The Cherry Tree Cafe (21 page)

Still she refused to budge.

‘I’m scared, Elizabeth,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t want to go in there on my own.’

Frustrating as it was, I did understand her reluctance to move. Dad’s own father had died in this hospital after a massive stroke that no one had seen coming and I knew that she was
terrified that Dad was facing the same fate. I was terrified too, but knew I wouldn’t be any use to anyone if I gave in to my fears.

Eventually we squeezed into a space and I reached into my bag for my mobile.

‘Are you going to phone Jemma?’ Mum asked. ‘Let her know what’s happened?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m just turning my phone off before we go in. There’s no point phoning anyone until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Come on,’ I
said firmly, ‘let’s go and find him.’

Mum shook as we entered the hospital and I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders in a moment of strange role reversal. She was deathly pale and clearly terrified. Obviously, for
now at least, I was the one in charge.

‘We’re looking for Mr Dixon,’ I told the nurse behind the reception desk. ‘He came in in an ambulance a little while ago. I’m his daughter, Lizzie Dixon.’

‘If you take a seat, Miss Dixon, I’ll see what I can find out.’

‘Thank you,’ I smiled, desperate not to be a nuisance in this place filled with Sunday sports players and their oddly angled limbs and pained expressions. ‘Come on,
Mum.’

Two plastic cups of grey tea later and we were still waiting. Some of the colour had come back in Mum’s face and she had laid my jacket over the back of her chair.

‘I don’t know if this waiting is a good or bad thing,’ she said yet again.

I nodded but didn’t comment. My thoughts had drifted back to the house and the dining table set for Sunday dinner. Ordinarily she would have been fretting over the wasted food and dirty
dishes but she hadn’t uttered a word even if she had thought about it. I was beginning to feel as concerned for Mum’s welfare as Dad’s.

Any stranger privy to my thoughts would have doubtless been puzzled; a woman showing concern for her husband’s health was only to be expected. A certain level of fear and trepidation was
only natural, wasn’t it? Well, yes, but this was my mother I was dealing with and at times there appeared to be very little of anything ‘natural’ about her at all.

‘Mrs and Miss Dixon?’

‘Yes!’ Mum and I chorused together, jumping up.

‘The consultant will see you now.’

I gave Mum’s arm a reassuring squeeze and we followed the nurse through the labyrinth of corridors to a sparse but spotless room.

‘Good afternoon, my name is Mr Hanif. Please, take a seat.’

I sat in the chair next to Mum, a lump the size of a golf ball forming in my throat as she took my hand and held it tight
in her own.

‘Your husband is currently having a scan, Mrs Dixon, then he will be taken up to the Bluebell ward.’

I heard Mum let out a long slow breath. The relief in the room was palpable and I knew then that like me, until that very moment, Mum hadn’t been sure that Dad had survived the
journey.

‘He has suffered a transient ischemic attack,’ Mr Hanif explained, ‘or more simply put, a mild stroke.’

Mum squeezed my hand again and gave me what could only be described as a grateful look. Noticing the gesture, Mr Hanif added, ‘Your daughter did the right thing, Mrs Dixon. She called the
ambulance straightaway. In situations like this, timing is crucial.’

‘Yes well,’ said Mum, clearing her throat, ‘she’s a very clever girl.’

It was horrid seeing Dad lying in a hospital bed. He looked tired and pale and disconcertingly old as Mum stroked his head and planted a tender kiss on his lips. For a second I
had to look away. My parents had never been demonstrably affectionate and this intimate exchange was more shocking than Mum’s earlier acknowledgement that I had done the right thing by
calling the ambulance.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

‘Not too bad,’ Dad croaked, ‘tired, but otherwise not too bad. I’ve still got a bit of a headache but everything seems to be working OK. On balance I think I’ve got
off rather lightly.’

He closed his eyes and Mum moved to the chair at the side of the bed.

‘Why don’t you go and ask where we can get another chair, Lizzie?’ she whispered.

‘I’ll just go and phone Jemma first,’ I told her, ‘let her know what’s happened. You can guarantee the grapevine will have gone into overdrive when the ambulance
turned up.’

‘Pound to a penny they’ll be having a whipround in the pub this afternoon for my funeral flowers!’ Dad chirped up without opening his eyes. ‘Better go and put them out of
their misery, Lizzie. Tell them to raise the flag again.’

