Sweet Temptation (14 page)

‘I was a bit nervous about going to the FatBusters class,’ I heard her say then. She sounded terrified now, let alone ‘a bit nervous’. ‘I felt . . . embarrassed, like everyone would be looking at me. But do you know what? I enjoyed it. Everyone was really friendly and supportive, and so far I’ve lost two pounds.’

‘Go, girl!’ Collette interrupted with a whoop. ‘So that’s two down – how many to go, Maddie?’

The evil old witch. That was plain rude. You didn’t ask a woman a personal question like that on the radio. You just didn’t.

When the reply came, I could almost hear Maddie’s gritted teeth. ‘Let’s just say “a few to go”, Collette,’ she managed to get out, pretty coolly, I thought, given the circumstances. ‘But I’ve joined a gym, too, and after rather a shaky start I’m enjoying working out there. Yes, I’m overweight,’ she said, sounding as if she were rallying herself now. ‘Yes, I’ve let myself go over the years – I’m a busy mum, trying to juggle work, children, housework, everything else. Looking after myself hasn’t exactly been my number one priority, it’s true. But I feel ready to change that. I’m really going to make a go of it this time.’

Yay, Maddie!
I felt like cheering out loud for her. She was so dignified, so calm in the face of Collette’s unpleasantness. Even Collette seemed a little taken aback by the rousing reply.

‘Right,’ she said, somewhat hesitantly. ‘Well . . . good for you, Maddie. And if
she
can do it, so can all you lovely Brummies out there! Do phone in with your diet and fitness advice, any beauty tips you want to share with us, in fact, anything at all you’ve got to contribute to our Make Birmingham Beautiful campaign. Here’s the new one from Will Young. We’re back in five.’

I found I was smiling as the music seeped from the speakers. Maddie had played a blinder! And thank goodness Collette hadn’t said anything about pictures of
her
being on the website, for all to gawp over – I’d been dreading that on Maddie’s behalf. I got out my phone and sent her a text.

U rock, DJ girl! U sounded gr8, well done. Proud of ya!

Then, just for good measure, I emailed the station too.

Just wanted to say ‘Keep up the good work’ to Maddie. It was inspiring to hear a fellow dieter speak so eloquently. Go, Maddie, Birmingham is right behind you!

I really was proud of her. And when Patrick came back and offered me the choice of a white chocolate Magnum or a Strawberry Split, I went for the Strawberry Split and was pretty proud of myself, too.

I was just starting to think Sexy Joe was a) ignoring me b) out of the country or, worst of all, c) head over heels with some gorgeous chick and therefore no longer in need of the agency’s services, when at long last an emailed reply arrived. Ping!

From: Joe Smith

To: Lauren@LoveHearts

Re: Party time!

Cheers, I’ll be there. Joe.

Twang!

Okay, so obviously he hadn’t sweated over the nuances and the flirtation quotient as I had in the original invite, but hey. Who cared? He was a bloke, after all, and actions spoke louder than words. More to the point, he was coming to the speed-dating night. Whoopee! This was going to be fun.

Chapter Eight

The Apple of her Eye

Maddie

‘Darling! I heard you being interviewed on the show, and you were wonderful! So clear and articulate! Is this a new career path, I wonder?’

I couldn’t help a chuckle at my mum’s words as they gushed down the phone line. I’d just got back from work, and, truth be told, I was feeling pretty chuffed myself with how the radio piece had gone, despite that momentary blankness of mind I’d experienced at the start. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said. ‘I enjoyed it once I got going.’

‘I could tell! You sounded so passionate, so determined. Good for you, darling. You’ll be taking over from that horror Collette at this rate, you wait.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t know about that,’ I said. ‘I felt sick when I first had to speak into the microphone. I’m already stressing about the next time I have to do it. She wants to run this campaign all summer, she said afterwards. I reckon it’s her way of blagging a load of freebie beauty treatments, personally. Mind you . . .’ I hesitated, considering whether or not to boast a little and decided yes. If you couldn’t blow your own trumpet to your own mum, then who? ‘I think it got a good response. Some listeners actually phoned in and emailed the station afterwards, wishing me well, and saying nice things about the piece. It really made my day.’

