Change of Life (42 page)

“Oh – I’m fine – you know…”

“They’re pleased with Rosie down on the ward. She’s no worse – so that’s good,” said Bruce.

I nodded. “Yes, I suppose so -”

“Don’t worry about us upstairs either,” he went on. “Anna’s in for the next two days.”

“I can do Thursday and Friday as well,” said Anna. “And I was doing the weekend on-call anyway –so that’s fine. Then I’m supposed to be on holiday for the next couple of weeks, but I can postpone – it’s not important.”

I’d forgotten about Anna’s holiday plans. I’d arranged my own leave for the two weeks after Anna got back, when Jenny and Max would be on half-term holiday from school. Yes, I’d booked a fortnight off work – that was a first. And not only that, I’d decided that I was going to get my sabbatical set up before the end of the year.

I shook my head at Anna. “Your holiday is important. It’s all arranged. You need to spend time with your husband and daughter.”

“Yes, indeed,” Bruce intervened. “You’re going - no arguments. Time with your family is what’s important. Don’t take as long as Tom and I have to reach that conclusion. We’ll manage. I’ll sort it out.”

I was back in Rosie’s room, trying to concentrate on reading the newspaper, when Amanda Knox arrived. She spent a few minutes checking Rosie’s chart, which I’d already scrutinised, and then she told me she’d spoken to the rest of the team caring for Rosie. They were all agreed that Rosie was responding well and they were going to decrease her sedation over the day. I thanked Amanda and clung to the fact that this was a good sign.

As the day went on Rosie got more restless. All I could do was hold her hand.

In the afternoon I called Dan and asked him to phone round everyone with the latest news. I also said to tell people not to come in to the hospital that day as, if Rosie did come round, she wouldn’t be up to visitors. Dan said he’d stay with the children in Gullane until I came home, however long that took.

My mother called me to say she’d contacted Michael and that he was on his way to Scotland. She didn’t say, ‘just in case,’ but we both knew the implication.

Then at around four o’clock in the afternoon, while I was grappling with the Scotsman crossword, Rosie started to speak. She became agitated and struggled to get the oxygen mask off. I lifted it away from her face and took her hand. I put my face close to hers. She opened her eyes.

“I’m here, Rosie. I’m here,” I whispered.

“Tom,” was all she said.

For the next few days, Rosie remained very weak as she battled to overcome what could have been an overwhelming infection. She slept most of the time and wasn’t up to talking very much. I was persuaded to go to the flat to sleep and to take a little time out each day, but for the most part I stayed at Rosie’s side.

At some point, Michael arrived. He came straight from the airport to the hospital. Rosie looked astounded when she opened her eyes to find him standing by the bed. They hadn’t seen each other for several years, and their joy at the reunion was moving to watch. I knew that Rosie had been in regular contact with her brother and had told him what had been happening in the last few months. I didn’t know exactly what she’d said, or if she’d asked him about the events surrounding Robbie’s birth. I felt a bit awkward with them so I decided to leave them alone for a while. Michael followed me out the door when I was leaving.

“Tom – before you go, mate – we need to talk – about –well you know what about.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “not here – not now. But we
will
talk.”

“Does Rosie know the whole story? Have you explained everything?”

“No, she doesn’t. She only knows that I was in touch with Heather, during the estrangement and knew about Robbie and the adoption. I was going to tell her everything this weekend – we were going away together – taking Sam up to the uni – and then this happened.”

“Well, she won’t hear it from me, Tom. This is your call, your story, and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that I ran away after it all – after Heather – and everything. I couldn’t face Rosie – couldn’t face not telling her. But you did the right thing.”

“Look, go back in and be with her now. She’ll drift off to sleep quite quickly. But just sit with her. We’ll talk soon.” I left the two of them together.

As I wandered along the corridor, I passed the hospital sanctuary and found that I was drawn inside. I’d never been in before. I had it to myself and I took a seat near the front. I wasn’t really religious but, since Rosie’s diagnosis and departure from home, I’d often found myself praying to somebody, I wasn’t sure who, especially in the desperate hours in the middle of the night. I’d prayed she’d get better and come back to me. In the last few days I’d prayed even more. I begged for Rosie to survive. I told God that even if his price was that I couldn’t have Rosie back, then that was fine, he was just to make her well, let her live. I even asked him to take my life instead.

I was sitting in the little chapel, saying this prayer once again, when I became aware that someone else had come in. I looked round.

It was Reverend Jack Martin, one of the hospital chaplains. I knew him from his visits to my ward. Jack was a popular person around the hospital - with staff and patients. He was a big man, taller than me, broad and bearded, a man of presence. His distinctive laugh was well known around the wards, but I’d heard from many of the patient’s families and friends that he was also enormously comforting when the worst happened.

He came and sat beside me and shook my hand. “Tom, I’m glad to see you. I was going to come and find you. I heard about your wife. How is she?”

“She’s fighting back, but not in the clear yet. I just thought I’d put in a word for her, you know, with…” I looked upwards. “I know I’ve probably no right to ask.”

“We all have the right to ask, Tom.”

“I’ve not been – I’m not – you know, religious. I don’t know what I believe – if I believe. You don’t think it’s a bit of a cheek?”

