A cheap medal is nice – it hangs, heavy and substantial, round my neck. But it is an empty thing compared with seeing the face of someone you love greeting you at the end of all this effort, these weeks of preparation. But we waited until most people had moved on and still there was no sign of Ian.
I trudge along with Hayley. It feels a long way back to the bag drop. I don’t want to show her, but I feel hurt, angry and close to tears. Could he not have managed this – just this, for me?
Hayley seems to sense my mood.
‘Your husband not got here in time?’ she asks sweetly.
‘Apparently not,’ I say, afraid of crying. But then, because she has been honest, I say, ‘To tell you the truth, Hayley, I don’t really know what’s going on with him. He hasn’t been home for three days. It’s all been pretty weird since Paul died. But he said he’d come. I never thought he’d do this . . .’
And tears are running down my cheeks.
‘Oh, my God, Jo – I’m so sorry,’ she says, an arm round my shoulder. ‘What, seriously – he hasn’t been home?’
Put that way, it does sound really bad.
‘Yeah, well.’ I wipe my eyes. ‘Sorry. I think my blood sugar must have dipped.’
We wait for our bags. By now I’m jittery with impatience and I pull my phone out straight away. There’d better be a message, Ian Stefani, I think savagely. Or I’ll . . . Or I’ll what?
The screen leaps into life. A few seconds later it beeps.
Jo – Mom’s been taken bad. Looks like another stroke. We’re in the QE. Sorry not to make it today. I wanted to. Please get here soon as you can. I need you here. Love Ian x
Oh, no . . .’ I turn to Hayley, feeling as if I’ve been kicked in the belly. Dorrie, my lovely mother-in-law. I should have been there. I’m the one who’s being selfish, not being there to look after her. ‘I’m sorry, Hayley – it’s Ian’s mom. I’ve got to get straight back to Birmingham – now.’
The train is quiet and I am glad now to be alone. Hayley offered to come back with me, but I sent her off to join the others at the picnic.
‘It’s sweet of you, love – but there’s nothing you can do when we get there. I’ll just be at the hospital. Go and celebrate – give them all my love.’
I wasn’t there, I think, guiltily, watching London fade behind me as we head north. I should have been there. But at the same time, I can hear Dorrie’s matter-of-fact voice: It’s just one of those things, bab – you weren’t to know.
Dear, dear Dorrie. When I went to see her yesterday before I left, I fussed over her, making her lunch and saying Ian would be in later (I was sure he would).
‘I’m all right, Jo,’ she said. ‘I’m not a complete vegetable yet, you know . . .’
I was about to apologize, but she twinkled at me.
‘I’ll be all right. You go and do your thing down there – and good luck to you. I admire you for it. I’ve got the money for you, when you get back.’
‘Oh, Dorrie – you’re so kind,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back as fast as I can.’
‘I know you will. Now stop fussing. You go and do your run – eleven o’clock, is it? I’ll be thinking of you.’
When I left, she said, ‘Bye-bye, bab. Keep together and do your best.’
She seemed fine, bless her – quite lively. There was no sign of anything amiss . . . But I still feel terrible for going off and not being there.
My mind keeps hammering, Don’t die, please don’t go and leave us. The train seems to be crawling. All I want is to be there, but there’s nothing I can do so once again I force myself to think about other things.
The race quickly seems like a dream. But we did it, Pauly, I say to him, reaching for the space in my head where I talk to him, on and off all day. The Paul I talk to is the one who came back to us just before he died – Paul and me walking round the little lake, his laughing at Blackadder DVDs and Family Guy, getting up in the morning, talking about the future. Basically being my boy again.
Then, fondly, I imagine all my new friends having their picnic and feel lucky to have met them. But for the first time in ages, I find myself thinking sadly about Ange. It would be good to see her. I can see her face now, catching sight of me here on the train, still in my running clothes, looking at me, head on one side – God, look at the state of you! It makes me smile.
I change at New Street for the train out to University station.
Getting close – which ward? I text Ian.
