A Place of Hope (3 page)

She must be in hospital. What had happened? She couldn’t remember.

A face appeared beside her and with a struggle, she focused on it. A woman. A nurse.

‘Emily?’

There was something in her throat and she could only manage a faint noise in response.

‘Don’t try to speak. Blink if you can understand me.’

She did that.

‘Blink three times.’

By concentrating hard, she succeeded in doing this.

‘Well done. You’re in hospital because you had an accident. You fell down some stairs. Blink twice if you understand.’

She managed that.

‘Excellent.’ The nurse turned to look at the monitor again and spoke to someone nearby. ‘Her vitals are improving.’

More discussion which Emily didn’t manage to follow, then, ‘I reckon she’ll be able to breathe on her own soon.’

The words made little sense. The last thing she remembered was saying goodbye to her sister Liz.

She gave up trying to work it out. She was too tired.

The beeping was a comfort now. It proved she was still alive.

The next time she regained consciousness, Emily felt much more comfortable. The tube had gone from her throat, thank goodness.

‘Emily? Are you awake?’

She turned her head and saw a young woman in nurse’s uniform. ‘What . . . happened?’ Her voice sounded strange, a monotone, not at all like hers.

‘You fell down some stairs and ended up in hospital. You’ve not broken anything, but you were knocked unconscious. Could you tell me your first name, please?’

‘Em’ly.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Kings . . . Langl’y.’

She couldn’t manage to ask the questions she wanted to. Tears of frustration formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t even raise her hand to wipe them away.

The nurse did it for her. ‘You’re going to be all right, Emily. Try to keep calm. Just give it a little time.’

She frowned, trying to remember falling. But she couldn’t. She had no memory of it, none whatsoever.

The soothing voice said quietly, ‘Try to rest now, Emily. You’ve done really well today. We’re very pleased with your progress.’

Jane watched her patient for a moment or two, feeling hopeful now of at least a partial recovery. You could never be sure with coma patients, though. Making a quick note on Emily’s records of what had just happened, she went back to the nurses’ station.

When the phone rang, she sighed, hoping it wasn’t another admission.

‘Intensive Care Unit.’

‘Reception. We have someone here who says he’s Emily Mattison’s nephew. He’s insisting on seeing her straight away. Can I send him up?’

‘I suppose so. She’s asleep, though.’

A couple of minutes later Jane heard the lift ping as it stopped. A burly man with close-shaven receding hair and what looked like expensive clothes stopped for a moment to look round, then strode towards the desk as if he owned the place.

‘May I help you?’

‘George Pilby. I gather you have my aunt here – Emily Mattison. I’m her closest relative. I was told she’s regained consciousness.’

‘I thought her closest relative was her sister?’

‘That’s my mother, who’s rather frail, so I came to see my aunt instead.’

Not
can I see her?
Jane noted. ‘You can only see her for a moment. She’s not fully conscious yet.’

‘Is she in her right mind?’

What a way to put it! ‘Your aunt answered to her name and asked what happened, so we’re very hopeful.’

‘Did she remember the accident?’

‘No. But that means nothing. It’s quite common with head injuries and comas.’

‘At her age, the memory loss can’t be good. And anyway, she was showing signs of becoming forgetful before it happened. Growing old is so sad.’

Old! The woman was fifty-eight, according to her driving licence. Jane didn’t consider that to be old and anyway, Miss Mattison didn’t look anything like her age. Her face was quite pretty, even with the bruises, and her dark brown hair was only lightly greying at the temples.

She accompanied Mr Pilby to the cubicle where Emily was being cared for, her vital signs still monitored night and day.

He stood looking down at his aunt, showing no signs of being upset, merely studying her carefully. ‘Will she regain her senses?’

Jane hurried him away from the bed. Who knew what coma patients could and could not hear? ‘We can’t tell yet, but it’s likely she’ll recover completely.’

‘Hmm.’ He stared round. ‘How long will she be here?’

‘A few more days perhaps, then she’ll be taken to a rehab unit for a week or two.’

‘It might be kinder if she died than if she recovered to face Alzheimer’s.’

‘We try to help all our patients to recover. And I’ve already told you that means nothing at this stage.’

