Chapter Five PRESENT DAY

Chapter Five

P RESENT D AY

Madeleine paid the cabbie and climbed out on to the pavement in front of Newham hospital. Just the sight of the building was enough to pull memories to the fore that she tried hard to keep buried in the dark crevices of her mind, knowing it did her no good to allow them to surface. They were distracting at best, distressing at worst. Reminders of a time when her whole world had spiralled out of control.

She’d got away from the office as early as she was able and was happy to have arrived before rush hour. All she wanted was to spend some time with Marnie, to confirm she was alive and as well as could be expected, rather than waste minutes sitting in nose-to-tail traffic, knowing she would only stop worrying when she’d seen her mother, spoken to her. She also wanted to be there for her dad. He’d sounded old on the phone, frail in a way that she had never considered before, understanding how a shock like this could do that to a person.

Do you want to the know the sex or do you want the surprise? She shook the words from her mind.

Tan had quietly acknowledged her long digital to-do list and had done so without so much as a hint of dissent. She had left him in no doubt that she wasn’t best pleased with Nathaniel’s revelations. It was a cock-up. It was important to her that she left the Stern project in impeccable shape when she got on that plane to LA, knowing that when it came to her professional reputation, you were only as good as your last commission. Rebecca was demanding, with the highest of expectations, and Madeleine wanted to deliver.

The truth was no matter what she achieved, she always felt she was one wrong move away from being let go and having to return to the bottom rung of the ladder – the ladder she concentrated every day on climbing diligently. Her confidence, when flagging, let her believe her achievements were no more than a fluke and she would, at any moment, be found out and told to get back to the Brenton Park estate where she belonged.

Her plan, although not yet voiced to anyone, was that after LA she would open her own agency. With one more international high-profile project under her belt, she felt that the time would be right. There was a file on her laptop, a secret folder crammed full of ideas, thoughts, and musings; everything from the entwined M and W that would be her gold logo on a navy background, to images of the kind of loft-style premises she favoured, and trusted supplier contact details she had gathered over the years. She collected pictures of colour palettes, stylish images of commercial makeovers that had caught her eye. And her very favourite sub-folder, entitled ‘Frippery’ for photographs of jewel-coloured chandeliers, industrial light switches, the perfect aged patina on a piece of wood, a shell or two – anything that made her heart race with the sheer beauty of the design. It was a dream that had felt a very long way off the last time she had entered this hospital and yet right now, some eight years later, it felt within touching distance.

Inhaling the scent of this wintery afternoon, she watched the streetlamps come on in anticipation of dusk. Hitching her soft bag over her shoulder, she ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at the pale facade. She had always been a bit squeamish when it came to illness – anything medical, in fact – and took a deep breath.

‘Mads!’

She froze on the spot. There were only two people in the whole world who had ever called her that. It was a blast from her past that caused a jolt of anxiety as she turned on her heel. Trina raised her hand in a wave as she walked towards her, holding a punnet of grapes, a bottle of orange juice and a magazine. It hadn’t occurred to her to stock up on goodies for Marnie and even before a word was spoken she felt a little deflated, on the back foot. It had been six months or so since she’d seen Trina last, and that had been a short and uncomfortable encounter on the walkway outside her parents’ flat as she had arrived and Trina was leaving.

‘Hi!’

‘Hi!’

‘I’m just leaving.’

‘Okay, well, see you soon!’

‘Take care!’

‘You too!’

Trina, it seemed, had been as keen to be gone as Madeleine was for her to leave. Their eye contact minimal, tone false, demeanour hurried. That meeting was an indicator of how far they had fallen. And not without poignancy, as it took place on the very walkway they used to run along after school, keen to get to the sofa, share a packet of biscuits and debrief their day. Malted Milks, of course, their biscuit of choice. The same walkway where they would prop each other up when, as eighteen-year-olds, topped up with Bacardi Breezers, they’d arrive home late, trying not to disturb the neighbourhood as they accidentally kicked milk bottles, dropped their keys, and let the front door bang shut behind them, before waking Marnie and Doug with their loud recollections of a night well spent, and Madeleine howled her laughter into the night because everything was funny and the world felt full of infinite possibilities!

As ever, the sight of the woman she had grown up with left her riddled with a range of complex emotions. It was wonderful to see her in some ways, always wonderful; their shared history was often a comfortable place for her memories to idle. This, however, was tinged with an awkwardness at how they had grown apart, chosen different paths, and was a discomfort that was hard to neutralise. Madeleine smiled as broadly as she was able while clenching her fists inside the pockets of her navy cashmere overcoat.

