7

Clara lies in a room with eight beds. The nurse who greeted the sisters said that she would be able to leave in the next couple of hours.

The rubber soles of Michele’s flat canvas shoes squeak on the linoleum floor. Hilary hasn’t said a word in the car on their way to the hospital.

‘No scenes in front of Mum. We’ll talk later.’ Michele briefly touches Hilary’s hand.

Clara’s bed is the third on the right. A large, noisy family is gathered around the patient opposite. They speak Russian. Michele knows a few words from her business trips. A blanket covers Clara’s body up to her chin. Her face is as pale as the wall behind her. Her eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling. Michele kisses her mother on the forehead. Fright has turned Clara’s eyes into two blank circles.

‘Please get me out of here,’ Clara whispers without taking her eyes off the ceiling.

Hilary has moved around to the other side and places her head next to her mother’s face on the pillow. Michele draws a chair closer to the bed. Underneath the blanket she feels for her mother’s hand. It is ice cold.

‘Are you freezing?’ she asks.

Clara shakes her head. Then turns her face to look into Hilary’s eyes, repeating, ‘Please get me out of here.’

Hilary is fighting back tears. ‘Yes, we will. We are waiting for the doctor to check you out and then we can take you home.’

‘Good.’ Clara closes her eyes. Her breathing becomes deeper.

Michele has moved her mother’s hand from underneath the blanket, holding it now between her palms. For the moment her mind is still. But she knows that the situation has changed; decisions will have to be made far more quickly than she anticipated. Suddenly the curtains are drawn around them. Michele and Hilary both jump.

‘We gave your mother a couple of sleeping pills just before you arrived,’ the nurse explains. ‘She didn’t sleep all night. Why don’t you grab a coffee outside and come back in an hour to take her home?’

 

‘You know what that means?’ They are standing outside the building. Tears are streaming down Hilary’s face. She throws her arm randomly up towards one of the floors. ‘We can’t leave Mum alone. We can’t just simply drive her home and leave her there and pretend nothing has happened.’

Michele looks briefly into Hilary’s anguished face, then her eyes wander across her sister’s shoulder to the other side of the road. She thought she saw a café when they parked the car. Yes, there it is. She puts her hand on Hilary’s arm.

‘Let’s have a coffee.’

Hilary doesn’t move.

‘I will take Mum home with me,’ she says.

Michele stares again into Hilary’s face. Left-over mascara from last night has smeared under her eyes, which are red from crying and lack of sleep.

‘You don’t have to play the martyr.’

She gently wipes the mascara from Hilary’s face. Hilary throws her arms around Michele. For a moment they hug.

‘Charles is fine with it. I’ve already mentioned it,’ Hilary continues after they have sat down with their coffees at a small table on the pavement.

‘And I spoke to Maria before I came to pick you up,’ Michele says.

The coffee is doing Michele’s lingering headache good. Hilary looks at her questioningly.

‘The last woman we employed for Mum,’ Michele explains. ‘She offered to come back. She lives on the road parallel to Mum’s. She needs the money. She is good and I trust her. She could even come tonight. On Wednesday we will look at the home in Hampstead. You’ll see, it’s beautiful. Perfect for Mum, perfect for us because it’s so close.’

An ambulance with its siren on approaches and turns into the forecourt of the hospital. For a moment talking becomes impossible. Michele empties her coffee cup.

‘Mum kicked her out once,’ Hilary says. ‘It’s not a good start.’

‘Maria wouldn’t hold it against her.’

Another ambulance with its siren on pulls up. When the wailing stops, Hilary suggests they walk down to the river.

 

There are strong currents flowing beneath Battersea Bridge. In the distance the sun glints on the surface of the water. A beautiful white boat passes.

‘I’ll take Mum back with me, we’ll look at the home on Wednesday and perhaps in the meantime you could ask your architect friend for a quote to convert the basement,’ Hilary says.

A girl waves at them from the boat. The two women wave back.

‘It is just so that we have an idea how much it would cost,’ Hilary continues. ‘It might be far too expensive. It might not be possible at all, because of building regulations or what have you. But then at least we’ll know there’s no alternative to the home.’

Michele puts both hands on the iron railings and wonders if she feels pushed into a corner by Hilary’s suggestion. The wind blows her skirt gently against her legs. They could be at the seaside. Almost. Hilary is offering her a compromise. A very reasonable suggestion. If Hilary takes Mum for the next week or so, the least Michele can do is obtain a quote from Stephanie. She will, however, also call the residential home to enquire how long they have to decide. If need be, she is willing to pay for the first couple of months straight away so that the place is guaranteed. She won’t of course tell Hilary or her mother. And she won’t tell Jim about the quote for the basement conversion.

 

On Wednesday Hilary calls. Jack has fallen off the swings. He seems to be fine but she’d better take him to A&E for X-rays to make sure he hasn’t hurt his head. Michele hears her eight-year-old nephew wailing in the background.

‘I won’t be able to visit the home today,’ Hilary apologizes. ‘I’m sure you understand.’