you remember it?’

‘No. How long ago was it? Did I just ask that?’

‘It’s okay. It’s been several hours.’

‘How did I get here?’

‘Suz called for an ambulance.’

‘Did I say anything?’
I watch his face carefully, but I can’t read anything on it but concern.

‘No. It’s okay. All we’re worried about now is that you’re well.’

‘What’s the tube in my arm?’ Mum had tubes. She had tubes everywhere, pumping in poison that was supposed to save her. I reach for it, and he stops my hand with his.

‘They’re giving you anti-seizure meds. And some fluids; you’re dehydrated.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘Go to sleep.’

‘I don’t like hospitals, Quinn.’

‘I’ll be here.’

This time, I dream. I’m in my garden at Hope Cottage, only I’ve built a wall around it, a high wall of mismatched stone. Around me, the plants are growing in stop-motion quickness. Sending out tendrils to pull themselves up, twining around each other. The weeds multiply with a low wet rustle of leaves. I am surrounded by green,
up to my knees, up to my waist. Flowers burst, wither, fall. I see white and yellow, frangipani without scent. They brush my face, caress my cheek, burrow through my hair. A petal, soft as flesh, cool as wax. Stems and roots, pollen and sap, all these beings competing for the sunlight. I open my mouth to breathe and a leaf slips inside. It’s the walls, the walls that are keeping the plants in when
they want to crawl out, stretch, seek the air, be free.

I open my eyes. The curtains are patterned. Quinn sits beside me, reading a newspaper.

He lowers the paper. ‘You’re awake. Are you feeling any better?’

‘I’m thirsty.’ There’s a plastic jug of water near the bed. I reach towards it, but the tube in my arm stops me.

‘Here.’ He pours a glass of water and pushes a button on the bed which
makes it move me slowly into a sitting position. When my mother died I did the reverse; I laid her down, as if she could have the rest she’d always wanted. I take the water and drink it.

‘Are you still sleepy?’

‘Not so much.’ The curtains are different. There wasn’t a bedside table before. ‘Have I been moved?’

‘You’ve been admitted to the neurology ward. They moved you while you were sleeping.’

‘And you came. You’ve stayed with me. Why?’ I remember now, my going to the cottage, meeting Quinn and his family. I was there to apologize for what I’d done. He’s come in the ambulance, or after it, and he’s stayed. I don’t know how long.

What does it mean that he’s here? Has he forgiven me? Or is it just something he’d do for anyone who happened to have a seizure in his garden – stick around
to make sure they’re all right? It’s more likely to be the latter. He’d probably do the same thing for Cameron Bishop if the boy were struck down in the act of stealing his bicycle. Plus, he’s my next-of-kin, for the time being anyway, so he’d feel an obligation. He’s my only kin.

‘I’m worried about you, Felicity. I’m your husband.’

I feel sick and anxious and ashamed. ‘Can I have another glass
of water?’ He pours it for me and watches me drink it. ‘I came to Tillingford to say I was sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be so dramatic.’

‘Half the Tillingford cricket team turned out to watch you being loaded into the ambulance.’

‘Great.’ A vision of myself, shuddering and twitching, on the ground next to Molly’s neat shoes. ‘Did I froth at the mouth? Did I swallow my tongue?’

‘That’s a myth.
You can’t swallow your tongue. It’s anatomically impossible.’

‘I drooled, didn’t I?’

‘You—’

A big man strides up, clearly a doctor, with two smaller persons standing behind him, just as clearly students or underlings. ‘Mrs Wickham. I’m Dr Chin, Neurology Consultant here. How do you feel?’

‘I’m all right. I’m trying to get Quinn to tell me whether I drooled.’

‘That’s a good sign. Not the drooling,
but that you’re concerned about it. Can you smile for me, please?’ Smiling, grasping, following a light, naming myself, counting fingers. It’s the same routine I went through with the nurse. ‘Can you answer some questions for me? Do you feel well enough?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Do you remember the episode that brought you here?’

‘Not really. I was … in the garden with my husband and my in-laws, and I
started feeling sick. Unreal. I could see us from above, as if I were flying. And then I woke up in hospital.’

‘Had you had a fever, or were you ill? Had you taken any drugs or alcohol? Medication?’

I shake my head.

‘It was rather a high-stress situation,’ says Quinn.

‘Have you had seizures such as this in the past, to your knowledge?’

‘No. At least, not like this.’

‘What do you mean, “not
like this”?’

‘I’ve never passed out, or had convulsions. Not that I know of. But I think I’ve had episodes. I think that might be what they were. But I’m not sure.’

‘You’ve been having seizures?’ asks Quinn. ‘Since when? Why didn’t I know?’

‘Sometimes seizures aren’t obvious to an observer,’ says the doctor. ‘Sometimes they’re not even obvious to the person having them. You’ve had focal seizures,
then? Episodes?’

‘I thought they were migraines. Then I thought they were memories.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Quinn demands.

‘They were … private.’

‘
Private?
’

‘The mind is the last area of mystery,’ says the doctor.

Except for maybe the heart.

‘I didn’t tell anyone because I was trying to work out what they meant,’ I say.

‘So this is your first tonic-clonic seizure – your first fit, what
we used to call a
grand mal
,’ says the doctor, minions scribbling behind him, ‘but you may have had focal seizures before. Epilepsy run in your family?’

‘No. That is, I don’t know. I’ve never met my father. But my mother didn’t have it.’

‘Extended family?’

‘I don’t know them.’

He emits a noise that seems calculated to make me ashamed of only knowing one of my relatives, currently deceased.
‘Tell me about these experiences you’ve had that you think may be seizures.’

