Madeleine is driving. It’s early Saturday morning so there isn’t a lot of traffic. We’ve had to drive through the city, because that’s the quickest way to get to the clinic. Normally, we’d be singing. We’d have that old CD player on and we’d be singing along and laughing while the world rushed by outside. But today all we have for company is the engine sound, and the sound of the tyres as they swoosh across the asphalt. It’s a sunny day outside and scorching hot, but we don’t even have the roof down. I’m not even wearing shades.
The clinic is deep in the countryside, way beyond the city. It takes an hour to drive there, and Madeleine pulls her little Mazda in through the discreet gates. The wheels crunch on the gravel of the driveway. I can feel Madeleine’s tension as she sits beside me and I know that she’s scared. I’m just hoping and praying that she can’t tell that I’m scared too. I just have to be strong for her.
I’m carrying Madeleine’s cute little overnight bag and I follow her into the sterile white building. The reception area is actually quite light and the walls are painted pastel shades and there are prints on the walls – Mondrian and Kandinsky. And there are low padded couches upholstered in soft fabrics, and glass-topped tables strewn with magazines.
I don’t pay attention as Madeleine speaks to the woman sitting behind the reception desk, but pretty soon she’s asking me for her bag, and before I know it, I’m just standing there looking at her as she’s led by a nurse through a set of swing doors. She doesn’t even turn to look back, and the feeling I get is that I’m watching her being led off to a prison cell on death row.
I must look the way I feel, too, because that receptionist – who is wearing Rive Gauche perfume – is right beside me and she’s holding my arm very gently. I’m letting her lead me to one of the couches. I notice the receptionist now like it’s the first time I’ve seen her. She must be in her thirties and she’s wearing a white smock that suits her and sort of just hints at her curves so that I find myself thinking that it’s actually very sexy on her. On her finger there is a thick gold wedding band and a ring with a diamond that’s so big that I’m wondering if perhaps she’s married to a doctor. She’s smiling at me and offering to get me a drink and just being so kind that I just hope that her husband makes her happy. She’s just the sort of person who deserves to be always happy. I want to cry because she is so kind and I can sense that she would be sympathetic, but that would not be fair on her, so I hold it back. Even so, she sits down next to me and she’s close and I’m so upset that I’m almost intoxicated by her lovely perfume.
‘Your sister’s very lucky to have a brother like you.’
I look up at her and her smile is so gentle and soft that I can’t help myself. The tears start to flow and I’m sobbing and she’s holding me. And I’m not just crying for Madeleine; I’m crying for Sylvia too, and I’m crying for myself because all of a sudden I don’t feel strong. And while the receptionist holds me and strokes my hair I continue to cry because I want my mom. Mom should be here for us. It’s Mom’s job to look after us, is what I’m thinking.
‘She’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
The receptionist is still letting me cry all over her and stroking my hair. I feel like I could stay like this forever.
Of course I don’t though. And now it’s a few hours later and I’m still sitting on that couch when the swing doors open and Madeleine is being wheeled into the reception area on a chrome-framed chair. Madeleine looks drained and pale and old in that chair so that I almost lose it again. I even feel the tears well up in my eyes, but seeing Madeleine gives me strength. I can control myself for her sake. I think the receptionist notices though. She is looking at me, and she nods gently and smiles. She even winks at me, like she’s saying that everything has turned out okay, just like she’d told me it would.
I want to know what Madeleine is feeling right now, but she doesn’t seem to want to talk. She seems like a zombie, really. I just want to get her home.
So we’re driving through the city again. It’s mid-afternoon now, and there is plenty of traffic. Lots of people on the streets, too. I’m behind the wheel of course, even though I don’t have a licence. It’s a risk we’ve taken many times before and actually, I’m a really excellent driver.
Madeleine hasn’t said more than a word. She’s looking at the dashboard and her arms are folded loosely across her tummy, like she has mild indigestion or something. I don’t really want to think about what she’s just been through. I just want to get her home where I can look after her.
We don’t have any music on again, so I’m glancing at the people walking on the streets. Heading for the shops, I’m guessing. And it’s while I’m scanning the people and wishing that Madeleine and me could swap places with two of them, that I nearly crash the car. It’s true, I nearly swerve into another car and Madeleine has to grab the wheel momentarily.
‘Christ, Tom!’
She doesn’t have to say more than that. And I feel deep shame at letting her down like that as I carry on through the traffic and towards home. So I guess you’re wondering what I must have seen to make me lose control like that. Well I’ll tell you. I saw Sylvia. Walking down the street in a black lace-trimmed summer dress and sandals and sunglasses, and she looked happy, like there was nothing on Earth that could possibly matter on such a perfect day as this. And she was with a guy and they were holding hands. I could still make out the shade of lacquer that I’d painted on her nails. Yeah, they were holding hands. Right up to the moment when they stopped and turned to each other and she was standing on her toes to kiss him.
You can see now why I nearly crashed the car, right? I feel sick. I really do want to be sick. It’s tight up in my throat and my head is everywhere. I just want to be home. Christ, I need to be home.