Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

The hardest goodbye is the one you never thought you'd have to say.

Joanna's soft knock was answered immediately by a nurse she hadn't seen before. In the room, the lights were low and there was an air of calm which was in direct contrast to the turmoil in Joanna's chest. Covered by only a hospital sheet, Charlotte looked all the world as if she only needed to be shaken by the shoulder to wake and ask her for ‘just five more minutes, Mum'.

The nurse had left the chair close to the bed, ready for her. ‘Once you're settled, I'll take the ventilator off. Then I'll leave you alone together.'

Joanna took a seat and Charlotte's hand. It was warm and soft and she never wanted to let it go. ‘How long will I have with her?'

The nurse's eyes reached out in sympathy. ‘Usually, once someone is taken off the ventilator, they stop breathing in a few minutes. But you can stay with her as long as you like.'

A few minutes? How could she say everything she wanted to say in that time? ‘Thank you.'

Nothing was hurried or cold. The nurse was gentle and kind as she made her way around the bed. Once she got to the ventilator, she looked at Joanna. ‘Are you ready?'

No. She wanted to say. No. I will never be ready for you to take out that tube and watch my daughter take her last breaths. Unable to trust her voice, she nodded.

Gently the nurse slipped the mask from Charlotte's face, then turned the machine off. Those mechanical breaths had been the background music to Joanna's life for the last few days. Without them, the air was totally silent. The only sound was the squeak of the nurse's shoes as she left the room and clicked the door shut behind her.

Music. She'd forgotten to have it ready. She wanted her to hear her favourite music. Fumbling with her phone, she found the playlist Charlotte had made for her months ago and set it to play.

Sitting beside her wasn't enough. It wasn't as close as she needed to be. The time for asking permission was past. She climbed on the bed next to Charlotte and held her daughter in her arms for the last time.

Without the ventilator, she could see the whole of Charlotte's beautiful face. With her forefinger, she traced a circle around it, the way she used to when she was trying to get her to sleep as a baby. Starting at her hairline, sweeping past her eyes, the round of her cheek, down to her chin and then up the other side. Then she leaned in close and whispered across the pillow, ‘You did good, sweetheart. Your baby girl is perfect, just like her mama. She is almost as beautiful as you were. She has your heart-shaped face and the same long fingers. I wonder if she'll be a pianist too.'

Her voice broke and she held her breath for a few moments, trying to regain control. She didn't want her cries to be the last thing that Charlotte heard in this world.

‘It doesn't matter if she doesn't want to play the piano. Or play anything at all. Because she can be anything she wants to be. I know you would tell me that I just need to let her do her own thing. So that's exactly what I'm going to do. You don't need to worry about her. I'm going to look after her for you now.'

She wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but Charlotte's breaths seemed to be getting shallower. Maybe she only had a couple of minutes more.

‘I'm going to miss you so much, my darling girl. But it's okay to go now. Your dad will be there waiting for you. He'll be so glad to see you. Don't the two of you be talking about me like you used to.'

What would she give to see Charlotte roll her eyes at Steve behind her back. To see him laugh at her and then quickly rearrange his face into a faux-serious expression when she turned to face him. How had she not seen each of these moments as the precious gold of life that they were?

Hard as she tried, she couldn't control the tears spilling from her eyes. She laid a hand on the far side of Charlotte's face and pressed her lips into the cheek closest to her. She was still warm. How could she be leaving the world?

‘You can go to sleep now, my precious girl. Just rest. I've got you.'

If it weren't for the baby, she'd want to close her eyes now, too. Close them and never wake up again. But she had to stay. She had to make sure that little girl knew just how incredible her mother was. She'd spend the rest of her life telling her.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there next to Charlotte. After some time, the nurse came and spoke to her quietly, to check that she was okay. It seemed like an appropriate time to go. Still, she stood at the door, terrified to leave. This would be the last time she ever stood in a room with her daughter and she didn't want it to end. For one last time, she tiptoed over to her darling girl and kissed her goodnight.

When she left the ward, Sally was sitting in the waiting area, her own face red where she'd wiped away tears. Her watery smile was a welcome sight. ‘Okay, love?'