I tell him about the scent of frangipani coming out of nowhere, about how at first I thought it was aftershave or perfume, or even a ghost, until I realized no one could smell it except for me. I tell him how I learned about the jumpiness that presages it, the sinking of the stomach, the warnings that sometimes allow
me to make excuses and leave so I can be alone. Then I tell him about the feeling. The bliss, the wonder of being in love. How it possesses me and transforms me into a creature of pure light. And then the euphoria after it’s gone, the echo that remains long enough to leave me bereft when it’s faded.

I’m aware that I’m telling Quinn all of this, too. I don’t watch him but I can feel him absorbing
it. His pain is raw and red.

‘Is the experience always the same?’ asks the doctor.

‘Yes. I mean, I do different things during it, depending on where I am. Who I’m with.’ My cheeks heat. ‘Usually I just sort of experience it. I’ve been told I look stoned afterwards.’

‘When did it start?’

‘This spring. Probably … May? It was when we went for dinner at Cerise,’ I tell Quinn. I have to look away
from him immediately.

‘That was the third week in May.’

‘And how often does this happen?’ asks the doctor.

‘At first, only rarely. Once a week, maybe twice. But it’s been happening more frequently. Recently it’s been happening quite a lot.’

‘And by quite a lot, you mean …?’

‘Several times a day. More than that, sometimes. It’s … hard to tell the difference between this and my real feelings.’

‘The sinking sensation in the stomach is typical,’ says Dr Chin. ‘So is the dazed feeling afterwards, and the fact that they’re identical. These may be good indications that you’ve been having seizures rather than spontaneous emotions. The tests will help us work out if that’s what they are.’

In the pause, I can feel Quinn gathering himself. ‘What would cause symptoms like this?’ he asks at last,
and his voice is the semblance of a journalist’s, looking for facts. If you didn’t know him, you might believe it.

The students leap to attention. ‘You don’t have to tell us right now,’ I say quickly.

‘A variety of things could cause seizures, most of them treatable to a greater or lesser extent.’

‘A brain tumour?’ asks Quinn. ‘Cancer?’

‘Quinn, I don’t think I want to know.’

‘We need to know,
Felicity.’

‘A tumour is among the things that could be indicated, yes. But we mustn’t jump to conclusions. The CAT scan wasn’t definitive. It showed something, but I can’t be quite certain what it is yet, so I want to run some more tests tomorrow morning.’

‘I think I’d rather go home.’ Wherever home is.

‘You have to stay,’ Quinn tells me. ‘You didn’t see what happened to you, but it was frightening.
Imagine if it happened somewhere dangerous? We have to find out what’s wrong, so you can get better.’

‘If there’s the choice between feeling as if I’m in love every now and then, and finding out about a scary diagnosis, I think on balance that I’d rather feel in love,’ I say.

‘Would you,’ says Quinn quietly.

‘You need a diagnosis,’ says the consultant. ‘If you’re having escalating seizure activity,
chances are that this is something we need to take care of now, whether with medication or surgery. All being well, we’ll have some answers tomorrow.’ He pats the blanket beside my leg in a way that is no doubt meant to be soothing. ‘Try to rest, and not worry too much. Lie still if you can. We’ll keep you on the anti-seizure meds, by mouth instead of IV since you’re conscious, but tell a
nurse immediately if you feel something coming on. You’re in the best place to be if the seizures recur.’

He turns away, the minions following him.

Quinn remains. I can’t look in his face, so I look at his shirt. It’s wrinkled and he has a grass stain on the elbow. Possibly from when I fell down. Would he have picked me up, or waited for the ambulance crew?

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, once again.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that all of this was going on?’ he asks.

‘Because … because I didn’t know what they were. Dr Johnson said they could be migraines. And then I thought maybe it was Mum’s ghost, and then I thought maybe it was just my own mind. Dr Johnson referred me to a neurologist, but I missed the appointment.’

‘Why didn’t you make another one?’

‘I did. For November.’

‘You weren’t
trying very hard, then.’ He’s attempting to stay calm, but he’s angry.

‘I didn’t really want to hear that something was wrong with me. And besides, every time it happened, I felt happy.’

‘You felt that you were in love with him.’

‘I felt … I didn’t know what it meant. It wasn’t the sort of thing I could tell you about.’

‘What
is
the sort of thing you can tell me about, Felicity? Is there anything?’

I bite my lip. For a moment, we listen to the noises of the ward. It reminds me of the dinner we had together, when the fountain in the restaurant couldn’t cover up the silence between us.

‘Is all of this the truth?’ he asks me at last. ‘You really can’t help these feelings?’

‘Do you think I’m lying to the doctor?’

‘You lied to me.’

‘I’m … it’s the truth. I was having these feelings, and I
didn’t know how to deal with them.’

He looks as if he’s tasted something bad. ‘And what about
him
? He says he’s in love with you. Is he having seizures, too?’

‘No. I – I went to see him. I wanted to see if what I was feeling was real. And I spent some time with him. He was – he wasn’t very happy.’

‘So you tried to make him happier by having an affair with him.’

I swallow. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It
sounds very convenient. Considering what’s been going on.’

‘I know you’re angry with me, Quinn. I deserve it.’

‘I’m very angry with you. Not least for neglecting your health to the extent that you have to have a
grand mal
seizure in front of me for me to know that something’s wrong. And even if all this is caused by sickness, even if you couldn’t help what you felt, you didn’t have to act on
it.’

I wince.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t make sense at all.’

He leans forward and holds his head in his hands.

‘You don’t have to stay,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be all right.’

‘No,’ he says to the floor. ‘No, you won’t. You must be – you must be very frightened.’