‘And well deserved,’ Mum told me. ‘You sounded like a professional from where I was sitting. Honestly, the way that Collette spoke to you, I was livid! If I ever see her out in town, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back from slapping her round the face.’

‘Mum!’ I said chidingly, although part of me secretly thought that this would be a fantastic thing to happen. I would enjoy a little daydream about that scenario next time Collette started dishing out the grief.
Wait till I tell my mum . . . she’ll wallop you!
‘How are you, anyway?’ I asked. ‘Have you been back to the doctor yet about those headaches?’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said instantly. ‘Goodness, you’re as bad as Gerald for badgering me about the doctor. Nothing to worry about. How are the kids? Have they finished school yet, or is tomorrow their last day?’

She was terrible, my mum, for veering off track if she wanted to avoid a topic of conversation, so I ignored the blatant subject-change.

‘Mum – are you
sure
you’re okay?’ I persisted. If Gerald was on her case too, then it had to be serious, I reasoned. Gerald usually lived in Gerald-world, rarely noticing what those around him were doing or feeling.

‘Just a little tummy bug. Nothing major,’ she said firmly. ‘But hearing your voice on the radio gave me such a boost, I feel much better now.’

‘Hmmm,’ I said, not entirely convinced. I hadn’t heard anything about this tummy bug until now. ‘Well, you take it easy, won’t you? Promise?’

‘Darling, I am quite all right,’ she said, sounding exasperated. ‘Stop going on at me. Now, you just forget about me and have a lovely holiday. I hope this weather holds. And you’ll all have to come round for dinner when you get back.’

‘That would be great,’ I said, my mind flicking to the mountain of washing I needed to sort out and pack before Saturday morning. It was the end of the school term tomorrow and then we were straight off to South Wales for ten days. ‘Take care of yourself, Mum, and we’ll see you soon.’

‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘And Maddie,’ she added quickly as I was on the verge of hanging up, ‘I love you so much. Bye now.’

I put the phone down with a nagging feeling that something was wrong, but the endless to-do list of pre-holiday tasks was jumbling up my mind, and I couldn’t quite think clearly. I turned out to be right, though. Something
was
wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

We’d booked a holiday home in Mumbles for a fortnight and I’d been looking forward to it for ages. Sometimes the day-to-day ground me down and I would become so caught up in washing and cleaning and work/school routines that it was easy to forget all the good stuff about family life – spending proper time together, silly in-jokes that became family catchphrases, appreciating how our children were growing up into such nice people, how lucky I really was.

The cottage was dinky and pretty ramshackle, but it had a sweet sunny garden, and we discovered a Swingball set in the little shed. Paul and I sat out in deckchairs holding hands on the first afternoon as we watched Ben and Emma laughing and shouting about becoming summer Swingball champions. The sun descended gradually through the perfect blue sky and I felt a great happiness swamp me. All the stress of work and school runs and trying to lose weight suddenly seemed to lift off my shoulders and evaporate into the warm evening. We were here on holiday for twelve whole days – it felt blissful.

I raised my glass of Diet Coke in Paul’s direction and smiled at him. ‘Cheers,’ I said. ‘I think it’s going to be a great holiday.’

And it was – to begin with. We had two glorious days on the beach, kids racing joyfully in and out of the sea, both so confident now that they could dive under the waves and body-surf back to the shore.

Then, on Tuesday, it poured with rain all day, bucketing down ceaselessly.

‘Holiday’s over,’ Paul joked, shaking himself like a dog when he came in after getting the newspaper from the corner shop. ‘That’s it now, we’ve had our ration of sunshine.’

Two minutes later, my phone rang. Caller: unknown. ‘That had better not be work,’ I grumbled, taking the call. ‘Hello?’

‘Maddie, it’s Gerald,’ came his voice. He sounded strange, more clipped than usual. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’

I had just got out a huge thousand-piece jigsaw of a country house to start with the children, but his words gave me such a start that I managed to knock the box to the floor, and its cardboard fragments scattered everywhere. Dread coursed through me and for a second I could hardly speak. ‘Wh-what is it? Is it Mum?’

‘Yes.’ The line crackled and I gripped the phone closer to my ear.

