Chapter Six PRESENT DAY

Chapter Six

P RESENT D AY

The nurse took readings from the machines Marnie was hooked up to as Madeleine and Trina stood by the door, out of sight, doing their best to keep out of the way. Madeleine watched her mum blink and lift her head, looking to her left and right, suggesting it took a fraction of a second longer than was comfortable for her to remember where she was and what was going on.

Marnie glanced at her chest and her eyes widened, as if realisation dawned. Madeleine could only imagine how odd it must be for her mum; the clothes she had dressed herself in that morning were gone, and in their place the soft cotton of a medical tunic against her skin. The nurse helped lower her head back on to the pillow. Marnie’s lips smacked together, suggesting her mouth was dry. She looked groggy, tired and a little weepy, which wasn’t like her at all.

‘How are you doing, Mrs Woods?’ The nurse reached for Marnie’s wrist, offering warmth and kindness with this one act of contact. Her tone was patient and Madeleine loved her for it.

‘Very weak.’ Her mum’s voice sounded thin and she was clearly embarrassed to be tearful. ‘Look at me,’ Marnie tutted, ‘a right old display!’

It was a phrase Marnie’s mother would have used. Madeleine Macintyre might have been dead for a couple of decades, and yet it was the case for Madeleine too that when she was feeling a bit under the weather or sorry for herself, she wanted her mum. It was, it seemed, no different for Marnie. Age, she understood, did not make any allowance when it came to missing your mother.

‘That’s not surprising.’ The nurse smiled. ‘You’ve been through a lot. Your body has been through a lot. It’s going to take a while for you to recover. So you need to try to relax and let us take care of you.’

‘I’d rather be at home. I’ve got a pile of ironing that I’ve left in a laundry basket and dumped on the bedroom floor. There’s defrosted mince in the fridge that needs using up – I was going to make a spaghetti Bolognese. And the breakfast things are still in the sink, waiting to be washed.’

Madeleine got it, the idea of being halted in her tracks, and the thought of all the irritating chores that would have to wait was not a pleasant one. Not to mention her to-do list, equally as bothersome to her as Marnie’s defrosted mince and laundry pile. Small things to some people, but for her they were actually the big things, the markers in the day that helped a life run like clockwork. For her – and it seemed her mother too – they gave life routine, purpose, and structure.

Trina rolled her eyes and they both smiled. It was typical of Marnie to want to get cracking, giving no credence to lying idle, heart attack or not. It boded well for her recovery and Madeleine felt her muscles soften a little.

The nurse was a little sterner now. ‘You need to rest and not think about everything going on outside. Concentrate on you and feeling better.’

‘That’s easy to say. I’d just rather be at home.’

The nurse bent low and smiled into Madeleine’s mum’s face. ‘Between you and me, I’d rather be at home too. I’ve got three episodes of Bake Off to catch up on and the remains of an apple crumble in the fridge, but here we are, so let’s make the best of it, okay? The doctor will be around later and you can ask her anything that’s worrying you. Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, that’d be lovely.’

‘And if you’re feeling up to it, you have a couple of visitors.’

‘Oh?’ Marnie squinted in their direction and it was then her misty eyes upgraded to a trickle of tears. ‘There they are!’ She reached out.

They walked forward. Madeleine stooped by the side of the bed and took her hand. ‘Hey, Mum.’ She grazed her mum’s cheek with a kiss, giving her a slow, lingering look as if seeking confirmation that she was alive and present before reaching down to give the best hug she could manage with Marnie at such an awkward angle. They weren’t the hugging kind, but it felt necessary; this situation – Marnie’s illness – a hiatus to any tension, a break from self-consciousness, a reset; another reminder that life was fragile, time short, and that connection was all important.

‘My girl.’

The two locked eyes. The same eyes – grey-blue in colour with glossy lashes. Eyes that woke and stared upon two different worlds. One a small and familiar world of all Marnie had ever known, and the other Madeleine’s world, which she knew was beyond her mum’s imagination.

‘For the love of God, Marnie! Look at you! The things some people do for a rest.’ Despite the humour, there was no escaping the emotion in Trina’s tone.

‘You scared me, Mum. And you scared Trina!’

Her friend leaned over and kissed Marnie. ‘You really did,’ Trina confirmed.

‘I scared meself,’ Marnie admitted. ‘It’s strange, I don’t remember much about what happened. I remember being at the bus stop. I know the sky was winter blue and it was frosty and there was a line of sparkle running along the kerb that made everything look beautiful. I remember sending Dougie off with a full flask of tea. And then I know we chatted, Trina.’

‘We did.’ Trina leaned in. ‘And if you genuinely can’t remember, I lent you twenty quid.’

Marnie managed a half laugh. ‘I vaguely recall being on the trolley that brought me from the ambulance and into the accident and emergency department, but everything else is a little fuzzy. I might have been here for an hour or a week ... It’s odd.’

