SEVEN minutes later, Oliver stumbled back into the kitchen.
‘That was my mother. My father’s had a stroke. A couple of hours ago.’ He stared at her in shock. ‘She tried to ring me, but she couldn’t get through to the surgery. And when she did get through, I’d left. She couldn’t remember my mobile number so she rang here.’
And Oliver hadn’t taken the call because he’d been trying to please her, trying to sort out the mess of their marriage.
She could see the guilt in his eyes. The misery. Whatever he did, he lost. If he’d taken the call, it might have been the last thing to push their marriage over the edge. But he’d put his marriage first, and now it might be too late for his father.
‘Did you reach her at the hospital?’
He nodded.
Well, of course he had. Stupid question. It didn’t take that long to replay an answering-machine message. Rachel added sugar to her husband’s coffee—Oliver didn’t take sugar, but it was supposed to be good for shock—and pressed the mug into his hands. ‘So how is he?’
‘Don’t know. They’re still doing tests. They think it was a cerebral embolism.’ An embolism was a clot that formed in one of the blood vessels in the body and travelled up to lodge in the brain—it starved the brain cells of oxygen and led to a stroke.
‘I’ll drive you to the hospital.’ She could see the protest starting to form in his face. What about the surgery? ‘I’ll take your afternoon list, and I’ll call in some favours so Rob and Sophie can go to a friend’s for tea and I’ll pick them up after surgery.’
‘I...’ He shook his head, clearly too stunned to continue his sentence.
‘Just take a swig of that.’
He did, and grimaced. ‘Yuck. Too sweet.’
‘Good for shock,’ she said crisply. ‘Get in the car. I’ll lock up. You can tell me more on the way there.’
Numbly, he followed her directions.
‘Did you mother say how severe it was?’
‘Just that his right arm went numb, and then he said he felt a bit funny. Then he started rambling and she couldn’t understand what he was saying, but she could see he couldn’t swallow properly. She rang the ambulance, and on the way to hospital they told her they thought he’d had a stroke. They’re doing tests now.’
She reached over to squeeze Oliver’s hand briefly between gear changes. ‘He’ll be fine, Oliver. Most stroke patients recover.’
‘Mmm.’ But they both knew the figures. If you survived a stroke, you had a fifty per cent chance of a severe disability, and it could take up to eighteen months to recover.
They were silent for the rest of the drive. Rachel pulled up outside the entrance to the hospital. ‘I’ll drop you here and go straight to the surgery,’ she said. ‘Ring me as soon as you know any more. Rita’ll put you through, even if I’ve got a patient with me.’
‘But—’
‘Your father takes top priority right now,’ Rachel cut in gently. ‘Everything else goes on hold until we know what the situation is.’
‘Thank you.’
Then she realised that his eyelashes were wet and spiky. Oliver, who was always so laid back, who never really showed emotion. The last time she could remember him crying was when Sophie was born, and even then he’d denied that he’d had tears in his eyes.
She reached over and hugged him. ‘I’m here for you, Oliver. I love you. And everything’s going to be OK, I promise.’
Though the look on Oliver’s face said the opposite. She knew how his mind worked: the minute he’d decided to change his father’s way of running the practice, his father had had a stroke. And Oliver wouldn’t see that as a coincidence. So was their ‘new beginning’ really the end?
Please, God, let Stuart recover. And let Oliver see that he was doing the right thing, for all of their sakes.
* * *
Later that afternoon, the phone on her desk shrilled. ‘Rachel? It’s me.’
‘How’s your dad?’
‘Holding on. It was a cerebral embolism,’ Oliver told her. ‘They did an electrocardiogram and he’s got atrial fibrillation.’ Atrial fibrillation—an irregular heartbeat—became more common as you got older, and increased the risk of stroke by causing blood clots to form in the heart, which could then break off and travel through the arteries to the brain. ‘The MRI scan confirmed there was a clot. They’ve done blood tests and they’re going to put him on warfarin.’ Warfarin made the blood less ‘sticky’ and reduced the risk of another blood clot forming in the heart and travelling to the brain. ‘His right arm’s still a bit weak, but physiotherapy will help with that.’
Rachel knew that communication problems were very common, too—anything from not being able to think of the right word to use in the middle of a sentence through to a complete inability to speak. And if his right arm was affected, it meant that the stroke was on the left side of the brain, which also controlled language and thought. ‘How’s his speech?’
‘A bit slurred. We don’t know if his understanding is affected. The speech therapist is coming tomorrow. He’s still not swallowing properly.’ It was common not to be able to swallow properly for the first week or so after a stroke—that meant there was a risk of food or drink going down the wrong way, into Stuart’s lungs, and causing pneumonia. ‘They’re considering feeding him by tube, depending on what the speech therapist says. He’s on a drip, too.’ A drip would help prevent Stuart getting dehydrated. If he had problems swallowing, he wouldn’t be able to drink enough, and dehydration could make the stroke worse.