Mum tutted loudly but didn’t comment.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I said.

The air outside hit me full in the face and felt a good ten degrees cooler than inside. I shivered as I waited for my phone to wake up then smiled knowingly as half a dozen missed calls and
messages pinged into my inbox.

‘Lizzie!’ Jemma must have had the phone in her hand. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

‘Dad’s had a mild stroke,’ I explained, the seriousness of the situation hitting home as I said the words aloud. ‘Mum asked me round for lunch and I knew he wasn’t
right as soon as I saw him.’

‘Is he OK now?’ she demanded. ‘Is he going to be OK?’

‘I think so,’ I said shakily, suddenly aware that I didn’t really know. ‘We haven’t been told much yet other than that it was very mild. He’s talking and
everything,’ I added to try to reassure myself as much as her. ‘Before I left he was even joking about funeral flowers.’

‘Sounds about right. Do you want me to come to the hospital?’

‘No, we’ll be fine, but thanks. I drove Mum here so there’ll be no problem getting home. I’ll ring you again later.’

I stopped and cleared my throat, close to tears.

‘Well, we’re here if you need us, OK? If there’s anything that any of you need then just ring.’

‘OK,’ I croaked, ‘thanks.’

‘Oh, and Lizzie?’

‘Yes?’

‘I know this is really horrible timing but Ben phoned earlier. He asked if you could call him.’

‘Ben called you or you called him?’ I asked, guessing that she had gone ahead and warned him about what had happened with his mother.

‘Tom called him actually,’ she admitted guiltily.

‘Why did he do that?’ I demanded. ‘He had no right, and why are you telling me this now? I really don’t need to be even thinking about any of this at the
moment.’

‘I know and I’m sorry, Lizzie. We just thought the pair of you should clear the air as soon as possible, but you’re right, I shouldn’t have mentioned it, especially
now.’

Back on the ward the curtains were drawn around Dad’s bed. I lingered awkwardly, not knowing whether to go back in or not. There was nothing to knock on so I just stood, shuffling from one
foot to another; a new spectacle for the rest of the patients to stare at and mulled over whether I could face talking to Ben on top of everything else.

‘Right,’ I heard a woman’s voice ring out, ‘I’ll leave you for a bit, Mr Dixon. Don’t keep nattering on, will you? You need your rest.’

The curtains twitched back along the rails and a nurse stepped out with test tubes of blood rattling around on a tray.

‘Is everything all right?’ I asked. ‘He’s my dad.’

‘Everything’s fine,’ the nurse smiled. ‘You can go back in, but not for too long. I’ve given your mum a list of a few things you might want to bring in for
him.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

If possible Dad looked even paler now and the red rings around Mum’s eyes were a complete giveaway.

‘Jemma sends her love,’ I told them. ‘She said to let her know if we need her to do anything.’

‘That’s very kind of her,’ Mum said graciously, ‘given how busy she is with the Café and everything.’

Ordinarily this would have been the moment she would launch into a bitter rant about my best friend’s inability to control her daughter and how the situation would only get worse now she
was a working mum, but she simply smiled.

‘She’s always been kind-hearted,’ she said. ‘Take the flat, for instance. She could have offered that to anyone, couldn’t she? I dare say she and Tom could have
charged a much higher rent given the location and everything.’

‘I am paying my way,’ I said, feeling slightly nettled that she might think I was freeloading. ‘I do pay rent.’

‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ Mum said mildly, ‘I just meant that it was kind of her to think of you and your situation.’

I felt suitably chastened and realised this subdued vision masquerading as my mum was going to take some getting used to. I looked over at Dad and by the way he raised his eyebrows I could tell
he was equally as shocked. Part of me couldn’t help hoping the change would be permanent, but I knew deep down that she would be back to her old self as soon as his health improved.

‘Right,’ she announced, standing up and passing me my jacket, ‘I think we’ll pop back to the house and get you these things now.’ She waved the list the nurse had
given her. ‘I can’t bear the sight of you in that gown even if it is only for a day or so.’

‘What, this old thing?’ Dad wheezed, plucking at the blue fabric with his healthy arm. ‘I just threw this on!’

Mum shook her head.

‘We’ll be back in a bit,’ she said and kissed him again.

