‘No need for that. No need. Aspirin. Rest. I’ll be right as rain.’
‘Let me get the doctor at least?’
‘Oh, I think I might have missed my appointment.’ And she tried to laugh, but it caught in her throat, and caused a coughing fit.
‘Made a decision, Norma?’ A pleasant-faced policeman leaned into the car.
‘My daughter here thinks we should go to the hospital, but—’
‘She’s got her head screwed on, your daughter.’
‘But—’
‘She didn’t just lose a fight with a bollard, did she? Get yourself to A and E. Get yourself checked out, and we’ll get the car towed.’ He eyed them both kindly, and Claire had an insane impulse to ask him if he’d heard of Pete Marshall, if he was safe to be around children. She shook her head, tried to clear it. ‘Come on Mother, let’s get you to the hospital.’
The policeman gave them a friendly wave goodbye.
* * *
Claire drove to the hospital, grim-faced, while Norma looked defiantly out of the window. The bruise on her face had grown, spreading blood-coloured tendrils over her nose, under her eyes, and seeping below the uncharacteristically dishevelled hair at her temples.
‘Don’t be severe, Claire,’ she muttered.
‘I’m not. I’m just worried.’
‘And it’s because you were worried that I made the appointment and went down there. God knows why. It’s only a cough.’
‘You couldn’t catch your breath and ended up wrecking the car!’
‘Oh. The car. It’s insured.’
‘Mother, I don’t care about the car! I care about you! You couldn’t breathe.’
‘I coughed and some air went down the wrong way, that’s all.’
Claire tightened her hands on the steering wheel. ‘When we get to the hospital, I want you to tell them about your cough. About how bad it’s got. If you don’t tell them, I will.’
‘Oh don’t be so melodramatic. I’ll tell you what they’ll say: “Mrs Penny, you’re of a certain age”,’ Norma’s voice cranked itself up into an exaggerated imitation of the local accent. ‘“Ladies your age should expect to have to slow down.” And they’ll say, “Wake up call” and “Pace yourself” and various other Americanisms.’
‘Mother—’
‘Oh all right, Claire. Yes. Enough.’
Norma was frightened, Claire could see that. She was frightened herself.
* * *
A and E was mercifully quiet, and they were seen within the hour. A young doctor with tired eyes and cold hands probed Norma’s cheek, asked about headaches, dizziness and nausea, and eventually gave her a cold compress and a couple of paracetamol. Norma looked over his head at Claire and smirked. She was about to get up and put her coat on when he said:
‘I’ve noticed your breathing is a little laboured.’
Norma reddened. ‘Yes, I have a cold.’
‘How long for?’
Norma hesitated; looked at Claire. ‘Not too long.’
‘She’s had a cough on and off for ages. The doctor gave her an aspirator.’ Claire avoided looking at Norma.
‘Do you use it? The aspirator?’
‘When I need to.’ Norma was all dignity. ‘Which is very, very rarely.’
Claire took a deep breath. ‘She was coughing and that’s how she lost control of the car.’
Norma shot her a look of betrayal.
‘I want to listen to your chest,’ murmured the doctor.
‘Why?’ Norma’s voice sounded strangled, and Claire knew she was trying not to cough.
‘Just to see if it’s in your lungs yet. We might be able to give you antibiotics. Clear it up.’
‘My doctor said it was viral.’
‘And he’s probably right. But let me listen anyway.’
Norma pursed her lips and swallowed, but couldn’t choke down the cough, which spluttered out over her clasped hands. She gasped, and coughed again, open-mouthed this time. Red-flecked mucus stained her hanky. She kept coughing, and the stains spread, grew darker. Claire stared at Norma, looked at the doctor, who gave a small, sorrowful smile.
‘I’ll get you down to x-ray.’
* * *
Later that night, when she couldn’t sleep, Claire’s mind returned to the day. Norma, bewildered and angry. At herself. At Claire. The fresh, livid bruise, the blood-stained hanky; the old, tired eyes of the very young doctor. And what she tried hardest to forget was what stayed with her all the time. The inevitable result of the chest x-ray; Norma’s gasp as the biopsy needle slid into her flesh. The soft words in incongruous settings. The shocked cup of tea in the hospital café – The Spice of Life, it was called. She remembered the journey back home, wordless, putting Norma to bed and later that night, checking on her and seeing that she’d been crying.
* * *
Claire compliantly took the leaflets on cancer, and the web address of a carers’ support group. She negotiated working part-time ‘for the present’, and James nodded sagely.
‘We’ll-do-all-we-can-to-support-you-in-this-difficult-time,’ he said.
She was about to ask him to keep an eye on Lorna, but stopped herself. Instead she told him she’d pop in tomorrow to meet the cover teacher and brief her on the class.
‘Is that really necessary, Claire?’ James was amused. ‘We can get on without you for a while, you know.’