‘Trina, hi!’

‘You off to see Marn?’ Her ex best friend gestured towards the entrance of the hospital with the magazine in her hand.

The old Madeleine would have made a joke – ‘No, I just happen to be loitering outside the very place where she’s laid up right now, probably won’t bother going in ... ’ – but she didn’t, hating how every encounter was now wrapped with a formality that was still, even after all this time, as uncomfortable as it was alien. This girl who had been the sister she had never had, with whom she shared everything.

‘Yes, just arrived. Dad said you were with her this morning when she got ill?’

‘Yeah.’ Trina exhaled through bloated cheeks. ‘It was bloody horrible.’

‘I bet. What happened?’ She wanted the detail.

‘I was already on the bus when your mum got on, and she came and sat next to me. It was lovely to catch up. We just spoke about the usual rubbish, the weather and what have you, then right before the bus got to Mile End, she said she wasn’t feeling the ticket and put her hand on her chest. I asked her if she was okay and she told me she felt sick and a bit light-headed. It was all so quick; I didn’t really know what was happening. Then she stood up, rang the bell, and said she wanted to get off the bus.’

‘Poor Mum.’ She knew what it was like to feel unwell and out of sorts in a public place. It was scary, disorienting, and overwhelming. The memories came thick and fast now, all unwelcome and leaving her feeling a little wobbly.

‘I could tell she just wanted to be outside – to get fresh air or be sick, I wasn’t sure – but she’d gone a funny colour, kind of grey. And then the next thing I knew, she grabbed her chest and sort of toppled backwards in the aisle. She was really sweating and I just started yelling, “Stop the bus! Call an ambulance!” And that was that.’

‘Thank goodness you were with her.’

‘It’s weird, Mads. I haven’t caught that bus in an age.’

‘Marnie said she hadn’t seen you for a while.’ She knew her mum and Trina shared a bus route to and from work, and recalled Marnie mentioning her absence in passing.

‘Yep. They moved me from my regular branch up to one in Woolwich for a bit. But I’m back in the area now, so ...’

Trina, she knew, worked in data administration for a bank. She had always imagined her friend might lead a more adventurous life, do something fun – the girl who used to wear halter-neck tops and short shorts and paint her face in extraordinary designs to go clubbing. Her spirits lifted a little at the thought of the happiest times before the axe had fallen on all she took for granted.

‘You look ...’ Trina eyed her up and down. ‘You look lovely. Fancy! But lovely.’

‘Just come from work.’ This her justification, masking the self-consciousness Trina made her feel, as if drawing attention to her designer labels and well-thought-out ensemble, like she had overdone it or was trying too hard. It bothered her.

‘Me too.’

It might have been her imagination or an over-sensitivity on her part, but she noted the set of her friend’s chin, as she stood with her hair scraped up into a messy knot. Her face still pretty, her skin, once dogged with the acne of youth, now clear, and make-up free. Trina’s whole deportment was that of someone who had vaulted the line from teen to woman, gaining confidence as she did so. A confidence that screamed: This is me! Take it or leave it!

Trina – her very best friend throughout school, who had morphed from someone who was on the edge of erratic, a little unpredictable, to this woman with life etched in her face, who now carried herself with purpose and gave off a vibe that suggested she did not want to be challenged. A woman who was proud of how she looked and how little she seemed to care. Beneath her flared slacks poked the toes of her trainers and just the sight of them was enough to send a throb of discomfort to the balls of Madeleine’s feet, as she teetered in her Jimmy Choos. She envied her that.

‘It’s been a while since I saw you too, mate.’

‘It has.’ She smiled, not sure what else to add. ‘How’s your mum doing?’

‘Oh, all right.’ Trina’s tone was cool. ‘You know, plodding on. One disaster to the next.’ She crossed her eyes in the way she always used to, and it made Madeleine laugh, just as it always had. It was nice, easy – a natural and familiar response, and she was glad of it. These moments were when they healed a little; tiny stitches that helped pull them back together. It seemed there was an unspoken agreement that Marnie being ill was hard enough without any additional drama lurking around the edges.

