Sissy had fallen into a deeper sleep this time, and when she awoke her face felt hot and tight, as if she’d maybe had a facelift. Delighted squeals that carried in on the hot breeze from the carport below were almost certainly what had roused her, and as she shifted in the double deckchair she heard the key in the lock and two little children come stomping through, flip-flops thudding, sand going everywhere, she was sure of it – how many times had she told them?
‘Hello, Mummy!’ cried Nell, her eldest, as she ran onto the terrace. ‘We went snorkelling and I saw a huge fish and it came swimming right by us. It was brown,’ she added proudly.
‘I had a ice cream,’ announced Conor, and she could tell, there was chocolate all round his face.
‘Did you have a lovely time, my darlings?’ said Sissy, her head aching as she scooped them towards her. Nell snuggled in whilst Conor wriggled away, giggling.
‘I think they did,’ said her husband, coming out onto the balcony after them. He must have gone into the kitchen first, to fetch a tall glass of water that was now shimmering in his hand, like a mirage in the sunlight.
Sissy turned and smiled up at Nigel. He looked blondish and fit, larger than life through her sunglasses, and it seemed almost impossible that they were here in Sardinia, on holiday as a family, celebrating ten unbelievable years of life after cancer. She was so grateful to Juliette and Stephen for lending them their holiday apartment, she’d never known Stephen to be so generous before, at least not without expecting something in return – maybe she’d misjudged him after all. He’d been delighted for them, according to Juliette, calling it an absolute bloody miracle, and it was he who’d suggested they borrow the apartment, saying it was only sitting there unused at the moment. They’d been reluctant to accept, but Stephen had insisted, saying he needed someone to give it a trial run now it had finally been done up.
Sissy knew she would never understand what had caused Nigel’s journey back from the very edge of death. She often found herself going over that pivotal day at the hospital, the one when she thought he was actually about to die on her, fail to hold out long enough to even see their baby. She never stopped wondering what had saved him. Was it her outburst itself, the heart-wrenching, long-overdue outpouring, irrefutable proof at last of her love for her husband, of rage and bewilderment that he would simply fade away, unchallenged, that he would leave her without a damn good fight at least, and with the doctors just stood around watching, doing nothing? Or was it the new drugs the doctor had put him on, their barely legal experiment on the half-human she still called her husband? Or perhaps it was simply a miracle, as her parents had always thought, a benevolent gift of life sent to them by almighty God himself. She guessed she’d never really know, and anyway it didn’t matter now – she had him back and she’d always be grateful for that. He’d even rallied enough to see their daughter on the day she was born, just a week later – Nell had been delivered in the very same hospital, and they’d taken her straight over to the cancer ward when she was less than an hour old, and Nigel’s joy at meeting his daughter had had even the stoniest of ward sisters dabbing at her eyes. And when, five years later, they’d eventually had a son too, it was all so fantastically miraculous that Sissy swore she would never take anything for granted ever again.
Sissy squirmed to the edge of the deckchair and, her bottom firm against the wooden strut that held the canvas, hauled herself out of it. As she stood up, the banging in her head worsened and she felt perversely weightless, spinny. It was clear she’d had far too much sun. What time was it, how long had she been asleep?
‘Please could I have some of your water, Nige,’ she said. He passed it to her and as she leaned against the railing she laid the cool of the glass against her forehead and then against the top of her chest. When she drank it the water was over-chilled and her teeth twinged, and it hurt the back of her throat as she swallowed.
‘Are you OK?’ said Nigel. ‘How long were you in the sun? You’re very red in the face.’
‘I fell asleep,’ said Sissy. ‘The sun must have come around – I was in the shade before. So much for me trying to give my skin a rest.’ She seemed anxious now, and they both knew that it was Sissy who suffered most these days, worrying about every last mole on her or Nigel’s freckly body, or the slightest fever one of the children got – and she still found it hard to go to the beach, but the kids loved it, so usually she managed, as long as they were in full sun suits (which looked odd on these beaches, no-one else wore them). But today, because the weather had been due to be so hot, she’d said she fancied just a quiet couple of hours writing her diary on the balcony, and Nigel had understood.
Nigel took Sissy’s arm and led her inside, helped her onto the bed. By now she’d started to feel sick and her insides felt watery, as if they were being liquidised. It was gone five, Nigel had told her, so she must have been asleep in the sun for over two hours, and now she was lying down she felt like she couldn’t ever get up again. Her limbs felt heavy and independent, as if they belonged to someone else. The children had the TV on and the Italian voices were fast and high-pitched, and there was laughter from a live audience of excitable minors, and although Nell and Conor would have had no idea what was being said they were being swept away on the outré vitality of it, and laughing in all the right places.
When Nigel came back in to check on his wife he was alarmed to find she could hardly lift her head now. He either needed to keep her cool and get her to drink lots of water, or else he would have to get her to a doctor – he’d already spotted the signs of heatstroke, his cousin had had a mild dose of it all those years ago in Australia. Nigel turned the air conditioning to full, and the unit swept up and down rhythmically, blindly squirting out cold air, but the room was so hot the air had warmed up again by the time it reached her. He grabbed a couple of towels and soaked them in the sink, then he wrung them out like he was strangling someone and took them, still dripping, into Sissy and placed them on her forehead and over her body, but she was no longer reacting to him. Her face was red like soup and burning up, and she seemed barely conscious. As he raised the glass of water to her lips, her head was bowling-ball heavy under his arm. It was alarming how quickly she’d deteriorated since he and the children had got back – at first she’d seemed just flushed and a bit groggy perhaps. He’d already been debating whether he needed to call a doctor, but when he saw her eyes start to roll towards the back of her head he knew he couldn’t delay any longer, and he yelled at his daughter to bring him his phone.