‘Marnie, we know you like your sleep, but even you couldn’t sleep for a week,’ Trina quipped.

‘Don’t you believe it.’ Her mum looked into the middle distance and her brow furrowed. ‘Actually, now I come to think of it, I remember Dougie was here. I know he spoke to me. He held my hand and I could tell he was crying a bit, my lovely old softy.’ She stopped to wipe a fresh trickle of tears with her shaking hand. Madeleine could only imagine what her dad must have said, how distressing the situation must have been for them both. ‘A young doctor came to see me in the casualty, who told me I’d had a heart attack. A heart attack! ’

‘It’s scary, Marnie,’ Trina empathised. ‘But it could have been so much worse.’

Madeleine understood that even the words were frightening. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered, not really. Her granny had slipped away after a battle with Alzheimer’s, her grandad cancer, but Marnie’s heart health had never entered her mind. She was after all as strong as an ox.

‘It is bloody scary, and a shock! I know keeping healthy and active is important. I don’t smoke, only sip booze in celebration a couple of times a year. I walk everywhere and always take the stairs instead of the lift. My weight’s in check and I thought heart problems were what happen to other people.’

‘How are you feeling now?’ Madeleine sat on the chair by the side of the bed and placed her soft leather handbag on the floor. Trina sat next to her.

‘I’m fine.’ Marnie’s words sounded practised.

‘Course you are, Mum. I think you’d say that no matter how you were feeling. You’re in hospital! It’s okay to admit to feeling ropey, okay to not have it all under control.’

Marnie put her hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘Madeleine, my beautiful darling, if I was feeling better, I’d laugh out loud. This coming from you, who is so fixated on control it’s a miracle you don’t pass out with the exertion! Your dad always says you could tighten the screws of the sofa just by sitting on it!’

Trina chuckled, and Madeleine felt the love in it. The atmosphere around them was instantly lifted. A reminder of how it used to be – the ribbing, the banter, the honesty wrapped in humour – back before everyone was on guard.

‘You might have a point,’ she conceded.

‘I’ll admit it is a hard thing to talk about,’ Marnie admitted. ‘Your heart’s important, isn’t it?’

‘It is.’ Madeleine gave a wry smile and caught the shoulder shake from Trina. She too, it seemed, recognised the understatement.

‘You know what I mean,’ Marnie tutted. ‘It’s not like if you break a finger, lose a toe, or have a dicky tummy – you can still crack on, can’t you? I mean, not easily, but everything else still works. But your heart? Your heart is everything. It’s like a car with a dodgy engine – a broken engine.’

‘Mum, have you ever considered a career in medicine? Your in-depth knowledge of biology is really something.’ Madeleine squeezed her hand and hoped Marnie felt the love in it.

‘Cheeky mare.’ Marnie took a deep breath. ‘You know, this is a horrible, terrible, fearsome situation, but I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t the very best kind of reward for the very worst kind of day, seeing you two sitting next to each other, chatting. It takes me right back. It makes me happy. My beloved girl and her beautiful friend. I love you both so much.’

Neither she nor Trina spoke, but both smiled politely. Madeleine sensed that her friend felt the same as she did; that even though today had felt like a breakthrough – a calming of the choppy waters – they weren’t quite there yet. Marnie’s words, however, made her wonder if this could be a new start for them ... Now, wouldn’t that be something?

‘The doctor I saw just before they brought me up to the ward, the young woman, I think, she said I’ve got to have an operation.’

‘What kind of operation? Did they say?’ Madeleine felt the leap of concern. A heart attack was bad enough, but now surgery?

Marnie patted her daughter’s hand. ‘The last thing I want to do is worry everyone. She didn’t give me too much detail and didn’t seem overly concerned. All very routine. I’ll hear more tomorrow. I think that’s what she said. I do know I’ve got to have a little thing fitted so that if my heart stops, it’ll shock it back to life. Like a battery pack. I’ll be part robot. Almost bionic.’ She gave a big false grin that barely hid her fear.

‘Oh. Do you mean a pacemaker?’ Trina asked the question before Madeleine had the chance. She knew very little about them but would of course investigate.

‘No, not a pacemaker, a different thing. But it’s more as a precaution. As I said, the doctor isn’t worried and neither am I.’ She embellished, but Madeleine knew her too well to be fooled by her bravado.

‘Have you had any warnings, Mum? Have you been feeling ill or anything?’

Marnie shook her head. ‘Not really. Bit tired, but I’m always tired.’

‘I can get you some help,’ Madeleine spoke with urgency. ‘I can get someone to clean the—’

‘I’m fine,’ Marnie cut her off. ‘I’m fine. We’re fine. Do you know how many times I say that to you?’

