Chapter 8

EIGHT

It had all happened so quickly. No warning. In the October, Steve had collapsed at work and been rushed to hospital. Within days they were dealt the devastating blow. Inoperable brain tumour. He had two years. The only part they were thankful for was that Charlotte was away at university, giving them time to try to process the terrible prognosis.

Before that earth-shattering news, they'd been planning how to celebrate their fiftieth birthdays. She'd wanted a party; he'd preferred the idea of a holiday, just the two of them. In the end, they'd booked both. After that awful day, they knew that he was unlikely to reach the date of either of them.

After he'd recovered from the collapse, Steve seemed to rally. For three months, she'd dared to hope that he would defy what the doctors had said. They'd put off telling Charlotte at Christmas. She was in her final year at university and they didn't want her to be distracted. Then Steve wanted to wait until she'd finished her final exams the following July. Joanna didn't agree with keeping it from her, but Steve was impossible to refuse. She knew why. When they told Charlotte, it would become real. He'd have to look his daughter in the eye and see her pain. Would have to acknowledge to himself that he wouldn't see her grow up, get married, have children. All the while they kept it between themselves, a horrible secret, life could continue as normal.

By July, Steve had taken a turn for the worse and their subterfuge became impossible. When Charlotte returned home from her last exam – before she'd even had her graduation ball – she could see for herself that something was badly wrong. When they told her, it felt as if they were giving her a death sentence too.

She'd shaken her head furiously. ‘No. No, Dad. This isn't happening.'

Steve's eyes had shone with the tears he was trying to keep back. ‘It is, baby girl. I'm so sorry.'

She'd looked at Joanna then. ‘They have to be able to do something. They have to be able to operate. Or radiotherapy. Or chemo. Why aren't they doing anything?'

Joanna had tried to explain why it wasn't possible to operate on the tumour because of where it was, but her own words were drowned in tears. ‘We have to be strong for your dad now, love. Like he's always been strong for us.'

But Charlotte had just repeated over and over, ‘I don't want to be strong. I don't want to be strong.' Until Steve had pulled her to him and held her close while her slim body had jacked up and down with her sobs. Over her shoulder, he'd looked at Joanna and mouthed, ‘It'll be okay.'

But it was never okay again.

The day after they told her, unable to be angry with the father she was going to lose, it was Joanna who'd had a thousand difficult conversations. ‘Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have booked all those gigs for the weekends I was home. I would've been here.'

‘That's what your dad didn't want, love. He wanted you to enjoy being with your friends.'

‘But I can see them anytime. I only have a few months with Dad. That should've been my choice. I've just been deprived of that time with him.'

How could Joanna argue when that was the exact same case she'd made to Steve when he'd put it off. Now all she could do was try to ease the pain as much as she could. ‘We just need to make the most of this time, love.'

She'd taken Charlotte into her arms and rocked her like a baby, kissing the side of her head and wishing, so much, that she could take this agony away.

And then, Freddie Knight-Crossley made her daughter's pain even worse.

She still didn't know the details of what had happened that day. All she knew was that, after leaving to speak to him, to seek comfort, Charlotte had come home even more broken than when she'd left. It was all over between them. She didn't want to talk about it. She just wanted to focus on spending time with her dad.

Joanna hadn't pushed her to confide what had gone on, but all the anger she had about the tumour, the impending loss of her husband, of Charlotte being denied her father, now had somewhere else to focus. Whoever said hell hath no fury like a woman scorned had it wrong; the fury of a mother whose child has been hurt is incendiary. If it wouldn't have made Charlotte feel even worse, she would've hunted that boy down and made him know what he'd done to her precious girl at the worst time in her life; the worst time in all of their lives. She would never forgive him.

By that Christmas, Steve had barely been able to lift his head from the pillow. ‘I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry that I'm leaving you.'

She'd shaken her head, trying to avoid his words. ‘No, you're not leaving. You're not going anywhere.'

He'd taken her hand then and she'd felt the weakness in him. Her husband, who'd always been their foundation, always protected them, kept them safe. ‘You and Charlotte need to look after one another.'

It had been difficult between her and Charlotte. She'd tried to be patient. Tried not to tell her that she was well rid of that selfish, entitled boy. But they were both at the end of their rope, both trying to keep their brightest faces for Steve, which meant they saved their short tempers and frustrations for each other. Even though they would flip from biting at one another one moment, then back to tears and apologies at the turn of a switch. At Steve's words, she'd fought to keep the tears back, knowing if she started that she might never stop. ‘Of course, I'll look after her. I'm her mum. But you'll be there, too. You can't give up, Steve. We need you.'

