A Time for Friends (45 page)

‘Just be careful, Sophie. That’s all I’m asking you. Drink can be a very dangerous thing. You saw what happened to Jazzy.’

‘Sorry, Mam,’ she said guiltily. ‘We were just having fun.’

‘I know. But you’re still very young so just be careful.’

‘I love you, Mam.’ Sophie flung her arms around her.

‘And I love you,’ Hilary said, hugging her daughter tightly. Maybe Colette had done them a favour in spite of herself, Hilary thought, relishing the closeness she had with Sophie and
the loving affection behind her daughter’s embrace.

‘Niall, were you talking to your mam today?’ Hilary asked, trying to keep the note of concern out of her voice.

‘Er . . . not yet, no,’ her husband admitted. ‘I was in meetings all morning. Why?’

‘She’s not answering her landline or her mobile,’ Hilary said, trying to quell the feeling of dread that was rising in her. ‘I’d better drive over and make sure
she’s OK.’

‘You have the key, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Any of the girls around?’

‘No, Sophie’s gone into town with her gang and Millie’s minding Gillian Nolan’s kids for an hour or two. I’d better go. I’ll ring you from Gran’s.
Bye.’

‘Bye,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Hilary.’

Hilary dialled Margaret’s phone once more, almost holding her breath, hoping against hope to hear the familiar, if slightly breathless, tones of her mother-in-law with her usual cheery
greeting. The phone continued to ring, unanswered. She would have been very surprised if Margaret had gone somewhere and forgotten her phone. She had been very wheezy the past month and had been on
steroids again. She was in no fit state to be going anywhere.

Hilary grabbed her bag and keys and hurried out to the car. It was very unlike Margaret not to answer her phone. Once or twice before, Hilary had phoned and Margaret had been in the toilet or
out at the bin and she had phoned back, but there was no call back this morning, despite several attempts to contact her, and Hilary was worried. At that age and with her dodgy heart, it was
inevitable that someday something would go wrong. The last year had been particularly hard for Margaret. She had become more chronically ill, less able to enjoy her life. It was one medical drama
after another, Hilary acknowledged, reversing out of her drive. Difficult for her and Niall too. There was always that vague sense of dread, knowing that the day would come when Margaret would not
recover. And even worse, thought Hilary with a sickening clenching of her stomach. What would she find when she got to her mother-in-law’s? No matter how much death was expected, it was still
a life-changing shock for those left behind. ‘Let her be OK,’ Hilary prayed, almost dizzy with fear and apprehension.

Margaret could hear the phone ringing as if from some far-distant place. She knew it was Hilary. Hilary was the only one who rang her in the mornings. She closed her eyes again
and felt herself drifting off. She was in such a peaceful place. Even her breathing was easier. If she had known it would be like this she would have stopped taking the tablets long ago. The fear
of anticipation she’d endured these past few days was no more. In fact she’d never felt more empowered, Margaret realized, pleasantly surprised. She had made the choice. Not some
anonymous medic, or her children. She gave a little sigh. That last time in A&E had been the turning point. How she had cried when the ambulance crew had placed her gently on the trolley, when
she had collapsed at Sunday evening Mass in January. ‘I don’t want to go there, just bring me home,’ she’d pleaded. The men were kind to her. Very kind. She could not fault
them. She had been in the care of Dublin Fire Brigade and Ambulance crews so many times in the past years. And always the kindness. But not even kindness could erase the dread of what awaited her
beyond the doors of hell as Margaret had come to think of A&E.

This time had been even worse. There were no beds, no cubicles. The entrance hall was lined with patients on trolleys and ambulance crews waiting for their trolleys to go back out on the
road.

‘Been here three hours,’ Margaret heard one crewman tell her minder. ‘That man over there has MRSA, post surgery open wound, should be in isolation. He’s been attended to
behind a screen. It’s crazy!’

Crazy it was. She had eventually been transferred to a bed in a cubicle, with a drunk, yelling and puking, in the adjoining cubicle. The nurse and doctor were trying to calm him down, pacifying
him with enormous patience. How she had longed to get out of her bed and go over to him and smack him hard and tell him to behave himself and leave beds for people who were ill through no fault of
their own.