‘A lot.’ Her daughter clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, as if making a point.

There was a beat of silence while the novelty of reunion settled and the practicality of the situation wrapped them.

‘Did they say when they might operate or how long the surgery was or—’

‘No, Madeleine, no detail. Nothing. As I said, I’ll hear more tomorrow.’

‘Sounds like you’ll be in for a while.’ Trina’s addition was less than helpful.

‘Oh God.’ Marnie rubbed her face. ‘This is the last thing we need.’

‘You’ve got no choice, Mum, you have to rest.’

‘Yes, that’s what the doctor said. I just wish I could stop thinking about all that needs doing in the flat, and our life – the way we run things, I’m needed there. I worry everything will all go to rat shit without me.’

Madeleine understood how these small mental papercuts, tasks that were out of reach, had the ability to cause such agitation. She pictured the bloody scratch on the front of her Meneghini la Cambusa.

Marnie tried to sit up straighter before flopping back on the pillows that supported her. Something had snagged on the top sheet and it was this that alerted her to the fact that she was attached to machines that flashed sporadically and beeped occasionally.

‘I just want to go home,’ she repeated. ‘Just want to get back to our little flat and the people in it who need me.’ Just this thought seemed enough for those darned tears to gather again.

‘Dougie will have everything under control, and I’m close by.’ Trina shot Madeleine a look, as if aware that she might be treading on her toes, but this was how it had been for the last few years: Trina on hand and Madeleine popping in when she could.

‘Oh, I know Doug will be fine.’ Marnie smiled, as she always did when she spoke his name. ‘He doesn’t mind much, does he?’

It was the truth, and one of the things Madeleine most admired and adored about her shovel-handed, placid giant of a dad who she had never heard raise his voice. Never. She had asked him once why he never got angry. His reply had stayed with her.

‘I grew up in an angry house.’ This much she knew; her grandfather, so she had heard, had a fearsome reputation at the docks, where he’d start a fight over which way the wind blew. ‘I used to dread the sound of my old man’s key in the door. I lived with a knot of worry in my gut morning, noon, and night. I saw the way my mum and sister changed the moment he arrived. He’d stand in the doorway and they made themselves smaller – they went quiet and left the room or shrunk down into a chair as if they could avoid his barbs. It was horrible to watch. Terrible for us all and frustrating for me, the only other man in the house, and yet I was unable to stop him or make things better. It killed me, that. I vowed that if ever I was lucky enough to have a family, I’d make sure they looked forward to me coming home, not dread it.’

‘And we do, Dad.’ She had spoken the truth. ‘We really do.’

‘I’m blessed, little sausage. Plus, I don’t see what hollering and mouthing off changes, anyway. In my experience, it doesn’t really resolve anything, just makes for an unpleasant atmosphere, and I don’t see the point in that.’

He had pulled her in for a hug. She could still feel the imprint of it now.

She smiled, warmed by the memory and equally the prospect of seeing him later.

Trina stood. ‘Right, I’d better get going. Only wanted to check in on you, Marn, and to bring you some bits.’

‘Thank you, love.’ Marnie touched the grape punnet.

‘Plus I’m sure you two would like some time alone.’

Marnie smiled at the woman with a slow blink of gratitude, but neither of them made any attempt to dissuade Trina from leaving. ‘Oh love, you really didn’t have to come in, but I’m so happy you did. You go before it gets late.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Trina kissed Marnie goodbye and zipped up her coat. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I hadn’t seen you for myself, up and chatting. Flippin’ ’eck, Marnie, you gave me a proper fright this morning.’

‘As I said, I gave myself a proper fright, love.’

‘I can’t stop seeing it. Us chatting about nothing much and the next thing I knew you’d gone grey and clammy and then you just ... keeled over!’

Madeleine wasn’t sure rehashing it was a good idea.

‘I’m proper embarrassed. Can’t imagine what I looked like or who saw me. I’ll never be able to show my face again on the bus.’ Her mum shook her head as if floored with embarrassment.

‘No one saw anything. You were very graceful.’ Trina gave Madeleine a quick conspiratorial glance, sharing her unspoken intention to say the right thing, truth or not. ‘Do you know, I always thought I’d be great in a crisis, calm and composed, but I just stood there calling your name and shouting for help. I was rubbish! So, next time, please make sure you’re within grabbing distance of a nurse or firefighter. They’ll know what to do.’

‘Gawd, Trina, I hope there’s not a next time. And you weren’t rubbish, lovey, you were marvellous. I’m so glad you were there.’

‘Me too.’ Trina placed her hand on Madeleine’s shoulder. ‘See you soon, Mads.’

‘Yes, and I can only echo what Mum said – thank goodness you were there.’

‘It’s what we do, isn’t it? Show up in a crisis, look after each other.’ Her words were considered, pointed.