The first thing we saw when we opened the house door was the flashing light on the answerphone.

‘I know exactly who that’ll be,’ Mum said coldly. ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on, Lizzie? I don’t know about you but I could do with a cup of tea and
there’s some cake left in the tin.’

‘What shall I do with the dinner?’ I whispered, pointing at the dining room.

‘Just bin it all.’

‘Even the meat?’

‘All of it,’ Mum nodded. ‘I haven’t got time to worry about leftovers. Oh hello, Jennifer . . .’

I left her to her call and scraped the congealed plates and tureens full of food into the bin. I was so hungry that even the roast potatoes looked appetising despite their soggy state.

‘Well, that hardly matters now, does it!’ I could hear Mum shouting as I dumped the bin bag in the wheelie bin next to the garage which was quite a distance from the house.

‘I don’t care what you tell her! I’ve explained the situation to you; if you can’t understand then that’s your problem!’

I ventured back inside and began to wolf down the cake.

‘Of course I can’t! I’m going to be at the hospital! Who exactly do you think you are, questioning my priorities like that?’

I don’t think I’d ever heard Mum so angry. Not even when Dad attempted to make champagne and the bottles exploded in the cupboard under the stairs.

‘I don’t care whether it’s a mild stroke or a major one! He’s my husband and his health comes first. Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ll resign!’

I was all ears as I poured the tea. Mum was obviously on the phone to Jennifer Summers, bitchy Erica’s mother and leader of every group and committee Mum held dear.

‘Yes, Jennifer!’ she concluded triumphantly. ‘That is my final bloody word! You can stick your sodding coffee morning up your arse!’

She banged down the phone, took one look at my expression and burst out laughing.

On the journey back, Mum sat methodically ticking items off the hospital list.

‘I know they’re only expecting to keep him in for a couple of days,’ she said fussily, ‘but I want him to have everything he needs.’

‘Is this what happened to Granddad?’ I asked, finally daring to voice the question that had been on my mind ever since I realised what was happening to Dad.

‘Oh no,’ Mum said, ‘there was no warning like your dad’s had. One massive stroke and it was all over.’

I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse. Dad had been a very young man when his father died, much younger than me.

‘You and Dad had just got engaged when it happened, hadn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Mum nodded, ‘we had. We hadn’t even set a date for the wedding.’

I guessed that was probably when Mum’s dislike of her soon-to-be mother-in-law set in. Dad was so protective, always visiting and sorting Gran’s problems before ours. That
couldn’t have been easy, suddenly having to share your other half. I adored my gran and was eternally grateful for all the things she had taught me, but seeing her relationship with Dad from
Mum’s perspective gave me a fresh understanding of where her resentment might have sprung from.

‘Of course things are very different now,’ Mum carried on, ‘there are lots of new things they can do. I’ve always dreaded that this would happen, but we’ll
manage.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ I smiled. ’He’s in the best possible hands.’

‘I was wondering if it would be all right if I slept at the flat tonight?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘What?’ I frowned, almost swerving off the road. ‘My flat?’

‘Only if it’s convenient; I don’t really fancy being in the house on my own.’

‘Of course,’ I replied, taking a quick mental tour of the rooms. ‘No problem.’

‘I’m not going to worry about whether you’ve tidied, Lizzie,’ Mum smiled, guessing my thoughts. ‘It’s your home; I’m not going to judge it or you. I
could just do with the company.’

‘Mum’s staying at mine tonight,’ I whispered in Dad’s ear as soon as Mum was out of range, ‘she says she wants the company.’

‘Good god!’ Dad choked. ‘I should have done this a decade ago!’

I bit my lip and tried not to smile. It was good to hear him cracking jokes, even inappropriate ones.

‘I hope you aren’t drying your pants on the radiators, old girl, you know how she hates that! She’ll have your guts for garters!’

‘No she won’t!’ Mum said as she appeared seemingly from thin air; ‘I’ve already told Lizzie that I’m looking forward to seeing the flat. Her housewifery
skills, competent or otherwise, are not my concern. I imparted what knowledge I could, what she has chosen to do with it is up to her.’

She began fussily straightening the blankets and let Dad kiss her hand as I watched on agog.

‘Sorry if I gave you both a fright,’ Dad said, ‘I feel fine now. It’s silly they won’t let me home really.’