Madeleine did know what it felt like to plod along – it was how she used to live, putting one foot in front of the other and doing her best to seek out the little pocketfuls of glitter that made the dark days worthwhile. Just as Marnie had taught her. It was precisely this life that Madeleine had wanted to escape: the life of the Brenton Park estate, where her future had felt precarious, economically unstable, and surrounded by people who felt safer telling tales of the past rather than looking ahead. As though the best place they could mentally linger was among the funny and dramatic moments that dotted their memories: the celebrations and events that were markers, highlights in the grey mundanity of their existence. Births, christenings, weddings, funerals, days of high drama or disaster ... times of communal gathering and buffets, and the laughter and tears that accompanied each.

Even thinking of it was enough to make her skin itch! She still, when her thoughts dwelled on all she had escaped, felt the hand of her class boundary, reaching for her throat and squeezing tight. She swallowed.

‘Is she still with her fella?’ Marnie had told her a while back that a man had moved in and that Mrs Watkin seemed keen.

‘Which one?’ Trina rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t bother learning their names anymore. They all look the same, sound the same, and it always ends the same: her crying into her Prosecco, an empty closet with hangers clanging together, and her bank account a few quid lighter. She never learns.’

Madeleine couldn’t imagine growing up in a house like that. It was a state of affairs that was as sad as it was unimaginable to her: a life without the constancy of her parents’ marriage. Marnie, she knew without hesitation, would go and live in a tent with the man she loved.

‘Shall we go in?’ She wanted to get to Marnie.

‘Yep.’

The two walked side by side, through the wide automatic doors and into the foyer of the hospital. They called, waited for, and entered the lift with some of their original awkwardness melted away. Madeleine’s hands unclenched inside her pockets.

‘You look taller.’ Trina observed as the lift juddered to a stop.

‘Heels.’ She kicked up her foot.

‘How the bloody hell do you walk in them all day?’

‘Practice.’ She winked.

‘You got over Zayn leaving yet?’ Trina asked as they left the lift.

‘Nope.’ It made her smile, another reminder of how easily Trina could do this.

A memory came to her now – the two of them sitting on the kitchen countertop in their school uniform, laughing and eating toast with One Direction blaring out of the radio.

‘If you had to marry one of them, which one would you pick?’ Madeleine had laughed.

‘Harry. He’s cute,’ Trina answered without hesitation. ‘What about you?’

‘Zayn.’

This followed by their giggling and embarrassment at a topic that was so grown-up and unthinkable.

‘You’d have cute babies.’ Trina beamed.

‘Urgh!’ The sound she made was almost instinctive. ‘Nope. Never. Not for me.’

And just like that they stopped laughing. It was true that on her life journey she was still very much feeling her way, but when it came to having babies, of this one thing she was certain. The thought was almost repugnant to her. And it wasn’t the babies per se, but more the idea of being tethered, her choices limited, her time not her own, her budget accounted for and her plans curtailed. She’d seen enough examples where she lived of women worn, weary and weeping, as they pushed their snot-nosed bundles along the cold, grey pavements, on the forage for sliced white bread and cheap milk, to know that she wanted more – wanted different.

‘Oh, you say that now,’ Marnie called out, clearly listening in to their chat.

‘Actually, I’ll say that always!’ She felt the flare of conviction in her veins. It irked her; why would no one listen? ‘I know me and I know I don’t want kids.’

‘You can’t know that.’ Trina sided with Marnie, and this irked her even more! ‘You might think you know that, but you don’t know how you’re going to feel in the future. You might meet someone so fabulous who wants kids and they might convince you it’s a great idea. Or you might just change your mind.’

‘I might.’ She curled her top lip. ‘But equally I might not! And I find it really odd how everyone, like everyone , as soon as I say anything about not wanting kids, tries to tell me how I will feel differently when I’m older or how kids are the “best thing that’s ever happened to them!”’ This she aimed unapologetically at Marnie. ‘And I don’t understand why it bothers people so much, why can’t they just accept my decision, my view and say, “Fair enough!”’

‘Because ...’ Trina’s face suggested confusion. ‘Because it’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it?’

‘Who gets to say what we’re supposed to do? God, Trina! Just, no!’

‘All right! All right! Keep your hair on!’

‘Well, it’s just so bloody ...’ She let out a small growl of frustration. ‘So bloody annoying!’

Trina had opened her mouth, suggesting she had more to say on the topic, before closing it again, as if thinking better of it.