Only when I get off the train do I remember that the Queen Elizabeth hospital is still a bit of a shlep from here. So I ask directions, swing my bag on to my back and, cranking my tired legs back into action, start running.
Ian looks up as I approach the bed. His dark eyes are directed blankly at me for a moment, as if I am a stranger. I am chilled by that look, until I realize that his mind is trying to triangulate the face he knows so well with the pink, sweaty, messy-haired apparition in front of him, clad in running shorts and vest. It takes a few seconds. He stands up, looking almost shy, confused.
‘Got here as soon as I could,’ I pant.
In that moment I realize that if Dorrie was able to speak, she would have said wryly, Run all the way from London then, have you? But her eyes are closed and the figure on the bed looks tiny and shrunken and very ill. Oh, Dorrie. I can feel the dismay overtake my face as I look up at Ian again.
He beckons me away and we go and stand outside the ward. Memories come rushing back. My body goes cold. Here we are again – this hospital, the shiny-floored corridors and hushed atmosphere. And there is still a distance between us, a real awkwardness.
‘I went in this morning – that’s how I found her.’
Ian’s control begins to crack and I can see he is close to tears. I put my arms round him and we hold each other for a moment. It feels nice, but still we are far from each other, too many things unsaid and unresolved.
‘I’m a bit sweaty, sorry.’ I try to smile, pulling back.
He doesn’t quite manage a smile either.
‘D’you think – I mean, had she been like it long?’
‘I don’t know, that’s the trouble.’ He looks away, along the corridor for a moment. ‘Could’ve happened any time in the night. She was out of it when I got there. I just called an ambulance and . . .’ He gestures towards the ward. ‘They say it’s on her left side, which apparently means it’s the right side of her body that’s affected. She did come round for a bit – she looked at me, in the ambulance.’
I feel my heart lift with hope. Indestructible Dorrie. She’ll come through this, won’t she? But I also know that with a stroke, you need to get help soon and there’s no knowing how long ago it happened.
‘Have you let Cynth know?’ I ask him.
‘Yeah, she’s coming – soon as she can. Tomorrow, I think.’
‘Right. That’s good.’ I nod slowly. ‘Look, shall I get us a coffee or something?’
‘Have you had anything?’ Suddenly he is considerate Ian again and my heart lights with hope.
‘No – well, a bottle of pop after the race.’
‘I’ll go and find us something – you sit with her.’
Grateful, I go back to Dorrie’s bed. A couple of the other visitors on the ward eye me with puzzled expressions. Perching on the edge of the chair I lean forward and reach for her hand. She is on her back, huddled-looking, as if she is cold. Her left hand lies out on the pale blue blanket and I reach for it, a bit scared of how it might feel. Her hand is cool, but when I take it, I feel a faint reaction, a squeeze, as if she is glad someone is there.
And then she opens her eyes. My heart starts to thud.
‘Dorrie! Dorrie, it’s Jo. We’re both here, Ian and me. You’re in the Queen Elizabeth. Everything’s all right – we’re all looking after you.’
I’m not sure if she can focus because her eyes look vacant. But again, I feel that minuscule squeeze of her fingers before her eyes slide shut again and I sit stroking her hand, her arm, and I tell her about the race, about how we did it and how I’m sorry I wasn’t at home when she was taken ill. I just keep talking softly, not sure if she can hear but hoping the sound of my voice is some sort of comfort to her.
Ian comes back with coffee, biscuits and a cheese roll for me. As there’s only one chair he stands and it all feels a bit strained. After I’ve finished eating, and have drunk my coffee, he says:
‘Look – you go home and have a shower, get changed and everything.’ He fishes in his pocket and gives me the car key, tells me where to find the car outside. ‘Come back a bit later, yeah?’
‘OK.’ Grateful, I stand. ‘I’ll come and take a turn when I’ve got cleaned up.’ Our eyes meet. We are both being careful with each other, shy. But I can’t bear it any longer.
‘Are you coming home?’ I can only whisper and my eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to be angry. I want him home and I want harmony.
Ian looks upset. For a moment he turns away, then back to me, looking almost afraid. ‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘Yeah – I’ll come home tonight.’