Gigi

Richard hadn’t called her mobile phone in a long time. Even before she left. He didn’t like the phone. It had been ages since he’d checked in with her during the working day, for no particular reason, but ‘just because’, and those days of not hearing from him had been a part of her loneliness. Other people’s partners rang or texted – sent messages about their day, or the idiot in the car next to them, or what to have for dinner … And now here he was, calling while she was in the condiments aisle in Tesco, realizing that she could buy crunchy peanut butter instead of smooth. She held the phone in her hand, staring at his number, and didn’t answer – he’d caught her off guard. After five rings, the words MISSED CALL flashed up on the screen. She stuffed the phone into her handbag and tried to concentrate on jams. Another minute after that, it trilled again with a voicemail. Maybe it was something about the kids? Gigi took a deep breath, and listened to Richard’s message, curtly telling her that he was at Clearview, that James had been taken ill. That he thought she should know. That she could come, if she wanted to. She couldn’t tell from his voice whether or not he wanted her to.

That didn’t matter. She left her trolley where it was in the aisle, got into her car and set off for Clearview. She wasn’t thinking about Richard now, but about James. She’d seen him a few days ago, and he’d been well. Confused, like always, but well. They’d done the crossword, which usually meant she did the crossword out loud and he listened, or not, and this time he’d got a word, which happened less and less these days. He’d known that ‘e.g. an anteater, 13 letters, 5 across’ was insectivorous, which was more than she did, and that bit of dredging up of memory had made them both smile. But there’d been nothing specifically wrong with him. Richard hadn’t given her any details in his message – any sense of how bad this was. She drove a bit too fast.

Richard was in the corridor outside James’s room when she arrived, looking at his phone. She put her hand on his arm and he looked up, surprised. She wanted to hug him – maybe even expected to, but he pulled away and took a step back from her.

‘Is he okay?’

He nodded briefly. ‘Stomach flu, they think. Just a bug. He’s been pretty sick. Both ends.’ He managed to look and sound like he was actually standing in a puddle of it. ‘But he’s okay …’

Gigi felt relief, then surprise at the relief. She knew James would have been happy to be carried away by an innocuous stomach flu. It shouldn’t be a relief. But it was.

‘Is he in there?’

Richard nodded. ‘They’re getting him comfortable.’ He grimaced.

He’d always been hopeless when the kids were ill – no good at dealing with the mess of it, however sorry he was, and he always was, that they felt rotten. She had a sudden memory of him standing with an infant Oliver, covered in vomit, holding him out at arm’s length; but she was the one who had to grapple with a sick-soaked duvet cover and organize a warm bath. Worried about his boy, but unable to do what was necessary to comfort him. Poor Richard. He always let her do it, then made her a cup of tea and told her she was wonderful. She’d always known he meant it.

‘How? I don’t understand.’ It wasn’t a rational question, not really. Especially not for someone who worked in the NHS. But she wasn’t feeling rational.

‘One of those things, I suppose … They’re not immune in here.’

‘Was this overnight?’

He nodded. ‘They called this morning. Once the worst was over.’

‘But they didn’t take him to hospital?’

‘No one said anything about that being necessary.’

‘Is he on a drip? For fluids?’

‘I don’t know, Gigi.’ He sounded exhausted. ‘I haven’t asked. I haven’t seen him yet.’

‘We need to talk to the doctor.’

‘He’s with someone else. The nurse said he’d come round shortly.’

An uneasy silence descended. There were things other than James that they could talk about – the kids, the flat she was going to see, work, the weather … But it was odd – standing here with him, and all their past; the sudden, brutal absence of their future had unbalanced everything, shifted everything. She wondered if they’d ever have a normal conversation again. She knew she badly wanted to try.

‘Do you want to go and get a cup of tea? Wait until he’s ready?’

Richard shifted from foot to foot. ‘I don’t think I can. Probably shouldn’t have rung you.’

‘Come on, Richard. Don’t be daft. It’s still me.’

‘But it isn’t, G. Everything has changed …’ He felt it too – that sickening lurching away from normal.

‘This hasn’t.’ She gestured around her.

‘What do you think he’d say about it? If he knew?’ he almost snapped.

It was a low blow, and it hit its target, almost taking her breath away. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She stared at the carpet, her eyes smarting.

But cruelty wasn’t Richard’s métier. That was too unkind for him. He spoke first, and his voice was completely different. ‘Just as well he doesn’t, I suppose … Sorry.’ When she looked up he couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘Richard –’

‘I think I’ll go, actually. No sense both of us waiting.’

‘He’s your dad, Richard. I can go.’

‘He’d probably rather see you. You’re better at all this. You always were.’

His voice was so sad, and small.

She was going to argue, maybe even going to ask him to stay with her, but, as she started to speak, the door to James’s room opened and two nurses with yellow plastic aprons and gloves came out, one pulling backwards a wheelie bin with a metal lid. The other smiled at them both, and said, ‘He’s all yours …’ and, because the door was open and Gigi could see James, pale and asleep in the wide bed, she moved instinctively towards him. When she turned back to bring Richard with her, he was already gone.