The Difference a Day Makes (2 page)

‘You do look a bit peaky,’ I tell him, frowning with concern. With that he sags forward and my book and my coffee fall to the floor as I try to catch him. ‘William?’

Alarmed commuters step backwards, forming a small circle of space around him. My husband drops to his knees, clutching at his chest and gasping.

‘Help me!’ I shout, panicking, my eyes scanning the crowd. ‘Help me! Is there a doctor in here?’

Everyone looks at me blankly. Fear grips my stomach. I don’t know what to do.What
can
I do? ‘William.William.’ My husband’s fighting for breath.

‘I’m a nurse,’ a voice says, and a young man pushes his way forward to crouch down beside William, heedless of the spreading puddle of coffee at his feet.

The Tube pulls up at White City.‘This is our stop,’ I say hurriedly.

‘Let’s get him off here.’

We haul William to the door and then half-carry him, shoulders under his arms, to the platform where we lay him down. He continues to gasp, his face turning the colour of putty.

‘It’s his heart,’ the nurse says, opening William’s coat and jacket.

His heart? I want to laugh. It can’t be. Will’s not yet forty-two. Doesn’t he know how fit my husband is? He’s thinking of doing the London Marathon again next year. William would be the last person in the world to have a heart-attack. He must have got it wrong.

‘We need an ambulance,’ the nurse barks at me.
‘Now.’

As I fumble for my mobile, I realise that it won’t work down here. I scan the platform, looking for a member of the station staff and then I break into a run, pushing through the commuters, searching for help while behind me Will lies unmoving on the platform.

 

 

 

I
pace the hospital room, hours later, still in a state of shock. Then I hear a noise from the bed behind me and I turn to see that my husband has stirred. My own heart contracts again as I stare at him. He looks like a snowman, his eyes like black coals that gaze at me from a too-white face. This man, who’s normally so strong and solid, looks as weak as a kitten. I can’t get used to seeing him like this. It’s just not right.

Going to the bed, I squeeze his hand, mindful of the tubes that enter the back of it. His chest is bared, his hospital gown open, and he’s wired up to a heart monitor that beeps steadily now - thank God. ‘You gave me quite a scare there, you silly sod.’

‘Scared myself too,’ William admits. His lips look dry and, as a reflex reaction, I wet my own. ‘I thought the Grim Reaper was knocking at the door.’

‘I know.’ For a while I’d thought that too.

William lets his eyes close again, momentarily. ‘Us Ashursts are renowned for our dodgy hearts, Amy.’ He tries a laugh. ‘Never thought it would bother me though. Assumed mine was as solid as a rock.’

‘It might not be your heart. The doctors say that they’re going to run all kinds of tests on you to see what caused it.’ My husband was whisked straight into hospital and given an initial assessment. They’ve told us that Will didn’t have a heart-attack, that it was simply pain that made him pass out. But we still don’t know what caused the pain in the first place. ‘You’ll be in for a few days yet. But you’re out of danger now.’ I stroke his hair.

‘The consultant asked if I was stressed.’

We both laugh tiredly at that. We’re in television. We juggle two careers, two children and a sprawling house. Of course Will’s stressed. We both are.

‘Have you phoned home?’ he wants to know.

‘I called Maya.’ Maya’s our Bulgarian nanny. She’s been with us for four years now and, frankly, I have no idea what I’d do without her. My life would fall apart in about ten minutes flat. She’s not only fantastic with the kids, but she cooks, cleans, shops, berates tradesmen on our behalf and, generally, assures that our lives run like a well-oiled machine. In return we pay her a king’s ransom, give her a top-of-the-range Audi to drive and constantly beg her not to find a nice man, settle down and have children of her own. ‘I’ve told her not to mention anything to the children yet. I’ll tell them myself when I get home.’

‘You’re not going into work today, surely?’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Gav’s been on the phone already.’ Gavin Morrison - that’s my boss. He’s a BTC man through and through. The show must go on whatever’s happening in your personal life. He wouldn’t let a little thing like a suspected heart-attack stand in the way of his ratings war. Sick staff just don’t feature on his radar. ‘I rang in to say what had happened and that I’d be back tomorrow if all was well. We’re recording three shows back-to-back today. He’s begged me to go in just to make sure everything’s on track.’