‘But you’ll put on her records about my poor aunt Emily already having some problems. I don’t want anyone nagging her and upsetting her with questions she doesn’t understand.’

‘Yes, I’ll put it on her records.’

‘I’ll phone every day. It’s not worth coming again until she’s properly conscious.’

Jane watched him leave, glad she wasn’t dependent on help from such an unfeeling person.

When George got back to his mother’s house, he took her into the living room and sat next to her, taking her hand and patting it.

She looked at him apprehensively. ‘Emily’s not . . . dead?’

‘No. She may even recover, though in what condition they’re not sure. The accident is quite likely to trigger dementia, I’m afraid.’

Liz gasped and put one hand across her mouth. ‘Oh, no! Not Emily! She’s always been so clever. I
must
go and see her for myself.’

‘Not yet. She isn’t fully conscious. I don’t want you exhausting yourself unnecessarily. I think I’d better go and check her house, see that everything is all right there. Oh, and I need to get her car back. It’s apparently still in the hotel car park, so the key must be there. It wasn’t in her handbag with her house keys. Marcia and I will pick the car up on the way to Kings Langley.’

‘That’s very kind of you, George dear. Don’t forget to tell her neighbour who you are. She’s called Rachel Fenwick and she has a key to the house as well.’

‘I’ll do that.’

The following day George and Marcia set off after breakfast for Kings Langley.

‘We should be house hunting on our own behalf today,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve had to cancel today’s appointments.’

‘We might not need to go house hunting. Someone has to keep an eye on my aunt’s place, so if it’s at all decent, we can move in. It’ll save paying rent for a few weeks, if nothing else. It’s quite easy to get to London from there. I looked it up on line. About twenty miles, with a station nearby.’

‘But how can we? Your aunt’s in no condition to give permission.’

‘Exactly. So she can’t refuse us. Besides, we’ll be doing her a favour, taking care of her house. You’re a wonderful manager. I’m sure you’ll be able to bring it up to scratch. Old people never keep their houses nice.’

‘I don’t regard your aunt as old. She’s very young for her age.’

‘You didn’t see her in hospital. She looks dreadful, as if she’s aged ten years. We’ll make a detour to pick up her car. Which do you want to drive? This one or hers?’

‘This one.’

Later, when they both drew up outside Emily’s house, he got out of his aunt’s car and studied the place.

Marcia joined him. ‘It’s quite pretty.’

‘Bigger than I’d expected, too,’ George said. ‘Much bigger than Mother’s house. My aunt probably has some decent retirement money. She’s never been a big spender. Let’s hope it’s not old-fashioned inside. We’d better go and get the key from this neighbour.’

‘I thought you had a key.’

‘I do. But I don’t want the neighbour coming in to poke around our things while we’re out, so I’ll pretend I haven’t got a key.’ He strode down the path of the house next door, ignoring his wife’s sigh.

The woman who opened the door to him seemed to be around his aunt’s age. She needed to lose a few pounds and dress to suit her years, he thought disapprovingly. He’d not let his wife get so porky.

‘You must be Rachel. I’m George Pilby, Emily’s nephew. I believe you have a key to her house.’

‘Yes. Is Emily worse? I’ve been worrying about her since Liz phoned to say she’d been in an accident. Your aunt usually keeps in touch.’

‘My aunt has been in a coma, and it’s not certain she’ll recover.’

Tears filled Rachel’s eyes. ‘Oh, no! Where is she? I must go and see her.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s only close family at the moment and anyway, she’s still not fully conscious. They’ve yet to find out whether there’s been any brain damage.’

She looked at him in horror. ‘Emily? I can’t believe it.’

‘We’ll have to hope for the best. Whatever the outcome, she’ll be in rehab for some weeks.’

‘Please tell me as soon as she’s able to have visitors. Where is she exactly? I’ll send a get well card and flowers.’

‘I’ll let you know when it’s worth making contact. In the meantime, my wife and I will be staying here to keep an eye on her house, so if you can let me have the key . . .’

‘Of course.’ Rachel went inside and came back with the key. ‘The mail is on the hall table. Emily asked me to forward her mail to her sister’s for a couple of weeks then keep it here.’

He took the key and walked away quickly. What a busybody! He hated neighbours who tried to live in your pocket.