And then the pain of the cannula being inserted into her frail hands. It had made her cry. And the blood tests, the interminable blood tests. She was black and blue after it, her arms like
pincushions from the nurses trying to find veins that would give up their red bounty.

Two days and nights she had lain in that nightmarish place, unable to sleep, or eat the slop they called food. Niall, Sue and Hilary had taken turns to be with her and she had fretted at the
amount of time they had to waste, standing, without even a chair to sit on, when their own lives were so busy. Never again, Margaret had sworn when she was finally wheeled away to a hospital
ward.

She had felt the effects of that last hospital stay much more than previous ones. All she was able to do on her return home was potter around, from her sitting room to her kitchen, and watch TV.
Her sight was fading, even with her glasses. She could no longer see the birds feeding out in the garden. Reading was difficult. All she was doing was waiting for the inevitable. What was the point
of delaying it? New medical discoveries and medications were prolonging life, but at what cost when you were existing as opposed to living? In her day pneumonia was known as the old people’s
friend. Now it was treated with antibiotics and steroids. Until another dose came and the whole palaver started again. What was the point of keeping her alive with her ageing heart and aching body,
when she had come to know that death was preferable? Why did she have to do this alone? Could hospice care not be extended to all? In a hospice death was given the respect it deserved. In hospital
you were made well enough to be discharged. And then they were finished with you and you had to get on with it until the next time. Margaret had spent many hours pondering the ethical questions.
The spiritual questions. The practical questions. Until she had made peace with her decision. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, she decided. If she was at peace with it, and she was,
then that was all that mattered. That knowledge gave her comfort and courage.

When the time came to make the decision to stop taking her tablets, she was well prepared. She had spent a delightful Sunday with Niall, Hilary and her beloved granddaughters, making the very
most of it, knowing that it was her last one with them. She would miss them dreadfully, especially Millie, her favourite. Sadness crept around her weary heart. Millie and she had always been extra
close. But her grandchildren were young and, though they would grieve for her, their lives were so fast-paced now that she would become but a faded memory that would bring a smile in years to come.
That was the way of it.

Margaret felt a shudder ripple through her body, not an unpleasant sensation, just like a slight shiver. She was tired now, very tired; she’d close her eyes for a while. She’d say a
Hail Mary and then let go. ‘
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,’
she managed, before a beautiful all-encompassing light of love and peace enveloped her and she
slipped gently back to the place that had always been home.

‘Aw, Gran H.’ Hilary ran to her mother-in-law, who was slumped against the cushions on the sofa, and knelt beside her. She knew instinctively before she searched
for a pulse that Margaret was gone. Her body was still warm. If she’d come even fifteen minutes earlier she might have been able to save her, Hilary thought, heartsick, tears spilling down
her cheeks as she cradled the frail body of the elderly woman in her arms. She whispered an act of contrition, and laid Margaret back against the cushions, glad that her eyes and mouth were closed
and she wouldn’t have to force them. She put the soft angora throw over her, knowing it was irrational to think that Margaret would feel cold. She was just about to phone the doctor when the
doorbell rang. She could see a man’s silhouette against the frosted glass. Bad timing, whoever he was, she thought, trying to compose herself before opening the door. ‘Niall!’
Hilary exclaimed when she saw her husband standing on the step. ‘Oh Niall, I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh God, is she gone?’ Her husband turned ashen and brushed past her. ‘Where?’

‘The sitting room,’ she said, before bursting into sobs. It broke her heart to see Niall on his knees cradling his mother, whispering endearments into her hair, telling her that he
loved her.

‘I knew something was up. I didn’t want you to find her on your own. I came as quickly as I could.’ He raised a tear-streaked face to her.

‘We’re with her now, Niall. She’s not alone, and she looks so peaceful. I’m glad it was in her own home and not in hospital.’ Hilary knelt beside him and put her
arms around him and they stayed like that awhile, reluctant to give Margaret to the doctors, undertakers and priests, who would do what they had to do to prepare her body for its final journey.

Sue’s heart sank and apprehension swamped her when she saw Niall and Hilary in the foyer. The receptionist had told her two people wished to see her. Both had been
crying. She could see the puffiness of their eyes and the grief etched on their faces and she knew instantly that her mother had died.

