Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes (28 page)

I found a table near the window, which was stupid because the sun was shining directly in my eyes, making them water even more. I stared ahead, waiting for Lizzie who eventually returned with two comfortingly-steamy mugs of coffee. I took mine gratefully, holding it with both hands, watching the steam rise into the air and disappear.

“I popped out and called work,” she said, practical and calm as always. “I can stay as long as I need to.” She pushed a large Kit Kat towards me. “Eat this, sweetie.” I shook my head and moved it to the side, unable to face it. “Come on Stel. You haven’t eaten yet.”

“Look I’m not exactly borderline anorexic. I won’t pass out because I haven’t eaten a bloody Kit Kat,” I answered sharply, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry, Lizzie. Thanks.”

“It’s OK hon,” she said, “We’re both on edge. It’s been a rotten few months for all of us and now this.”

We sat for a long time; the sunlight moved across the canteen and coffee turned in to sandwiches and hot lunches. I called Emma Wilson and arranged for her to pick up Grace after school and Lizzie and I both kept staring at our phones. As the serving ladies dished out food and talked about ‘last night’ we both silently lived through the possible outcomes, unable to share even with each other.

Eventually Lizzie spoke. “I told Al to text me but I doubt he’ll be able to use his phone in the ICU. I’ll pop to reception see what’s happening.”

“I’ll come too,” I said, worrying that if I stood my legs may give way.

Lizzie sensed my reluctance. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” She threw her bag over her shoulder and walked through the canteen. I watched her go, sipping my coffee and feeling like a child whose mother had left her. I half-smiled; Lizzie was good at taking care of things – she’d battled through life alone, so she’d had to.”

Within a few minutes, Lizzie was back, rushing eagerly through the door and beckoning me to move. I gathered my jacket and my bag and stumbled from the table, “What? What?” I said, joining her.

“There’s a message at reception for us to go to ICU, come on.” My breath caught in my throat and I stumbled after her, eventually running to catch up with her long-legged strides.

“Outpatients,” she yelled, running past a blue sign.

“That’s Orthopaedics,” I shouted back like it was a relevant response as we whizzed past another doorway, looking everywhere and seeing nothing. Every door looked the same, every turning just like the last and we just ran and ran, completely lost in a blind panic of blue signs and white walls. Eventually, Lizzie had the presence of mind to ask someone the directions to ICU. As we entered, the thing that struck me the most apart from the occasional bleeping and whirring of machines was the blanket of silence. I saw the back of Al, slumped over the bed and was aware only of my noisy heart, beating with exertion and dread.

As we walked in Al looked up. He’d been crying and his skin was grey. “Hi,” he said weakly, mustering a smile.

“How is he?” Lizzie ventured, walking gingerly round the bed.

“No change, doll. It’s just about waiting now. You guys should go home. There’s no point in us all being here. Go home and I’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

“You are kidding right?” Lizzie started. “We are your best friends and we are staying here with you, end of discussion.”

“Typical,” he said, with his voice breaking. “Mine and Seb’s moment of drama and we have to share it with you two fag hags.” Lizzie and I both smiled and I could see tears welling up in her eyes. I looked away.

“Have you called Seb’s mum?” Lizzie asked, brushing her face with her hand.

“Yes, Rosemary’s on her way.”

“Well, Stella and I will go to reception and wait for her there,” she said, “to show her the way.” Al nodded, and Lizzie and I went back downstairs.

“God, imagine the call to say your only child is being kept alive by a machine and no-one knows what’s going to happen,” I said to Lizzie. I thought about Grace and shivered.

“Poor Rosemary,” I added in a whisper. I thought about the new baby in her arms; the first words, the first day at school, grazed knees, leaving home and years and years of love and worry. All could come to nothing in just one day.

Suddenly, a well-dressed woman rushed towards the reception desk.

“Sebastian – Sebastian Girard,” she said to the receptionist, “my son.” And her voice broke.