‘I’ll come straight up after surgery finishes,’ she said. ‘Which ward are you on?’
‘Stroke unit,’ he said.
‘OK. I’ll see you then.’
Two quick calls after surgery reassured her that Robin and Sophie were fine at their friends’ houses, then she drove to the hospital and walked up to the stroke unit.
Isabel and Oliver were sitting at either side of Stuart’s bed. Nigel was conspicuous by his absence. Rachel noted that Stuart was asleep. She tapped lightly on the door and walked in.
‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘As well as can be expected,’ Isabel said. ‘He’s had a stroke.’
Rachel muffled her irritation. She had issues with Isabel that needed tackling, but now was definitely not the time for a confrontation with her mother-in-law. ‘Oliver rang me earlier about the tests,’ she said. ‘Are they planning to give him any clot-busting drugs?’
‘I did ask, but there isn’t a trial here,’ Oliver said.
Rachel nodded and sat down next to Isabel. ‘Have you had anything to eat since this morning, Isabel?’ she asked gently.
‘How can I eat when my husband’s lying here like this?’ Isabel asked, seemingly affronted.
‘You need to look after yourself, too,’ Rachel said quietly. ‘If you don’t eat or rest you’ll be ill, and Stuart needs you to be strong. Why don’t you and Oliver go to the cafeteria?’ She forestalled Isabel’s protest by adding, ‘I know you want to stay with him—of course you do, it’s only natural—but he’s asleep right now, and you do need a break. I’ll stay with him. If anything happens, I’ll come straight down and fetch you,’ she promised.
‘She’s right,’ Oliver agreed. ‘And I need a comfort break.’
Only a Bedingfield would say that, Rachel thought. Anyone else would have said, ‘I need the loo.’
‘Back in a minute,’ Oliver muttered, and left the room.
‘Is Nigel coming this evening?’ Rachel asked.
Isabel shook her head. ‘He’s on holiday.’
Rachel clearly wasn’t quick enough to mask her thoughts, because Isabel bridled. ‘It’s not his fault.’
‘No.’ Just typical Nigel, not to leave a contact number. And even if they did manage to track him down, Rachel doubted that he’d offer to cut his holiday short and come home to support his mother.
‘Don’t you make judgements,’ Isabel said.
‘I’m sorry.’ Rachel sighed. ‘Look, I know I’m not the daughter-in-law you wanted, but right now I’m the only one you’ve got. We’ve had our differences, but in my family you’re there when someone in your family needs you, regardless of what’s happened over the years.’
Isabel still had her chin lifted high and her face turned away from Rachel. Rachel bit her lip. What would it take to reach Isabel? She’d spent fourteen years trying and failing. ‘What I’m saying is, I’m here. And I’ll do anything I can to help. If you’d like to stay with us while Stuart’s here, I can soon freshen up the spare room for you.’ Even though she knew that would mean Oliver would feel too awkward to make love, take comfort in her arms and reforge the bonds between them. ‘And I can run you up here and fetch you again any time.’
This time Isabel turned to her, and Rachel was shocked to see that the older woman actually had tears in her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Oliver appeared in the doorway. ‘Do you want us to bring you anything back?’ he asked Rachel.
She shook her head. Although she hadn’t eaten, she wasn’t hungry. ‘I’m fine. See you in a bit.’
When they’d gone, she glanced over Stuart’s charts—which showed that he was holding his own—and then settled down into the chair beside the sleeping man. ‘It’s such a mess, Stuart. None of this was ever meant to happen,’ she said softly. ‘Just when Oliver and I were starting to sort things out between us... But it’s not your fault. You couldn’t help it.’ She sighed. ‘All I know is that the next couple of days are going to be critical. For you and me both.’
* * *
‘Where’m I?’ Stuart mumbled a little while later.
‘Stuart, it’s Rachel.’ She took his hand. ‘You’re here in hospital. Isabel and Oliver have gone to get something to eat. Do you want me to get them?’
‘No. ’S all right.’ Stuart’s hand tightened on hers. ‘Rachel. Need to tell you.’
‘Shh, it’s OK,’ she soothed.
‘Need to tell you,’ he mumbled. ‘Made a mistake. About you. Silly. You’re right for Oliver.’
After all these years Stuart was finally telling her that he approved of her? Or was it that the stroke had scrambled some of his circuits and he was mixing her up with Caroline Prentiss?
‘Great kids. Good mum. Ro—Ro—’ He looked at her, wide-eyed, clearly unable to remember the children’s names.
‘Robin and Sophie,’ she said softly.
‘Looks like you. The little one.’ He looked anxious. ‘Where’s Oliver?’