His smile had barely moved his tired face. ‘Okay, love. I'll stay.'

But he hadn't been able to stay and she hadn't looked after Charlotte, had she? If she had, she would've realised that she and Freddie were back in touch. Stopped her from allowing him back into her life. If she'd done that, they wouldn't be in this position now. Back here in this place, where the scraps of her life that she'd tried to pull back together had been ripped apart anew.

Sally came in the door backwards with two takeaway cups of coffee in her hands. ‘It's very kind of Pamela the tea lady to make us something, but I can't drink that slop. Thank goodness the hospital has a Costa now. That's an upgrade from the last time I was here.'

It was no surprise that Sally knew the name of the tea lady already. She'd probably made best friends with half the ward on her way back with the coffee. Joanna accepted the offered cup, its warmth comforting in her hands. ‘Yes, there's an M&S Food, too.'

Sally took the lid from her coffee and blew on it. ‘I clocked that. I'll pick us up a sandwich later. The hospital is going upmarket.'

It was so good to have her here. ‘How long can you stay? Will you need to get back to Harry and Graham tonight?'

‘No. I think it'll do them some good to be without me.'

Sally's tone had changed. She sounded tense or irritated. Joanna was surprised. ‘Why's that?'

But Sally just shook her head. ‘Oh nothing. Just ignore me. Maybe it's me who needs a bit of a break. I'm sorry that I snapped at you on Saturday.'

Though they'd been friends since school, Joanna and Sally had rarely had a cross word. Their personalities interweaved so seamlessly that there was no need for conflict. But Joanna's thoughtlessness over the phone on Saturday had provoked a strong reaction in her best friend.

They'd been talking about Charlotte. Joanna was upset that things had been so strained between them since their argument in the hallway. There'd been text messages back and forth but they'd been functional rather than friendly. And neither had apologised or tried to make amends.

‘You need to call her.' Sally had been adamant. ‘You haven't got Steve here to smooth it all out between you.'

Though she was right, it was the reminder of what she'd lost that'd made Joanna less than tactful. ‘That's easy for you to say. You don't know what it's like. I'm worried about her every hour of every day.'

There'd been a pause at the other end. ‘I don't know what it's like to worry about a child?'

Joanna had known she'd been tactless, but she was still cross. ‘Of course I'm not saying that. But you know where Harry is. He's not out there hanging around with who knows what.'

Sally's raised voice had come as a shock. ‘Believe me, I would much rather be worried about Harry's choice of girlfriend than how the hell he's going to navigate the real world. You don't know how lucky you are.'

‘Lucky? Lucky? Did you remember that my husband just died?'

‘Of course I remember. I was there. But you need to start looking at what you've got, Joanna.'

She wasn't sure who'd hung up first. But she remembered sitting there shaking, staring at the phone and wondering what the hell had caused the two of them to speak to each other like that.

Now she reached for her friend's hand. ‘I'm sorry, too. You were right. I should've looked at what I have. My beautiful daughter. Over the years, I got so used to Steve making it better when Charlotte and I had a falling out that I've forgotten how to do it. And I feel like such an awful friend for what I said. I know how hard it's been for you and Graham looking after Harry.'

Sally frowned into her coffee cup. Was Joanna being oversensitive or was something else going on here? ‘Yes, well. That's a conversation for another day.'

They sat and sipped their coffees, either side of the bed. Sally had sat with her like this for days after Steve's death. Not leaving her side for a moment. She'd brought Harry with her to stay at Joanna's house. He'd looked for Steve – one of his favourite people – each day until he'd finally understood that Steve was gone. Joanna had felt as bewildered by his absence as Harry was. Steve had been the linchpin in that house, their family. He was the one who made everything work. She needed him as much as oxygen right now. ‘What do you think Steve would say if he was here?'

Sally's face softened into memory. She'd loved Steve almost as much as her own husband. The four of them had been such good friends. ‘I think he'd be telling one of his stories. You know those awful ones he'd tell the kids when they were little. With bodily functions and crazy animals who did the most ludicrous things?'

The memory of his animated face – the children screaming with delight at the naughty animal characters he'd invent – brought a smile to Joanna's face that almost hurt her cheeks. ‘I used to tell him off about those. I'd imagine Charlotte going into school and reciting them and then me getting a call from social services.'

Sally's laugh was soft. ‘Do you remember Vampire Rabbit and his murderous sprees?'

Joanna groaned. ‘Don't remind me.'