‘I’m so sorry to be telling you this on the phone, but . . . There’s no nice way to say it. Sit down, Maddie. It’s bad news. Anna’s in hospital. She’s had a seizure and they’re doing some tests.’

‘A seizure?’ I echoed. ‘What, like a fit?’ My legs gave way beneath me and I sagged into a chair.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’s been throwing up the last few days, and then this morning, she just . . . She just started shaking all over and lost consciousness. I called an ambulance, and we’re at the Queen Elizabeth now. She’s come round, but . . .’

‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘Was it a stroke? Has she had a stroke?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘She’s had an EEG test on her brain activity and now they’re doing a brain scan—’

‘Oh my God,’ I said again. I felt as if I were falling down a hole. ‘Oh my God.’

‘I know you’re on holiday, but I thought you should know,’ he went on. He sounded terrified.

‘Thank you. I’m on my way,’ I said wildly, feeling as if I might faint. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m coming.’

‘I will,’ he replied.

Everything seemed to blur after that. I was weeping and shaking, hardly able to get the words out to explain to Paul what Gerald had said. I do remember crouching down, trying to pick up all the jigsaw pieces, feeling that it was vital we found every single one. Emma came and sat next to me, trying to comfort me with her little arms around me, but I barely noticed. I kept seeing images of Mum, my super-smart, glamorous and beautiful mum, having a seizure and being rushed to hospital. The thought of her frightened and in pain was just unbearable.

Paul took charge. He was wonderful. ‘Leave the jigsaw,’ he told me. ‘It’s not important. Let’s just grab a few things and go.’

Ben was crying too. ‘Is Granny going to die?’ he asked, looking stricken.

‘Your granny’s made of tough stuff,’ Paul said gently. But the anxious light in his eyes betrayed his words. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking my hand. ‘Let’s get you in the car.’

It rained solidly all the way back to Birmingham – the motorway grey and miserable, the wipers hissing as they jerked back and forwards, cars aquaplaning in great sprays of water. I couldn’t stop shivering, my mind a tangle of prayers and pleas.
Oh God, just let her be all right.

I couldn’t imagine her not being there – she had always been everything to me. Since my dad had buggered off, it had been the two of us against the world. She was my best friend and confidante, the one person who was truly always on my side. She
had
to be all right, she just had to be. I knew that she’d been under the weather with these headaches, but this sounded way more serious than a headache. I didn’t want to think about what the doctors might say.

‘Here we are,’ said Paul, pulling up outside the hospital.

I blinked. I hadn’t even noticed we’d come off the motorway. ‘Right,’ I said, trying to pull myself together. I had to stay strong for my mum’s sake; I mustn’t let on how frightened I was.

Paul dropped me at the outpatients entrance while he went to park. ‘I’ll find you as soon as I can,’ he said.

I nodded. The rain was pouring down on me, and I felt as if I was in a horrible dream. Any second now, I’d wake up in a cold sweat and everything would be all right. Any second now, I’d be back in my real life, where things like this didn’t happen.

I waited a moment, but it all stayed frighteningly the same. I walked into the hospital, trying to dredge up some courage.
Everything will be all right
, I told myself.
Everything will be all right.

‘So, tell me.’ I gripped her hands – her beautiful, shapely hands that utterly belied her age. ‘What did they say? And don’t give me that “I’m fine” rubbish any more. Just tell me.’

Her eyes weren’t sparkling as they normally did. She looked haunted and pale as we perched on plastic seats in the waiting area outside some consultation rooms. She held herself very straight as she spoke. ‘Well, I’m practically a pincushion now, darling, I’ve had so many blood tests,’ she said, showing me the small pink plasters dotting her arms. ‘But I think it’s going to be the waiting game for a while longer. The scan results will be sent to Dr Brooks, and she’ll get in touch.’ She shrugged. ‘A few days or as long as a fortnight . . . Your guess is as good as mine.’

I felt she was holding something back. ‘But . . . what do they think is wrong with you? What caused the seizure?’

She looked down at her hands, entwined with mine, and hesitated. Then, as she opened her mouth to reply, I heard voices, and Paul and the children barrelled around the corner.

‘There you are,’ said Paul. ‘How are you feeling, Anna?’