‘Come into my office,’ she said calmly, determined that she would keep her composure. ‘It’s Mam, isn’t it?’ she said, closing the door.

‘Yes.’ Niall walked over to the window.

‘How?’

‘A heart attack, her doctor said.’ Hilary marvelled at the other woman’s self-possession.

‘Where?’ Sue faltered a little.

‘At home. She never answered the phone this morning so I drove over and found her. Niall and I wanted to tell you in person. We didn’t want you to find out in a phone call,’
Hilary explained.

‘Thanks. I appreciate it. We’d better make funeral arrangements.’ Sue glanced over at her brother.

‘Yes, we wanted to discuss it with you. Although Mam’s wishes were very clear – she wanted to be waked at home before being brought to the church—’

‘Oh no! I hate all that stuff with the neighbours coming in and peering into the coffin, and looking around the house,’ Sue exclaimed. ‘Could we not at least wake her in a
funeral parlour?’

Hilary looked at Niall feeling it wasn’t up to her to respond. She was horrified that even in death Sue couldn’t respect her mother’s wishes.

‘No, Sue, we’ll do it the way Mam wanted, if you don’t mind,’ he said quietly.

‘Well then, what’s the point of asking me to get involved? You and Hilary have clearly decided what’s to be done,’ she said huffily.

‘No, we just want what Mam wanted. What Hilary and I want is irrelevant,’ Niall said with an edge to his voice.

‘Well let me know where I’ve to be and when,’ Sue said frostily.

‘The doctor has said there’s no need for a post mortem. She says the steroids Mrs H was on affected the warfarin, and weakened your mother’s heart even more, so she can sign
the death certificate. The undertaker said she could be with us this evening. Niall and I and the girls will stay the night with her. The removal will be tomorrow and the burial on Thursday.
It’s up to you whatever you wish to do,’ Hilary said coolly.

‘Very well. I need to speak to my boss and sort things out here. I’ll see you at the house tonight,’ Sue said without a hint of emotion.

‘OK, see you then.’ Niall glanced at Hilary, clearly baffled by his sister’s reaction.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Sue. Your mother was a lovely woman.’ Hilary offered her condolences. She was shocked that Sue didn’t want to engage in any of the
arrangements. She had been about to ask her was there any outfit that Sue wanted to suggest for Margaret to be buried in. Hilary felt, as a daughter, that call was Sue’s to make, but clearly
her sister-in-law had no intention of being involved.

Sue bent her head. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘And thank you for telling me in person. I’ll see you tonight. Bye.’ She turned away and punched in a number on the
phone.

Dismissed, Niall and Hilary walked out of Sue’s office.

‘Why am I surprised?’ Niall muttered as they waited for the lift in the foyer.

Hilary said nothing. She was not going to diss her sister-in-law to Niall. The sooner Margaret’s funeral was over the better and if they could get the poor woman buried without a family
row they would be doing very well indeed, she thought, heavy-hearted, stepping into the lift with her husband.

Sue’s heart was thumping so loudly she was sure Tina could hear it in reception. Mam was dead. Gone! In an instant. She couldn’t quite believe it. The memory of her
father’s death came roaring back in a tidal wave of memories. Her mother weeping. Telling them that her husband had died at his desk at work, from what turned out to be an aneurysm. The
terror of seeing her dad in his coffin, pale and waxy-looking. Feeling his marble coldness. Knowing he was gone from her life, never to speak to, or hug, or laugh with again. Her champion, her
mentor, cleaved away from her without even a last farewell. Watching their mother turn to Niall for comfort and advice, sidelining Sue as though she hadn’t a thought or contribution to make,
had made it all so much more difficult to bear. She was only a woman after all: what would she know about wills and probate and the like?

Bitterness rose in Sue at the memory. Girls should marry and have children. That was the way of it, her mother had told her once, when news of Hilary’s first pregnancy had broken.
‘You should be thinking of marrying and settling down.’ And then, she had finally married, a divorced man, in a small private civil ceremony, ‘Because you were too mean to invite
your relations and it’s not a proper wedding,’ Margaret had accused crossly, annoyed that it hadn’t been done ‘properly’ and she’d have to explain to family and
neighbours that Cormac was divorced, and in her eyes, therefore, not free to marry at all.