‘Can no one else do it?’

I shrug.‘You know what it’s like.’We don’t have enough people to do the jobs that are required already.

Will puffs out his agreement. ‘Only too well.’

‘I’ve got so much to do.’

‘That’s nothing new.’

‘No.’>

The host of
Sports Quiz
is an ex-footballer who now runs a hotel with fishing rights in Scotland and we have to make the most of him when he reluctantly tears himself away from his country pile and comes down to London to record the programme. He’s the ultimate professional and is a joy to work with, but it means a crazily busy day for everyone concerned - including me.

‘You look all in,’ my husband says. ‘It’s been a shock for you too. Why don’t you go straight home and put your feet up for the day? Tell them to stick it.’

Stick it? That’s not like Will at all.

‘Or you could jump in the bed next to me?’ he suggests.

Smiling, I tease, ‘There’s nothing much wrong with you.’

‘Bravado, I’m afraid,’ he admits with a sigh.

The thought of going home and putting my feet up for a couple of hours is very tempting, but how can I possibly leave Will like this? I do feel shaken, all sort of shivery and uncertain inside.

My phone rings again and I grab for it before the nurse hears it as I’m not supposed to have it on in here. It’s my boss again. ‘An hour,’ he pleads. ‘Just come in for an hour.’

If there’s any day that I really can’t afford to miss work, then it’s today. I chew at my lip. I know how pushed my staff will be without me.‘I’ll do my best,’ I say.‘But I can’t promise.’ Gavin will just have to put up with that. I hang up.

William catches me glancing at my watch. ‘Go on,’ he says with an unsteady exhalation of breath. ‘Go and give the good old BTC their pound of flesh. You know that Gavin won’t let you rest until you do.’

I’m torn with concern for my husband and concern that a dozen other people are depending on me. I called my assistant, Jocelyn, right away this morning to let her know the score and she’ll be holding the fort. And she’s great. But she’s not me. I’d hate for anything to go wrong while I’m not there. My boss wouldn’t have called if he wasn’t worried too. I check my watch again. If I rush, then I could just get there in time for the first recording. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

‘There’s nothing much you can do here.’ My husband takes in his tubes and the array of wires attached to his chest. He appreciates the pressure of my job as his is exactly the same. ‘I’ll just go back to sleep. I’m very tired.’ I hear the catch in his voice.

I lay my head on his shoulder. ‘I hate to see you like this. Just a few days of being poked and prodded about and you’ll be as right as rain, I’m sure.’

He looks at me bleakly. ‘What if I’m not, Amy?’

I laugh at him softly. ‘You will be. Of course you will. You’re the fittest person I know. This is just a wobble. Nothing more.’ I run my thumb over his cheek and he catches my hand and squeezes it. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ll be back at work next week, terrifying all that young talent whose careers you hold in the palm of your hand,’ I joke.

Will’s gaze goes to the ceiling and I can tell that tears are forming which is so unlike him.

‘Close your eyes, darling,’ I tell him tenderly. ‘Get some sleep. The more you can rest, the better.’ I feel terrible for doing this, but I should pop into the studio. Just for a couple of hours, then I’ll come back. ‘I called into the office for you and everything’s under control.’

‘I had a dinner organised for tonight with Marty Moran.’ The new hot stuff on the comedy scene. ‘Can you make sure it’s rescheduled for next week?’

I nod. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

Will takes my hand and kisses it. ‘Just keep loving me,’ he says.

‘Always,’ I assure him. Then he closes his eyes and I wait until his breathing relaxes and he’s asleep. Then, giving a last glance to check that his monitor is still beeping steadily and feeling as guilty as hell, I steal away.

 

 

 

‘
H
e works too hard,’ my assistant tells me. ‘You both do.’ ‘We love our jobs.’

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Jocelyn chides, gripping her clipboard tighter as she moves out of my rightful place at the production desk. It seems as if none of the team expected me to turn up today, just my boss. ‘You should be at the hospital.’

‘I know. I know. Gavin phoned and begged me to come in.’

Jocelyn purses her lips. Her look says that he should have left me alone. Perhaps he should, but we’re all under pressure here.