‘The kids loved them though, didn't they? Harry used to roar with laughter.' She sighed and frowned at her coffee. ‘Steve was so good with Harry.'

All kids had loved Steve. There was something childlike about him that they just gravitated towards. He was safe. Kind. They knew they could trust him. ‘I wish he was here now.' Her voice wobbled but her eyes seemed to have run out of tears.

Sally reached across the bed for her hand. ‘Me, too, Jo.'

A wave of loneliness washed over Joanna. ‘It's not right. Losing Steve was the worst thing that ever happened to me. How can it be fair that this has happened to our daughter only a year later?'

Sally rubbed her thumb over Joanna's hand, her voice was gentle. ‘Yeah, life isn't fair. But she's a fighter. Like her dad. She'll come through this, Jo. She will. Give her time.'

Joanna wanted to believe that, she really did. But Sally hadn't seen the expression on the doctor's face. Hadn't heard the tone of his voice. She had to be strong though. Like Steve would've been if he was here. ‘I was googling cases last night. People who've been in comas and come around.'

Sally squeezed her hand before letting it go and sitting back in her chair. ‘There you go then. And if they can do it, you can bet that Charlotte will.'

She was right. There was nothing to be gained from thinking the worst. They had to be positive. ‘Can I take you up on your offer of going to the house and getting me some fresh clothes? I think I'd feel better if I could get out of these gardening trousers.'

Sally stood immediately. She was like Steve: a doer. Never happier than when they had a job to do. ‘Of course. Just tell me what you need and give me your door key.'

Not knowing how long she was going to be staying here, Joanna wanted to be prepared with enough things to last her. While Joanna described and explained where to find them, Sally wrote a list on her phone of the clothes that she wanted her to bring, then looked at her with a frown. ‘Don't you want something more comfortable than that? Jogging bottoms, maybe? Leggings?'

Joanna shook her head. ‘I don't own jogging bottoms and, as for leggings, I want to look smart. I want to look like me when she wakes up.'

What would she give right now to have Charlotte roll her eyes at her mother's insistence that appearances matter? That people judge you, and treat you differently, because of what you wear and how you look and where you come from. Until she'd shared with her why it was so important, Charlotte hadn't understood how deeply it mattered to Joanna. Maybe that was a good thing. Protecting her from experiencing that pain had been her driving force since Charlotte was born. Although she couldn't help but wonder if she'd got that wrong, too.

Sally held up her hands to give in. ‘Okay. Whatever you want.'

Once she was gone, the silence crept back in the door. Joanna cleared her throat with a cough and made her voice as strong and as upbeat as she could manage. ‘We've just been talking about your dad, love. And those crazy stories he used to tell you. Do you remember?'

The only response was the sound of the ventilator, but she forced herself to continue. ‘Well, we'll have to remember them, won't we, so you can tell your little one when he or she arrives. You'll have to do them because I can't remember all the voices. I think I'll stick to the Each Peach Pear Plum book. I know how to read that one.'

The coffee in her hands was cold now, but it still soothed the tightness of her throat. Though she'd promised to try and stay positive, here – on her own – it was so hard. Maybe when Sally brought her clothes, when she'd had a shower, she might feel a bit stronger. When a nurse came to do the checks, she took the opportunity to go and splash some cold water on her face at least.

In the bathroom, there was a young mum helping her daughter to wash her hands. The little girl watched as her mother waved her own hands under the automatic soap dispenser, then followed her lead. It seemed like yesterday and forever ago that Charlotte was that small. When she was little, she wanted to be just like Joanna, even liking them to dress the same. But then teenage hormones had got their claws into her and, almost overnight, everything that Joanna did was wrong.

The hand dryer roared into action and the little girl jumped back. Her mother took her hand and held it in hers under the dryer, showing her that there was nothing to be afraid of. All Joanna had wanted was to make Charlotte's life easier and better. Maybe she didn't get it right all the time, but she'd only ever wanted the best for her.

She waited for the little girl and her mother to leave before splashing some cold water on her tired face. Her eyes seemed to have aged another decade in the last twenty-four hours. Not wanting to leave Charlotte alone, she shook her hands under the dryer only a couple of times before hurrying back to her room.

When she got there, the door was ajar. Expecting to see the nurse checking Charlotte's blood pressure and oxygen saturation, Joanna was surprised to see someone else standing just inside the room, staring at her daughter. A young man. Not only were they not in any kind of uniform, but they were wearing a hooded jacket and trainers, like they were on the way to the gym. Who the heck was it?