I shake my head. ‘How do you mean “a rough patch”?’
‘Oh, she could just get a bit down sometimes; nothing like depression, just a bit of a low mood. She’d always lived in London before we moved to the country. She found the change tougher than she thought she would, and she doesn’t drive so she felt a bit isolated. I tried to cheer her up, but she sort of went a bit insular, distanced herself from her friends, that sort of thing. Cassie told me April could be the same; she could get pretty low even before the cancer diagnosis. I always think that must have been tough on Cassie, growing up with just her depressive mum, never knowing her dad.’
‘Cassie never met her dad?’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Cassie never knew who her dad was. April barely knew herself. He was some Norwegian guy April met in Mexico. I’ve seen photos of April back then when she was travelling and, if they’re anything to go by, I’ll bet Cas’s dad was a proper hippie. Anyway, it was way before the internet and without a full name April couldn’t track him down. Come to think of it, I remember Cassie saying April didn’t know she was pregnant until she was pretty far along. The Norwegian doesn’t even know Cassie exists. I always think that must be tough for Cassie, but she always said she didn’t know things any different so it didn’t affect her too much. I think it’s why she’s so family-focused, why she’s so close to my mum. She used to talk about how we’d have loads of kids, how things were going to get even better. She wanted what she never knew when she was growing up. Anyway, it’s typical Cas not to think about doing a test or anything.’
Jack’s thoughts are jumbled but when he talks about his wife, his voice softens. He talks about her with a simplicity, a clarity, that only comes with real knowing, true intimacy. I remember my best friend Jess saying David’s voice gets softer when he talks about me.
‘So you think she didn’t know, about the baby?’
Jack looks up at me. ‘Of course she didn’t know. She’d have told me if she knew, I’d never have let her go after the dog and none of this shit would be happening.’ He seems to realise the truth in his words as he’s saying them; all this could have been avoided.
‘Well, pregnancy surprises a lot of women. It’s important though, Jack … I mean it will be important to the ethics committee when they meet that Cassie wanted to be a mum. That’ll mean her interests are aligned with those of the baby. A consultant will be talking to you more about this, but if Cassie wanted the baby, it should mean the pregnancy can continue without further discussion, assuming that’s what you want as well?’ I’d read up on protocols and NHS ethics committees, and where the mother is unable to make an informed decision about her pregnancy, decisions are deferred to the father.
Jack looks blank again.
This time, I nudge him forward. ‘Is that what you want, Jack? For the pregnancy to proceed?’
Jack nods. ‘Yes, yes, of course it is, yes. Cas wanted to be a mum, more than anything.’
I’m surprised by how relieved I feel to hear him say it. Cassie’s baby is a bit safer.
‘That’s good to hear, Jack.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Just like Mr Sharma said, we look after Cassie as we would any other patient here, being more mindful of the drugs she has, of course, and we monitor the baby. There may be some meetings about it higher up the hospital food chain, but I wouldn’t worry about that. As the father, if you want the pregnancy to proceed then that is what will happen.’ Jack nods at me, and tears pool in his eyes. On the table in front of us Jack squeezes his hands together. ‘God, of course. Of course I do.’
I smile at him.
‘I just keep wishing she’d wake up, so I can tell her I love her, tell her I’m so sorry, sorry I didn’t know, I should have guessed about our baby.’
I hand him a tissue. ‘Jack, none of this is your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself.’
He nods as he wipes his eyes.
I wish I could ask him more about Cassie, about their lives.
But then he raises his head to me, calmer suddenly. ‘Where do you think Cassie’s “gone”, Alice … in her coma, I mean.’
‘You mean her consciousness?’
Jack nods his head. His eyes don’t leave my face; they want answers. I think they want good, positive answers.
‘Well, we don’t know for sure. Every patient has a different experience, of course. Sometimes people don’t remember anything, their coma like a long, deep sleep. Others report lucid dreaming and others say they go back to their lives, relive key experiences. It totally varies.’
‘I really hope she’s not scared,’ Jack says.
My heart thumps; he’s like Jonny, terrified of Cassie’s fear. I wish I could hold his hand, think of something to reassure him, but Jack suddenly raises his hand to his heart.
‘Sorry,’ he says, before he pulls his phone out of his pocket, clears his throat and looks at the screen.
‘It’s Mum, she’s just arriving. I’d better go and meet her. She was pretty shaken up when I told her.’ He picks up the scan images from the table and stands.
‘Thanks for the chat.’
I get up as well. ‘Any time, Jack. Really, any time.’
We smile at each other before he leaves.
I have a sandwich on my own in the canteen, and afterwards I try to settle down at my desk. I’ve got a pile of admin, patients’ notes to check and close, order forms to process, but I can’t concentrate.
My eyes blur whenever I look at the computer screen, my mind a mess of all the things that could happen to Cassie and the baby: organ failure, miscarriage, an infection. The thoughts force me out of my chair and I look through the square window in the door that looks directly onto the ward. Cassie’s curtain is drawn around her bed; Jack left about twenty minutes ago. Sharma told him about Jonny, said it wouldn’t happen again. I watched as Jack gave the healthcare assistant on reception a weak little wave as he walked past. He didn’t see me in the nurses’ room as he walked away. The phone rings. I let reception answer it and walk onto the ward.
Charlotte’s silvery head is facing the wall behind Cassie’s bed. She’s holding a slab of Blu-Tack in one hand and a bundle of photos and cards in the other. Her clothes are as before, slightly too large for her, her navy-blue jeans bag a little and she’s wearing another unfitted striped blue shirt; she’s still in emergency mode. She’s decorated around Cassie’s bed a colourful shrine of photos and cards. Jack said Charlotte cried when she heard about the baby. I remember my mum cried the first few times I was pregnant. She hasn’t for the last few, as if she’s saving her tears for a few weeks later.
Charlotte turns towards me and smiles. ‘Oh, hello, Alice. I hope you don’t mind,’ she says, gesturing towards the wall. ‘I did ask one of the other nurses.’ I close the curtain carefully behind me.