“Rosemary?” Lizzie said, gently. Rosemary nodded. “I’m Lizzie, this is Stella. We’re Seb’s friends. He’s this way.”

“The cab,” Rosemary said, “I need to pay the cab. He said there was a cash machine in the hospital. I didn’t have time, when I got the call...” and she broke off, unable to finish.

“I’ll deal with it,” said Lizzie. “You just get to Seb.” Rosemary flashed her a thin, grateful smile. I put my arm through this stranger’s arm. We had barely met, but we were already united, by the event and the person.

“He’s all I have, since his father died,” she said, like I could make it all go away. I squeezed her arm,
what could I say?

“On the phone they said something about Sebastian’s brain swelling?” she said, as we hurried down the corridor, trying the words out like she was talking about someone else. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t real, that Seb was fine. I wanted to say ‘it’s all a misunderstanding and he’s back at the restaurant waiting for you’ but of course, I couldn’t.

“He’s in the best place,” I said, managing to discover yet another stupid cliché from what was beginning to look like an endless hospital collection.

Arriving at Seb’s bedside Rosemary went straight to her son, kissing him gently on the forehead.

“Sebastian, darling – it’s Mum,” she whispered, tears dripping onto his face. Al stood up and put his hand on her arm and I realised I shouldn’t be there. I made a gesture to Al that said I would leave them alone and he nodded.

I headed back to the main entrance and found Lizzie outside, on her hundredth fag.

“Oh Stel, that woman’s face – I couldn’t look at her.” She said, shaking her head and sucking hard on the smoke. For a moment, I almost envied her addiction.

“We need to talk to the staff at Sebastian’s restaurant,” I said numbly.

“Christ of course,” she said, “they have to be told.” She was just stepping on her cigarette when her mobile rang. She clicked it open. “Hi. I can’t talk, but I won’t be in today. No. I don’t think I can finish it, sorry. I know it’s really bad timing – I’ll explain later.” She hung up with a sigh.

“Is everything OK?” I said.

“Yup,” she replied shortly. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I didn’t ask her any more, we just climbed into the car and we set off towards the restaurant. The early autumn sun had made the seats warm and we were both silent throughout the journey. Arriving at the restaurant, we could see that Seb’s loyal staff had opened up without him. Candles were flickering on the tables and the restaurant looked busy.

“Stel, What are you going to do about this
Strictly Dancing
stuff?” Lizzie asked, as I turned off the engine and reached for my bag.

“I don’t know Lizzie. If something terrible happens…I couldn’t face it. If Seb’s OK then we’ll still need a business and I think it’s up to me to keep things going until we know.”

“Mmm, I think you’re right. But you can’t do this on your own. Look I will sort it with work and take the couple of days I’m owed after all the bloody long hours I did in Oz.”

“Lizzie, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I said.

“Stella – we’re friends and that’s what friends do. But I have to say, after today we’re both too stressed and tired. What do you say we both have a good night’s sleep then tomorrow after the restaurant’s shut, I’ll come and help you for however long it takes, until the order’s finished?”

“That’s really kind Lizzie. I should start tonight, we’ve only got three more days until the party. But I really want to go home and see Grace,” I said, suddenly seeing a vision of poor Rosemary at her son’s bedside.

“OK. That’s sorted then. You can collect Grace from Emma’s and spend the evening with her, then get an early night. You need it.”

“Yeah. Thanks Lizzie.”

“And why don’t you call Tom and ask him to look after Grace for a few days? We’re almost ready for the
Barry
launch next Monday, so I’m sure he’ll be free.”

So I drove off while Lizzie did the difficult bit of going into the restaurant to tell them the news and to ask Claude, the sous-chef, to take charge until we knew what was happening with Seb.

I broke the news to Grace, who was upset and wanted to see Seb immediately. “I’m sorry darling but he’s very poorly, we don’t know when he’ll be better, but his mum’s with him.”

“Oh well, if his mum’s there he’ll be OK, I’m sure,” she said with a naïve confidence I longed to share.