It felt simultaneously like a blink and a lifetime ago. Never could she have imagined that in just a few short years from that moment in the kitchen, she would have taken a path that all but excluded Trina from her life, made decisions that came with the toughest of consequences and would be spending her days in a world that was as far from her childhood experience as was possible.

‘This way.’ Trina, it seemed, remembered Madeleine’s appalling lack of navigational skill, and pointed along the corridor, where they walked the linoleum-covered floor.

The ward, when they found it, was a large square room with four beds, each positioned in a corner and with an identical over-bed table and nightstand by each. Pale blue curtains on rails gave some semblance of privacy. Marnie was in the far corner, asleep by the look of things, and tethered to a machine by wires that appeared to be stuck to her chest. On the end of her index finger was a plastic cap with a light on it, this too attached to goodness only knew what.

‘Bless her.’ Trina placed the gifts she’d brought on the over-bed table and spoke softly. Madeleine could only nod, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sight of her mum so incapacitated.

Marnie looked old and small, both aspects that tore at her heart. She only ever pictured the woman upright, robust, laughing – always doing something, active and engaged. The sight of her now was a reminder that Marnie, like everyone, was not invincible. Two of the other three beds were occupied. In the one opposite Marnie, an older lady slept with her head tipped back, her long grey hair cascading over the pillow and the lacy pink edge of her nightgown open to reveal tubes and wires affixed to a machine that beeped in time and seemed to be keeping track of something. In the bed next to Marnie, a woman – in her forties, if she had to guess – was engrossed in her iPad with headphones on, and laughed heartily, as if she were alone. It was the strangest of environments. Three strangers, all in night clothes or gowns, in such close proximity.

Madeleine shivered at the thought of having to spend another night here, remembering how glad she had been to make her exit all those years ago.

‘We should let her sleep.’

‘Yep, shall we sit outside the room?’

She liked Trina’s suggestion and had earlier eyed seats just outside of the door, opposite the nurses’ station. Nerves flared in her stomach. Her and Trina, sitting side by side without the relief of being in transit, of passing through, almost forced to stop and confront the fact that they were estranged. It had been a while.

‘Do you ladies need anything?’ A kindly nurse looked up from the computer screen.

‘Just didn’t want to wake my mum. Mrs Woods?’ Madeleine pointed over her shoulder.

‘Righto. Yes, it’s good she sleeps. I’ll let you know when she wakes up. I can see her from here.’ The nurse nodded through the open doors of the ward.

‘Thank you.’

The two women sat back in the creaking plastic chairs that were about as uncomfortable as they had looked.

‘You seen Jimmy?’ Trina asked, as her cheeks took on a rosy hue, as they had her whole life at the mention of the man. She had done it, brought up the topic that Madeleine had hoped they might avoid. There had been no lead up to it, just bam! Like a gunshot, and just as powerful. His name was out and that was that. It was probably for the best, she figured, to get it over and done with and not let it become a subject they left simmering while both waited for it to boil over. The anticipation in this already charged environment might have been more than either of them could handle.

‘Erm, not for a while, but I hear he’s doing great. Marnie likes to fill me in, of course.’

‘I bump into him occasionally. It’s always the same; he pootles by in his van. Have you seen his van?’ Trina faced her.

‘No. No, I haven’t.’

‘It’s really cool, a beautiful thing. Last time we chatted was when I saw him in Asda. His business is doing so well.’

‘It’s great, isn’t it? Woodwork and stuff. Mum said.’

‘Yes. He’s really clever. The things he makes.’ Trina sighed in the way that someone who was still obviously in awe and smitten would.

Madeleine recalled the stunning pictures Marnie had shown her of ornate staircases, hand-built sash windows, fire surrounds, hearths and more, all posted on his website. His skill was a gift and his patient nature, she was certain, an aid to his art. It was the kind of craftsmanship that she appreciated both personally and professionally. Maybe she’d pop his details in her secret contacts file for her new business venture.

‘He was always smart at school, wasn’t he? But adamant he didn’t fancy university and would rather use his hands than have to wear a tie. I think that’s still the worst thing he could think of.’ Madeleine recalled this exact conversation as they walked along the canal after school.

‘And he’s not wrong; I work with a lot of tie-wearing men at the bank, and they’re all bloody miserable.’ Trina laughed at this truth. ‘It must be so nice to spend your life doing something you love. He just wants to be outdoors – gets up to all sorts of adventures when he’s not collecting and chopping wood. Like frogspawn spotting, or drying wildflowers, foraging for goodness only knows what and making all kinds of funny food – like nettle brew!’ Her friend pulled a face, suggesting it wasn’t her cup of tea, literally.

‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Madeleine kept her tone casual, wondering if some lucky man had usurped Jimmy in her friend’s affections, because he would be lucky, and also sticking her beak in, thinking how lovely it would be if they did get together. Ease her guilt ...

‘Nope.’ Trina shook her head. ‘You?’

‘Well, I’ve kind of met someone, but it’s all brand new and so we’re at that point when it will either bloom or fizzle, and I’m not sure which right now.’ She felt a surge of longing for Nico, excited to see him again, to inhale that glorious scent. ‘But I’m going away in a couple of weeks so ...’ No matter how flippant she tried to sound, the truth was she liked him – spectacular Nico ...

‘Marnie said you’re off to America?’

‘Mmm, yep, a project in LA.’ It was odd how uncomfortable she felt talking about the life that was so different to Trina’s. She had also been rather vague in giving Marnie the details and hadn’t yet found the courage to explain that it wasn’t just a trip but was in fact a permanent move. This in turn fed her guilt, especially today, at the thought that Trina would be around to pop in for a cup of tea if she was close, and how it would bring joy to Marnie and Doug; all three casualties of her ambition. An ambition that drove her. When it had been no more than a goal, it seemed to be something they held in admiration, yet now, in practice, she knew her life was unfathomable to them. ‘Do you still like Jimmy?’ She twisted to look her friend in the eye. It felt fair, as Trina had raised it. She too could do candid if Trina was willing.

Her friend snorted laughter and looked down. ‘Do I still like Jimmy?’ Her response was slow in coming. ‘I never really talk about it, but I suppose my question is, would it make a difference if I did? I think he’s only ever seen me as a friend, and I don’t know how to change that. I’m like something comfortable and familiar in your house that’s always been there and likely always will be, but it no longer excites you and you no longer notice it really. Like a knackered cushion on the spare bed or your nan’s old Teasmade.’

‘Did you just compare yourself to an old cushion or your nan’s Teasmade?’

‘I think I did.’

They both sighed.

‘Have you ever ... I mean, have you told him that you’d like more than friendship?’ she pried.

‘What do you think?’ Trina’s words dripped with sarcasm. ‘You remember what I was like – what I’m still like! He pitches up and I get my words fuddled. He never sees the best of me, just this gibbering idiot.’

‘I think, knowing Jimmy – not that I really know him, but what I used to know,’ she clarified, ‘he’s the type of person who might need a little nudge, might need something more obvious than a hint or a subtle longing for him from afar.’

‘A subtle longing for him from afar? What’s that, Shakespeare? God, Mads, you talk some utter bollocks!’

Madeleine laughed out loud before remembering where she was and putting her hand over her mouth. The nurse gave her a hard stare, in reply to which she mouthed, ‘ Sorry!’ She couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to her like that. Trina’s particular brand of humour had always appealed to her – yet another aspect of their friendship she missed when she stepped off the hamster wheel long enough to consider it.

‘I want you to be happy, Trina. I want Jimmy to be happy too.’ This she whispered. It was the truth and her words had been a long time coming.

Trina’s face softened; her eyes lit up. ‘Do you think it might have legs?’

‘I think it could. I believe if you want something or someone, then you have to make it happen.’ She pictured Nico and saw him arriving in LA, probably with sushi. ‘You should turn up at his house with an armful of board games, a box of chocolates, a bottle of something fizzy.’

‘Lucozade?’

‘That’d do it.’ She smiled at the woman who she used to know back to front and inside out. ‘But take the step, build a life. Let him know you want more than to bump into him in Asda. This is our one life, Trina.’

‘You always said as much.’ This mention was enough to roughen up the edges of their conversation that had been smooth.

She blinked. ‘Because it’s true.’

‘Ladies.’ The nurse rose from behind her desk. ‘It looks like Marnie’s waking up. Just give me a minute to check how she’s doing and I’ll tell you when it’s okay to come in.’

‘Of course, thank you.’

‘Cheers,’ Trina added before turning to face her. ‘Although, you know, Mads, I don’t really think, when it comes to Jimmy, you’re the person I should be taking advice from, do you?’

They sat quietly side by side. It seemed like their easy chatter had been a false dawn, as if the subject of Jimmy, now broached and explored, had opened old wounds, exposed old differences, and no matter how much time might have passed, it hurt just the same.