‘No.' Joanna's heart squeezed in pain. ‘I don't think I'll ever be okay again.'

Sally held her as she cried, rocking her gently. Down the corridor, two young boys were running and she could hear their mother calling them, telling them to slow down. How could the world still be going about its business? She wanted everything and everyone to stop. Her daughter had died. Nothing should ever be the same again.

Eventually, her body calmed and she sat up. ‘I'm so glad you're here.'

‘There's nowhere else I'd rather be.'

‘Did you want to go and say goodbye? I'm sure it'd be okay?'

Sally shook her head. ‘No. Thank you, but I'd rather remember her the way she was the last time we met. Making me almost wet myself by impersonating the arrogant waiter at our afternoon tea.'

Despite her pain, she had to smile at that. ‘She was a really good mimic, wasn't she?'

‘She was. She was a really good girl.'

This pain was so raw that every word was agony. But thinking and talking and reminiscing about Charlotte was going to be something she always wanted to do, however painful it was. ‘We have to remember all these stories, you know. Because her daughter will want to know all of them.'

‘Oh, I've got plenty. We'll get a book and we'll write them all down. We can ask those nice friends of hers, too.'

Joanna liked that idea. Although that made her think about something else. ‘I'm going to have to organise a funeral. How can I be doing that again so soon?'

Sally shook her head. ‘You don't need to worry about that. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it.'

She was very grateful, but knowing what she wanted was the hardest part of it. She couldn't bear to even think about it.

Sally must've read her mind. ‘But you don't need to think about that today. Today is the first goodbye, the next one can wait.'

She knew exactly what Sally meant. There was never one goodbye when you lost someone you love. When you know you are going to lose them, the goodbye begins. Then the moment they slip away. Then the funeral. And after that, every time you do something without them for the first time – a meal out, Christmas Day, a holiday – you say goodbye again.

‘Thank you, Sally. For everything. For being here. I don't know if I'd still be standing upright without you.'

‘That's what friends are for. You'd do the same for me.'

She was absolutely right. ‘I would. And now I need you to do something else for me. I need you to go home and see Graham. I'm going to be with the baby for the rest of the day until they kick me out of here. And then I'll be back in the morning. You need to go and be with your family.'

Sally was shaking her head from the first sentence. ‘No. I'm not leaving you to go home alone.'

‘You are. Because it's what I want. Please, Sally. Go and see Graham and sort out this thing between you. And then come back. With both of them. I'd love to see Harry. I need one of his hugs.'

Sally's eyes filled. ‘I could do with one of those, too. But I don't want to leave you.'

‘I know that. And I love you for it. But please. Go home tonight.'

Sally took a deep breath. ‘Okay. I will. But if you need me…'

‘I know. I'll be straight on the phone. Now go home.'

Sally picked up the jacket on the chair beside her. Then she wrinkled her nose. ‘Before I go, there's something I need to tell you. While you were in with Charlotte, Freddie's mother arrived. She was coming to visit Charlotte. She said she had a letter to read out to her.'

Sally looked at her, waiting for her to join the dots. ‘A letter from him? From Freddie?'

Sally nodded. ‘I had to tell her what was happening; otherwise I think she would have tried to join you. I'm sorry.'

‘It's fine. Of course you had to tell her.'

Sally took a deep breath. ‘The other problem is that she obviously wanted to know what the situation was with the baby. So, I kind of had to tell her that, too. I'm really sorry, Joanna. I tried to be vague but it was difficult.'

‘It's fine. You've saved me having to tell her. At least she's gone now. I'll deal with her tomorrow.'

Sally pulled a face. ‘I also told her that it'd be better if she came back later, but she said she wanted to see the baby. I think that's where she's gone.'

She'd gone to see the baby? Would they let her in? Joanna knew that she was being unfair, but she wasn't ready to share the baby with her yet. She gathered the broken pieces of her heart and started to jog towards the special care baby unit. ‘I need to stop her, Sally. I don't want her there.'

As she hurried through the corridors, she couldn't help but think that Annabelle had known about this baby longer than she had. Again, she felt the sting of Charlotte keeping the news from her. If she'd known about the baby, might it have changed everything that happened?