Chapter 68

Chapter 68

Emma

No Flowers

Emma can hear voices but cannot open her eyes. It seems like something is pressed over them. She thinks she hears Betty's voice, but it can't be her. This woman is trying to say something in French. She knows Betty is in the garden centre with Les, where they only speak English.

She is swimming upwards but cannot break the surface. Voices bubble through the water that seems to fill her ears. She tries to listen to the words, focus on each one in turn. The more she listens, the more the words take shape and she can string them together to make something of them in her mind.

The man is speaking in English with a French accent. She thinks of Philippe and of striped towels by a swimming pool.

‘Your friend has an injury to her head and her blood pressure is not good. That could be to do with the fall, but we are wondering why she fell in the first place. Do you know if she has any health problems?'

Emma wonders who this man is talking about. She thinks she should find out but nothing seems worth that much effort.

Betty answers, which strikes her as odd. ‘As far as I know, she's fine. She has been under quite a lot of strain. She is…' Hours seem to pass. ‘I have noticed she's been looking very pale and dark-eyed over the past few weeks.'

‘Any allergies?' someone says.

‘I don't think so,' Betty replies, ‘but I can't be sure.'

‘Well, there is nothing more we can do now. We are going to monitor her progress and we will be running tests in the morning. We wondered if she may have an underlying heart condition– do you know if there is any history in the family?'

‘Her husband died of a heart attack… No, no, I'm sorry, that's hardly…'

An image of Will walking away floats before Emma's eyes.

‘Her father died of cancer– I believe it was lung cancer. Her mother is still alive. Leave it with me. Oh, goodness… I'll have to try to contact her mother.'

Emma wants to tell Betty that she is doing really well. She sounds so worried. But no words come.

‘That would be helpful,' the man says. ‘Right, we have your details– we will call you if there is any change.'

‘I'm not leaving. I don't have to leave, do I?'

‘No, of course not. It won't be me you will see again, but another doctor will be in in the morning.'

‘What time is it?' Betty sounds bewildered.

‘3.15 a.m. Try and get some sleep.'

Emma does as Betty is told.

Emma knows she is lying on a bed and that the glow from the light in the corner of the room is blue. She supposes it is night for no other reason than because there is no sunshine.

She can see the outline of a person asleep in a chair beside her bed. She tries to turn her head towards them, but the pain makes her gasp. She can just see the top of a curly head and the door to her room that stands half open.

She watches as people walk past the door: some are strangers– doctors she supposes. She knows that much. Sometimes people from her youth pass by; her old Spanish teacher; a friend from college; and then, Roberto in his long white apron. None of these people come in.

She feels no surprise at seeing them, but the people she most wants to see– Will and her father– do not pass by.

Someone is asking where she comes from. She hears Betty answer, so maybe they aren't talking to her. Betty says something about Oxford and the person asks if that is near London.

Later, she hears Betty telling someone where Oxford is. ‘Yes, quite close to London.'

Later. ‘No, it's not in London, but not far away.'

Years later she hears Betty again. She is saying, yes, she lives in London. Emma wonders why she is lying.

She swims in and out of time. When she is submerged, there is nothing; when she breaks the surface, there is heat. Through half-closed lids she can see the open door and the blue light.

Once she wakes in a capsule, machinery all around her.

Sometimes people circle her bed and move her– an arm lifted, a body rolled.

Afterwards, she settles back into the heat, watching the half-open door through lashes that blur her vision. When she sees her mother walk through the door, she knows she must be dreaming.

So she sinks back and lets the darkness take her.

Hours pass; it may be years. She tries to think the sheets off her burning legs, keep their weight away from her body. Nothing moves but the heat pulsing in time with her breathing. Breaths so loud she struggles to catch the doctor's words.

Someone is crying.

Betty.

It is a soft and plaintive sound and makes something within her ache.

She thinks it is the sound of sorrow.

She cannot find Betty to comfort her; she cannot tell her it is all going to be all right.

For she remembers she is woman who no longer believes in happy endings.