I stop at a black-and-white close-up photo of Cassie placing a silver bauble on a plump, richly decorated Christmas tree, her engagement and wedding ring glint at the camera. Underneath, Jack’s written, ‘My beautiful wife, tree decorating on our first anniversary’ under the photo. The camera seems to have caught her mid laugh, her smile so wide her large eyes crest like a new moon. I think about what Jack said about Cassie having a tough time recently, but I can’t see it, it all looks nauseatingly perfect. Despite my own happy Christmas and the fact I’m pregnant, I bite my bottom lip and feel another shock of jealousy and I remember why I never look at Facebook. I move forward in my chair, the photo pixilates but I keep staring at her fixed, unseeing eyes and I think she knew; she knew she was pregnant but she kept it secret. I think she waited, wanted to know the baby had a good chance. After she miscarried, I bet she wanted to protect Jack, her family, from more possible heartache.
I scroll through a few more photos before one catches my eye. Cassie’s a few years younger, grinning at the camera as if she’s on holiday, not in a hospice. She’s got one leg raised up on the bed where an older woman, jaundiced and emaciated, lies, a bright-blue headscarf wrapped around her bald head. They’re holding hands. They don’t look similar, but that’s the disease. I know immediately the woman is April, Cassie’s mum. On the other side of April is a man with longish white hair, the camera’s caught him smiling but his eyes are closed. He’s holding April’s left hand as delicately as if a butterfly just landed on him and he wants it to stay. They’re both wearing shiny gold rings.
‘Facebook? You’re never on Facebook.’ David’s right behind me; I’d been so engrossed I didn’t hear him come in.
‘David, you scared the shit out of me.’ I swivel round to face him, slap him playfully away, his T-shirt is sweaty, slightly damp.
‘Oooh,’ he says, fending off my attack by grabbing my wrists. ‘So who are we looking at?’ He leans towards the computer.
‘Oh, no one really.’ I turn back to the computer, wiggle my right wrist free and close the page before he can see. While David starts half-heartedly stretching his calf I try and keep my voice normal. ‘God, I forgot what a weird thing Facebook is, everyone posting about their life.’
‘Yeah, but it’s all window dressing, all carefully edited bullshit. People post photos of themselves wrapped around the partner they despise in an attempt to convince the world all is well, because if everyone else thinks they’re happy, then surely they are?’
Can he not see it in me? Do I not look a little more alive? Like a light has been turned on inside me?
‘Ahh, there he is … my very own little Grinch,’ I say.
‘It’s true!’ He shrugs and releases his calf as he turns towards the bathroom, saying in a silly voice, ‘Ah, good little wifey running a bath for me.’
I get up quickly from the computer. ‘Bugger off, it’s mine!’
We race each other to the bathroom like children and he pulls the tie on my bathrobe until I shake it off, he puts his hand on my stomach but he still doesn’t guess. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, kiss him full on the mouth. He’s surprised – I usually avoid sweaty kisses – but I kiss him again and say, ‘I love you, David.’ He holds the back of my head, and he says, ‘I love you, A-Lice.’ I think of Cassie and think I might cry suddenly because, for whatever reason, the world has given us both another chance.
8
Frank
Sleep is hard to come by on 9B. The ward sounds like the Serengeti at night. I remember hearing it on a wildlife documentary, full of whoops and moans, and night-time chatter. Here the commotion is led by Ellen, the old lady who goes back to the Blitz most nights. Because I can’t move and my eyes are shut I imagine it must seem that I sleep like the dead, but I’m just like everyone else; I have to be comfortable, which, most of the time, I’m not. I can’t shift blankets if I’m too hot, or yell at the other patients to shut the hell up.
I must doze off eventually because when I open my eyes Alice is with me, chatting away about David, how he’s started running. My head’s slipped and lolls to the right, like a marionette with slack strings; I can see my Christmas cards and the photo Luce sent. I don’t know what Alice is doing but she must be busy, buzzing around me; usually she’d prop my head up straight away. There’s a new lightness to her; she must still be all fizzy about Cassie and the baby.
‘Actually, that reminds me, Frank, I must get David some high-vis gear; I don’t like him running on dark roads …’
Someone clears their throat and, from behind the curtain, Lizzie says, ‘Alice?’
Alice pulls the curtain back and out of the far corner of my eye, I see Lizzie and Charlotte standing opposite Alice.
‘Morning, Charlotte,’ Alice says to the neat-looking older woman. She turns to Lizzie. ‘Thank you.’ Lizzie nods and goes back towards reception.
‘The family room’s free, I could make us some coffee?’ Alice asks Charlotte.
‘Oh no, no I’ve only got a couple of minutes actually, Alice. I just wanted to ask –’ she glances at me quickly, too polite to stare and her voice softens; she doesn’t want to offend ‘– about the private room for Cassie. Mr Sharma mentioned she would be moving a few days ago?’
Cassie’s leaving? My heart falls.
‘Oh, Mr Sharma didn’t update you?’ Alice asks.
‘Not since it was mentioned.’
‘The consultants have actually decided to keep her here, on nine B.’
Charlotte tuts, but lets Alice keep talking. My heart balances again.
‘The thing is, we have all the emergency equipment here for her, in case we need it. We can’t have those machines on standby for only one patient; it may put others at risk. And, besides, they were struggling to find a room with enough space for the machines we’d like to have available to her.’
She’s staying.
‘What do you think, Alice, honestly?’
At least she won’t be alone.
‘I think it’s probably the wisest decision. We have a minimum of two nurses here round the clock, the fastest access to equipment and meds; besides, it’s such a small ward, it’s pretty quiet here anyway, and we’ll do all we can to make sure you and your visitors have privacy.’
She nods again, looks up at me, as if for reassurance that I’m not going to be a nuisance.
I don’t take it personally. She shouldn’t worry; I’m a quiet neighbour.
‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that as well,’ Charlotte says, turning back to Alice. ‘We’ve decided to keep visitors to a minimum for now.’
Alice nods. ‘Yes, of course, if that’s what you want.’
‘It was Jack’s idea. He wants it to be just him and me for now.’
I hear surprise in Alice’s pause; Charlotte keeps talking.
‘The phone is ringing constantly with friends asking how she’s getting on, but we don’t want lots of people knowing about the baby just yet, when we’re still getting used to it ourselves. As you said, the most important thing is that we’re calm and positive around Cassie, and to be honest, I don’t want Jack dealing with streams of visitors. He doesn’t need that just now. He told me about Jonny making his way onto the ward. We don’t want anything like that happening again. We thought if she was moved and we limited visitors, he won’t be able to … anyway, keeping it to just us two seems like the simplest option at present. Does that sound OK?’
‘Yes, of course, Charlotte. Whatever you think is best. You can always reassess later if you want.’