‘Go back,’ she says.

‘I’m here now. Besides, I can’t do anything there,’ I insist. ‘Will was fast asleep when I left. That’s all he needs - some rest. He’s going to be fine. Really, he is. He’s as fit as a flea. They think it might just be stress or something.’ I try to console myself with the fact that my husband has a team of experts on hand to jump to attention should one of the myriad machines he’s attached to utter a single bleep in the wrong place.

‘This is a warning,’ Jocelyn continues, warming to her theme. ‘Look at the hours you both put it. It’s ridiculous. Perhaps you need to slow down.’

If Jocelyn is trying to make me feel old and inadequate then it’s not working. Both Will and I thrive on pressure. Or at least I thought we did.

I look out from the gallery. The studio audience are currently taking their seats ready for the warm-up comedian to work his magic on them. ‘Shall I send this lot away then?’ I wave my arm towards the crowd of people for my assistant’s benefit. ‘Just say I’m sorry, can’t do this today - other, more pressing things on my mind.’

Jocelyn scowls at me. The two opposing panels of famous sports people are currently enjoying the hospitality of the BTC in its most salubrious green room. My very next job is to check on them all. Make sure that they’re happy. Some of them enjoy their celebrity status more than others and we see our fair share of diva-like behaviour.

‘
I
can manage,’ Jocelyn says.

I’m sure she could. My assistant is a very ambitious woman and would love the chance to prove herself in my job. But Gavin made it very clear that it was me he wanted at the helm today and like a fool, here I am.

‘Good grief, Amy, people would understand. I know we all like to think that we’re irreplaceable, but we can cope without you for a few days. Your husband’s ill.’

‘He’s fine. The doctor said it was just a wobble. A minor wobble.’ The doctor didn’t
actually
say that, but I’m sure that’s what he really meant.

She huffs at me. Neither of us are ever ill. I can’t think of the last time either Will or I took a day off work due to sickness. Even if the kids are unwell, Maya deals with it. That’s how it has to be. Both Will and I are at the top of our tree - and we didn’t get here by taking a day off when we had a cold. We have to be single-minded and focused. William understands why I have to be here even if, in my heart of hearts, I’d rather be sitting next to his bedside watching him sleep, making sure that he really is all right. This place is in our blood. We don’t have any choice. We’re dedicated professionals. He’d be mortified if he thought I was letting people down because of him. That’s just how we are.

‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’ I smooth back my hair. ‘The sooner we finish recording, the sooner I can get back to the hospital.’ Today I have to squash down all of my problems and get on with the job in hand. My stomach starts to clench with nerves as the clock ticks down, but that’s part of the buzz that I love. That’s what keeps me coming back for more. I might be a wife and mother, but I’m also Amy Ashurst, television producer and adrenaline junkie. That’s me too.

 

 

 

W
e finally wrap the last of the three shows at about ten o’clock and I can leave for the night.All three programmes, apart from the usual minor retakes for fluffed lines, have gone without a hitch.Would that have happened if I hadn’t been here?

We do have nights where the guests forget to turn up, turn up two hours late or, even worse, turn up drunk - but thankfully, this wasn’t one of them. Despite being here physically, my mind wasn’t entirely on the job and I snatched a phone call to the hospital every time I could, just to make sure that Will was still okay. According to the nurses, he’s slept most of the day away, which I’m sure has done him the power of good. He’ll be back to his old self before we know it.

‘We’re all going to Bar Oscar,’ Jocelyn tells me. ‘Don’t suppose you’re coming?’

Shaking my head, I say, ‘Not tonight.’ Ordinarily, I wouldn’t miss a chance to socialise with my team. They’re a good bunch, fun to be with. We like to hit the hot spots together at least once a week. It’s one of the reasons we all work so well together. ‘I’m going straight back to see how Will is.’

‘Give him my love,’ my assistant says.

I make sure that I say my goodbyes to our star presenter and the guest athletes, then I phone a driver and get the car to take me to the hospital.

In the car on the way, I call Maya.

‘I put the children in bed at their usual time, Amy,’ she says. ‘I didn’t think that you’d want them to wait up for you.’