The less this one knew about his aunt, the less she could interfere with his plans. He’d tell the hospital to allow no visitors except for him.

George smiled at Marcia and waggled the key, then went to open the front door of his aunt’s house. He’d not visited it before, because she’d always come to his mother’s, so he’d seen no point in going to her place as well during his brief visits to the UK.

They walked round in silence, then stood in the kitchen.

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Smaller than I’d like, but nicely laid out and the furniture’s good. She has some nice-looking antiques. I must check them out on line.’

‘The house has a nice feel to it.’

‘Yes. We’ll move in tomorrow. I’m getting a little tired of sleeping in that uncomfortable bed at my mother’s and sharing a bathroom with her.’

‘Will your mother be all right on her own? Perhaps we should bring her here with us?’

‘And perhaps we shouldn’t. She’ll be fine. She’s coped perfectly well on her own while I’ve been overseas, after all.’

He picked up the mail from the hall table and started going through it. ‘Ah! Another letter from that lawyer chappie.’ He slit it open and read it, smiling. ‘I’ll have to let him know that I’ll be taking charge of negotiating with the property developer.’

‘But what if your aunt doesn’t want to sell her new house? Anyway, you don’t have power of attorney over her affairs.’

He scowled at her. ‘I can still negotiate the sale and once it’s clear that she’s not going to recover, I’ll get a power of attorney.’

‘I’m always amazed at how directly you go for something when you want it.’

‘It’s the best way.’

‘What if your aunt recovers?’

‘I don’t think she will. We shall have to wait and see.’

He stared out across the gardens. He’d planted a few seeds about his aunt’s mental health being doubtful. He’d find a way to plant more. She was bound to be confused when she came out of the coma. Maybe he could ask for her to be sedated.

It’d solve a lot of problems if she didn’t recover. His mother would inherit, surely? If she didn’t, she could contest the will.

There was always a way to get something if you wanted it badly enough. You just had to find it and pay people, if necessary, to help you bend the rules.

He’d look after his aunt, of course. And his mother. Make sure they had everything they needed. But older people were best living simply and quietly. Everyone knew that.

The next day George went to the hospital again. On his own. He made his way to intensive care. ‘How is my aunt?’

‘Still drifting in and out of consciousness, I’m afraid, Mr Pilby.’

‘I’ll go and see her.’

By the time the nurse had caught up with him, he was standing next to his aunt. ‘She looks worse than last time.’

The sister gaped at him. ‘She’s recovering well.’

‘She doesn’t look well to me.’

‘Please don’t say such negative things in front of her, Mr Pilby. We never know how much coma patients hear and understand, especially those who are recovering.’ She slipped round to the other side and spoke to the patient, as he should have done. ‘Your nephew’s here, Emily.’

‘I’m here to look after you, Auntie dear,’ he boomed. ‘Don’t worry. They think they can help you.’

The patient opened her eyes with a start, focused on him and frowned. ‘Go ’way, George.’

Jane didn’t allow herself to smile. From the patient’s expression, it was clear that George wasn’t a favourite relative. As for what he was saying, well, she had to wonder if he was deliberately trying to scare his aunt.

She’d seen everything in her job, from loving families to ones who couldn’t wait for their elderly relative to die. The latter weren’t always averse to nudging them along a bit, either. This guy definitely wasn’t the loving type. Was he one of the dangerous ones? She’d have to keep her eye on Ms Mattison whenever he visited.

‘Mother’s asked Marcia and me to move into your house, Auntie, to keep an eye on it until you’re able to go home. It’s very convenient, because we’ve not found anywhere to buy in England yet.’

Jane could see her patient getting agitated and struggling to respond, so moved to his side. ‘You’d better leave now, Mr Pilby. You’re upsetting her.’

He shrugged and allowed himself to be led away, not attempting a word of farewell or encouragement to his aunt. ‘I need to speak to her doctor now. See how disabled she’s going to be. This might make the dementia worse.’

‘I think Dr Spenser is still on the ward. Yes, there he is.’

Jane handed Mr Pilby over with relief, but could hear him haranguing poor Dr Spenser in the interview room right from the other end of the corridor.

That man was definitely hoping his aunt would not recover, she decided, presumably because he expected to inherit.