Later I called Tom, told him the news and asked if Grace could stay with him. “Of course Stella. God that is awful, I’m so sorry. Tell Al I’m thinking of him. Is there anything I can do?”

I was strangely warmed by his response. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do but wait and see. You having Grace is a big help, thank you,” I said.

“Well if I can do anything more, let me know. Are you OK? Would you like me to come round?”

“I don’t think so Tom,” I said firmly, thinking that was all I needed, adding to this emotional mix.

We made arrangements for Tom to collect Grace after school the next day then come to the house and pick up her things. I put down the phone, feeling very alone. I couldn’t talk to Tom so I called Dave; he was still supposed to be my boyfriend, after all and he should know what to say. I dialled his number. It rang, and rang, and rang. I made a cup of coffee, unable to even think about sleep even though I was so tired. I dialled again, but no answer so I left a message. “I need to talk to you,” I wailed down the phone. I put it down and dialled again, but after a fourth time worried that Dave might think I was stalking him. Reluctantly, I stopped calling, turned off the lights and went to bed.

I was awoken the following morning very early by the phone ringing. My heart lifted slightly, thinking it might be Dave, but the shrill, efficient voice on the other end was like a splash of cold water.

“Stella. I need to talk with you re the event.” It was Sangita.

“Sangita, can I just stop you there.” I sat up in bed and shook my head as the torrent of yesterday’s terrible events began to flood into my mind. I slowly explained about Seb’s accident and how we were now waiting for news. Sangita was, well, Sangita.

“Oh I’d like to extend my concern. So sorry Stella. Tell Al the same. Sebastian is a very good businessman – great with money.”

“Yes. He is a wonderful
person
too,” I added, knowing my sarcasm was lost on Sangita, whose admiration extended only to one’s business acumen or accounting skills.

“Now Stella, I don’t want to seem heartless at this time, but I NEED the paperwork. I am in a very difficult position here, we need proof that you operate from Sebastian’s kitchen before we progress any further.”

“Of course, I understand,” I said, thinking about how stupid this all was in the light of what was happening. “I’ll have the paperwork to you soon, I just need a bit more time.”

“Asap, Stella,” she responded sharply, “and I am hoping that all this won’t put a delay on the order. Three days left, I am counting on you.” Then she was gone. Feeling like I’d been slapped I tried to push it all from my mind and called Lizzie to find out if she’d heard from the hospital.

“No change, but he had a ‘comfortable night’ – whatever that means.” I put the phone down and woke Grace, dropping her off at school on autopilot, trying to imagine anyone having ‘a comfortable night’ attached to all those tubes.

I spent most of the day worrying and phoning everyone I could think of while waiting for news from the hospital. I tried to work on the accounts but I was distracted and without Seb, the numbers might as well have been in Chinese. I was relieved when I heard the front door at about 4pm and the sound of Grace’s high-pitched squeal.

“Muuuum! We’re here!” She appeared in the kitchen doorway and rushed into my arms, which felt so good.

“How’s Seb?” she asked.

“He’s still hurt but it may help if we send lots of good thoughts his way,” I said, not really believing it.

“And how are you?” said Tom’s voice. He was walking into the kitchen and smiling at me in the way he used to long ago. I was taken aback.

“I’m OK Tom,” I said tightly, forcing a smile.

I had been unusually organised and packed a bag for Grace, which was waiting in the hall but after a brief discussion about her requirements for several nights at her dad’s she rolled her eyes. “Mum, I NEED these too,” she yelled from her bedroom, dashing around the house, filling another bag with yet more hair scrunchies and lip balms, without which she apparently wouldn’t survive the first night.

With Princess Grace’s bags finally packed to her specifications I walked them both to the front door. “Tom, I can’t thank you enough. I know you have the launch next Monday; I hope it won’t be a problem with the school run.” I said, opening the door.

“Don’t say that, Stella. She’s my daughter too. I love being with her and if I can help you, then, well…”