‘Family,’ Marnie croaked.

‘Yes, Marn, family.’ Trina blew a final kiss and left the room.

‘Don’t you miss her?’ Marnie’s question caught her off guard. Madeleine cursed the lump that gathered in her throat.

‘Sometimes.’ It was all she was willing to admit. The truth was a lot harder to say, that in the dead of night or quiet times, when in a memory of something funny, or bursting to share some news, she’d either laugh or cry accordingly, and her desire to sit with her old friend, to be in her presence, to hear her voice, to lay her head on her shoulder, was almost overwhelming.

‘It’s true what we said – life is short, my love, and after today it’s made me think about you and Trina, all the girls I love.’

She braced herself for what might follow, but Marnie was robbed of the floor by the arrival of a doctor in scrubs and a shallow hat, suggesting she might have come from surgery, her speed of speech also a big hint that she was in a hurry.

‘Hello, Mrs Woods, I’m Doctor Callaghan.’

Marnie nodded.

‘Hello, Doctor, this is my daughter.’ The pride in her mother’s gesture was unmistakeable and moving in equal measure.

‘Just wanted to check in. We’ve had your scans back and the results of a few other tests that my colleagues ran when you first came in.’

Madeleine saw how Marnie’s limbs trembled with fear. She reached for her mother’s hand.

‘And I’m sure you will have lots of questions and, fear not, I will be coming to see you tomorrow for a longer chat and to talk you through everything, but this is just to give you an overview and hopefully stop you worrying. You had a heart attack – I think you know that already.’

Again Marnie nodded.

‘And having weighed everything up, I do think the best course of action will be to insert an ICD. Did someone already mention this to you?’

‘They did, yes.’

The doctor touched her chest, presumably where this device would live. Madeleine felt a little queasy at the prospect but hid it as best she could.

‘It’s similar to a pacemaker and is designed to prevent cardiac arrest. It’s very clever and detects abnormal electrical signals that can be an indicator that you are about to go into cardiac arrest and it sends an electrical shock to the heart.’

‘Like a defibrill ... thing?’ Marnie questioned.

‘Yes, exactly like that,’ the doctor enthused. ‘It reboots the heart. As I say, we can go into it in more depth tomorrow, but I just wanted to make you aware of what I’m thinking and what I believe will give you the best chance of living the fullest life while mitigating risk. How does that sound?’

Terrifying . . . unthinkable . . . disgusting . . . hopeless . . . desperate . . .

‘Sounds good, doesn’t it, Mum?’ Madeleine kept her thoughts to herself and managed a small smile.

Marnie nodded, her face a little pale.

‘Good.’ The doctor gave a huge sigh, as if catching her breath. ‘Right, well, I will see you tomorrow. Now rest. And that’s not a suggestion, it’s a necessary thing to reduce your myocardial workload.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Dr Callaghan left as quickly as she’d appeared.

Marnie rubbed her chest, as if feeling the bones and skin beneath her fingertips – bones and skin that would be cut to accommodate some kind of device. The thought was horrific, and Madeleine felt a quake of fear at the prospect, not that she’d show it to Marnie, Dougie, or anyone else who asked, knowing if she kept her emotions in check, made it sound routine, they would likely take her lead.

‘What a bloody carry on, Madeleine.’ Marnie cried then, great gulping tears that fell down her face.

‘Don’t cry, Mum. Please don’t cry. It’s all going to be okay.’ She hoped she spoke the truth.

Marnie’s eyes seemed drawn to the wide double doors of the room, which were propped open. Doors that Madeleine knew promised all good things: something to eat or drink, a nurse or doctor to bring relief or company, and more importantly a route out of here – the first step towards home and recovery.

‘I’ve not yet spent a night under this roof and already I miss my bed, my flat, my little family ...’

This invited another burst of tears.

‘I can help, Mum. Please let me just—’

‘No, I’ve told you. I’ve told you a million times—’

‘And I’m telling you.’ Her daughter raised her voice, her turn to interrupt. ‘I can help and I will help. I can pick up, drop off, do the shopping, anything that might—’

‘We can manage.’ Marnie wiped her eyes and sniffed her distress. ‘We have always managed and we always will.’

‘But—’

‘Aren’t you off to America soon on your trip?’ Marnie cut her short.

There it was – the tone, the words, the question ... a reminder that Madeleine lived a very different life.

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ She nodded and stared at the doors herself, understanding the desire to escape. ‘And actually, Mum,’ – she swallowed – ‘it’s more than a trip. It’s a move. I’m moving there. I’m going for a few years at least. I have a new job. I’m getting an apartment and everything.’

She watched her mother’s face fall, her mouth set in a thin line of disapproval.

‘Well, there we go.’

Marnie’s words sounded finite and accusatory in equal measure. It had always been her skill; her ability to say so little and yet say so much.