“No, not at all, and even if I did, it’s not for me to judge. I think God can probably cope with any presumption on your part.”

“Do you think it works, Jack? You know, ‘ask and you shall receive’- all that stuff.”

“I believe in the power of prayer, yes. Whether we get what we think we ought to receive is another matter. We don’t get what we want, but we do get what we need. God is mysterious, but I believe he hears us when we call to him.”

“I don’t deserve any attention – but Rosie doesn’t deserve to die – I’d rather he took me to fill his quota.”

Jack smiled. “I don’t think God is some kind of middle-manager with a list of targets to achieve. Neither do I think you have to deserve his attention. We can’t do deals with Him. We just have to trust that what happens is for the best, for reasons we can’t understand. And if we’re suffering we’re not alone. He’s there beside us, beside you, beside Rosie. Right now he’s holding Rosie in the palm of his hand and he’ll do right by her.”

I don’t pretend that I really understood what Jack was saying, but it was comforting nevertheless. He said he’d sit with me for a while and that if I wanted him to visit Rosie I’d only to ask.

I felt better when I left the sanctuary. The optimism that I’d started to feel before Rosie got ill had returned.

And over the next couple of days, it began to look like Rosie was winning. She was awake for longer periods and able to cope with short visits from the children, as well as from Michael and me. She didn’t have the strength to say very much, but she liked to be read to – something Ma had suggested. Ma even got me a copy of ‘Other Stories and Other Stories’ an anthology by Ali Smith, an author she knew Rosie liked.

And so I would spend part of each afternoon reading aloud to Rosie. Neither of us could have coped with a heart to heart discussion at that time, but I found I enjoyed the time that I spent just sitting and reading to her. She seemed to find it soothing, so much so that she sometimes dropped off mid story.

Jenny suggested getting her an MP3 player, which I did, and she and the other children spent a lot of time downloading music that they thought their mother would like. Rosie was delighted with it and with the children’s thoughtfulness in their choices of music. Listening to her favourite tunes also tended to send her to sleep.

On one such occasion, as I sat at her bedside, watching her as she slept, I wondered if it would ever be all right between us again. I took hold of her hand and held it to my face. I’d been so hopeful that going to St Andrews together would be a turning point – for the better. Of course it was an indescribable relief that Rosie had overcome the infection but now that she had, the worry and fear were replaced by a leaden disappointment. Any chance of a proper heart to heart seemed as far away as ever.

I kissed the tips of her fingers and whispered, “Forgive me, Rosie, forgive me.

Chapter Thirty Nine

It was decided that I’d take Sam up to St Andrews, as planned, on the Sunday. Rosie, despite her weakened state, insisted - and I was glad to do something real and practical for her.

Adam surprised me by saying that he’d come along too, so that I wouldn’t have to be on my own on the way back. Naturally, I was both pleased and touched by this and determined to make the most of it.

So on the Sunday morning the car was packed and the three of us set off.

Adam sat in front with me and immediately plugged himself into his i-pod. So at this stage, at least, I didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing – conversation clearly wasn’t on his agenda. It wasn’t my intention to say anything to upset him. I could see that Rosie had been right all along. I’d fully accepted that he would be the judge of what was best for him. I’d come to terms with the fact he wasn’t going to university and that it really didn’t matter. I’d come to trust that he would sort out his own life on his own terms. But I still felt wary with him. It still seemed we circled round each other, unsure and tentative. However, he was there in the car and by his own choice. I took it as a good sign and tried to relax.

Sam was very quiet in the back – but not because she was listening to music. She’d been subdued since first thing. I glanced in the mirror at her from time to time. She just seemed to be staring out of the window. There was none of her usual chat. I hoped she was going to be all right away from home. What if she hated university or couldn’t make friends or some lad mistreated her.

“Are you okay, in the back there?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied.

“Not worried about going away, are you?”

“No, not really.
I want to go to uni – to St Andrews – it’s just…”

“What? It’s just what?”

“It’s
Mum -
I’m worried about her – and I’m worried about you – both of you – if you’ll get back together. I can’t really get into uni and all that stuff. I need to know Mum’s going to be all right and that you – well – you know…”

“Oh, Sam, I know it’s hard - but really – try not to worry. Mum’s over the worst and me and her – well – we’re going to meet up as soon as she’s strong enough – and we’ll sort ourselves out.”

I wasn’t sure how convincing I sounded. I glanced sideways at Adam, concerned he’d heard my conversation with Sam, but he was oblivious – eyes shut, drumming on his leg and moving along to his music.

Next time I looked at Sam she too had her i-pod on. She saw my look in the mirror and gave me a little smile. I smiled back and told myself she’d be all right.

The roads were fairly quiet and we arrived in St Andrews in a little over an hour.

It was a bright autumn day and the east wind was bitingly cold as we unloaded all Sam’s stuff at the halls of residence. She seemed to brighten a little as the three of us carried everything indoors. She was in the newest of the university’s residences, on the North
Haugh
and she was pleased with her room.

We went for lunch in the town and I couldn’t quite believe that the three of us were doing this very ordinary thing. Six months ago I’d probably have left it to Rosie to take Sam up, and I’d have got on with paperwork or gone to the hospital.