‘No, no of course not. It looks lovely.’ Charlotte puts the Blu-Tack and photos she’s holding onto Cassie’s bedside unit, before I add, ‘Can I have a look?’
She rests a hand on the metal frame of Cassie’s bed. It makes her look frail suddenly; hospitals age even the most robust visitor. ‘Of course, please,’ she says with a nod, and gestures to the wall.
They’re all of Cassie and Jack posed with arms around each other in different settings: at Christmas, in wellies on a walk, on a beach next to a palm tree somewhere exotic.
‘Beautiful,’ I say.
Charlotte stands next to me, smiling at the photos. ‘Yes, yes, I know. She really is. One of those people who could light up any room. I can’t believe their wedding was only a year ago.’ Charlotte looks towards a framed photo from their wedding day. Cassie laughing and beautiful in a tight white-lace wedding gown, Jack, his head slightly tilted back, proud and smart, grinning at his new wife. She doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’d scare easily. It’s a solid silver frame, expensive and at odds with the clinical surroundings. I imagine their home is full of stylish frames from happy times. I’ll have to move it later though; if someone nudges the bedside unit, it could fall onto Cassie.
‘It looks like it was an amazing day,’ I say. I should suggest we go to the family room for more privacy, but I don’t want to stem her flow; she looks comfortable here.
Charlotte nods. ‘In some ways, it’s even more devastating for Jack.’ I think she’s talking about the fact Jack and Cassie were married so recently, but she turns to me then and says, ‘You see, we lost Jack’s dad, Mike.’ She breathes in deeply; she wants to talk, needs to share with someone. ‘He had congenital heart disease. Typical man, he was terrible at taking his medication, always forgetting. Jack found Mike collapsed on the floor. I was out doing the weekly shop.’ She pulls a tissue out from her sleeve.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Charlotte.’
She shakes her head a couple of times, and pinches her nose with the tissue. She doesn’t want me to be sorry for her. Charlotte takes her time as she continues, taking me arm in arm, strolling through her thoughts. ‘I fell apart, of course, couldn’t imagine life without Mike, being a single parent and all that. But it was much harder for Jack. That’s why we moved to Buscombe, for a fresh start. I was told the countryside would be good for him. It’s pretty much the most damaging thing, you know, for a fourteen-year-old boy to find the dad they worship stone dead.’
I nod. ‘I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.’
‘We muddled through fairly well though, just Jack and me for twenty-one years, a tiny family of two, up until last year, of course.’ She looks briefly at the wedding photo before turning back to me. ‘It’d break him all over again to lose her,’ she says with a whisper.
I want to turn the conversation, to make her feel better, more positive, so I say, ‘It sounds like they have a happy marriage.’
Charlotte breathes out. ‘Oh god, yes. They were always full of laughter. I’ve always adored Cas, knew she was the one for Jack the moment I met her.’
We both turn towards some footsteps outside the curtain, Sharma perhaps, on his way to Ellen. Charlotte waits for them to pass before she glances at me, suddenly shy. She shakes her head at herself and pats my arm.
‘Sorry, Alice. God, you don’t want to hear all this when you must be so busy.’
I place my hand gently on top of hers where it rests on my arm.
‘No, please, it’s really good to talk. I like finding out a bit more about Cassie.’
Charlotte glances down at Cassie before she turns back to me, as if she doesn’t want Cassie to hear. ‘She wanted to be a mum so much,’ she says quietly.
My heart shakes a little; I’ve overheard my mum say the same about me.
‘I was holding my breath for a baby, especially after the miscarriage.’ She looks up at me. ‘Jack said he told you.’ I nod, and let her keep talking. ‘We were close, you know, Cas and I. We’d talk about everything. She told me about her irregular periods, that she was worried it wouldn’t happen for them again. I just said they had to keep trying, be patient, let nature take its course. All the stuff people always say.’ Charlotte pauses for a beat before she adds, ‘To think she’s twelve weeks and didn’t know!’
Charlotte lifts her hand from my arm to wipe a tear with the balled tissue in her hand. It’s easy to imagine Cassie talking to Charlotte over tea or a glass of wine. A rare sense of calm surrounds Charlotte, a gentleness I imagine makes people feel safe, confessional with her. She’s clearly ruffled by everything that’s happened, but she hasn’t lost her balance; she’s too well grounded for that.
More footsteps and voices outside Cassie’s curtain crack our delicate moment, and Charlotte heaves the smile back onto her face as she turns back to me.
‘I’ll let you get on, Alice. Jack said you’re going to tell the other nurses about the baby today –’ she glances at her watch ‘– and there’s a bus that practically drops me outside my door in twenty minutes so please don’t worry about me.’
I must look surprised; I can’t imagine Charlotte on a bus.
‘You don’t drive?’ I ask, reflexively.
Charlotte shakes her silvery head, her hair catching the light.
‘No, but I get along fine with buses, trains and the occasional taxi.’ She picks up her bag from the visitor’s chair and says, ‘Poor Maisie will be desperate for a walk by now anyhow.’
‘Oh, have you been left in charge?’
Charlotte nods. ‘Poor thing, I think she was quite shaken up. She’s a rescue; Cas had only had her for a few weeks. She told me once that she’d wanted a dog ever since she was a little girl, but she grew up in a little flat in Brixton so she never had one …’ Her words run out as she looks down at her hands.
I had thought I might tell her about Jonny Parker coming onto the ward, but as I watch her put the now-shredded tissue in her pocket, I know now is not the time.
She’s had all she can take today. She raises her hand to her mouth again as she says, ‘God, I am going batty. I almost forgot; I’ve got a few other bits and bobs here for Cassie from home. It was Jack’s idea.’ Charlotte hands me a small, leather, overnight bag.
‘He didn’t want her waking up and not having some of her things with her.’ It always moves me when relatives bring things in from home. How hopeful they must be when they pack the bags that their loved one will brush their own teeth again, send a text, bend to put on their old slippers. I’ve seen relatives bring in condoms, old newspapers and arm weights before, but here, in this dehumanising space, they’re nothing but mementos from a lost life.
I take the bag. ‘That’s thoughtful. We’ll keep it in the nurses’ room so it’s there if you or Cassie need it.’
Charlotte nods, and I’m about to leave when she says quickly, in a flurry, as if she shouldn’t ask, ‘What do you think about the baby, Alice?’
‘To be honest, I think it’s the closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever seen.’