Clearly the stroke had affected his short-term memory—she’d already told him that. ‘In the cafeteria, with Isabel.’
‘And the kids?’
She smiled. ‘Robin’s staying with his best friend, and Sophie’s staying with hers. But I can bring them to see you tomorrow, if you like.’
He shook his head. ‘Might scare them. Don’t want to frighten them. Drip, tubes. Not nice for littlies.’
‘You’re probably right. But I know Madam will insist on making you a get-well-soon card. It’ll be pink and purple.’
He smiled. ‘’S nice.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘My chart?’
‘Don’t tell me you’re going to live up to the stereotype and be a dreadful patient?’ Rachel asked.
‘You seen it?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘And it looks OK.’
‘Truth?’
‘Truth,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Stuart.’
He smiled. ‘You’re tough. Need to be. Hard to be doctor and a parent.’
Was he trying to tell her that he thought Oliver was a workaholic, too?
‘Harder now,’ he added.
‘We muddle through,’ she said lightly. She and Oliver had stumbled into a quagmire, but she knew now that they’d find their way out again.
‘Know you love Oliver.’
‘Yes, I love Oliver. I’ve loved him for a very, very long time.’ She willed the tears to stay back. ‘Now, you’re sup posed to be resting. Isabel’ll skin me if she thinks I’ve tired you out.’
‘Tired.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Stroke.’ Then he frowned, as if searching for the right word.
‘You’re right, tiredness is a common symptom afterwards,’ Rachel supplied. ‘And so is forgetting words. I know how annoying it must be, but it’ll get easier, I promise.’
‘Feel stupid.’
She smiled. ‘You’re very far from being that. You’ve probably forgotten more about medicine than I’ll ever know.’
He drifted back to sleep again, still holding her hand. A few minutes later, Oliver and Isabel returned to the room.
‘How is he?’ Isabel asked.
‘He woke briefly—I told him where you were and he was fine about it,’ Rachel said, gently disengaging her hand from Stuart’s and giving up her seat to her mother-in-law. ‘Do you want me to pick you up later and bring you back to ours?’
‘Thank you, but I’ve already arranged to stay here tonight,’ Isabel said.
Rachel sighed inwardly. So much for thinking she’d had a minor breakthrough earlier. Isabel was as cool and distant as she’d always been. ‘Fair enough. But if you change your mind, you’re more than welcome.’
‘You’d better get back to the children,’ she said.
‘Right. Oliver, are you staying here with your mother?’
‘No, I’ll come back with you,’ he said. ‘I need to arrange locum cover for tomorrow.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Isabel,’ she said.
‘I’ll ring if there are any changes,’ Isabel said, and settled back in her chair next to Stuart.
* * *
Oliver and Rachel walked slowly back to the car.
‘I hope you’re not blaming yourself,’ Rachel said softly.
‘Me?’
She refused to let him deflect the question. ‘Are you?’
He sighed. ‘If I’d taken the call...’
‘He’d already had the stroke by then. It wouldn’t have changed anything.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘You know, your dad thinks you work too hard.’
‘My father said that?’ Oliver shook his head, as if trying to clear it. ‘All these years I’ve tried so hard to live up to his reputation. And now he doesn’t even want me to.’
‘That’s not how he put it. He said it’s harder now to do your job and be a parent, not like it was in his day. So if you’re worrying that he’s going to react badly to the changes you want to make, don’t. He’ll be fine about it.’ She swallowed. ‘He told me the kids were great. That he approved of me.’
‘Rach, to know you is to love you.’
‘Your mother doesn’t.’ She sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t land this on you. Not now.’
‘We agreed we’d talk. Always,’ Oliver reminded her. ‘My mother’s a difficult woman. But she’s going to have to make a lot of adjustments now. She saw you holding my father’s hand and talking to him—as a real person, not as someone who had to be humoured or pitied. Maybe she doesn’t think she measures up to you, that she can’t do the things that you can.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘Rach, people love you. I’ve heard them talk about you in the village. They think of you as theirs—whereas my mother’s always been set apart. And the way you are with the kids...she was never like that with me. I don’t think she knew how.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s why I resented you being like that with them—because no one had ever been like that with me.’
‘Oliver.’ She held him tight. ‘When we get home, when I’ve put the kids to bed—’
‘When I’ve read their bedtime stories,’ Oliver cut in.
‘When they’re asleep, I’ll show you exactly how I feel about you. I love you, body and heart and soul. And nothing’s ever going to change that.’
‘Me, too,’ Oliver whispered.
‘We’re going to get through this.’
‘It’s going to make us stronger,’ Oliver said.
‘And somehow I’ll square things with your mother. I’ll—Hell, I’ll even learn the right accent, if it makes her happy.’
‘No. Just be yourself,’ Oliver said. ‘My love, my wife.’
‘Always,’ she promised.