Sleight of Hand (7 page)

I sit next to her for ten minutes holding her hand until she remembers who I am and pulls it away. That pulling away breaks my heart: I am the only person here for her today, and that gesture says,
even if you were the last person on the planet …

Twice, she says, out of the blue, “But, I don't understand,” and I do my best to reassure her.

“You had a fit, and I'm sure the doctors will tell us more in a bit,” I say.

After about half an hour, she falls asleep. I step beyond the curtain to ask one of the nurses if it's OK for her to do so.

“I expect so,” the nurse replies unconvincingly. “You'll have to ask the doctor when he arrives.”

Another half an hour goes by. Jenny drifts in and out of sleep.

I cross the ward to the front desk. “Excuse me,” I say. “But shouldn't something be happening by now? It feels like we've been parked and forgotten.”

The nurse shrugs. “If you want fast, go to McDonald's,” she says.

I glance at her name tag. I have every intention of reporting her, but she sees the direction of my gaze and apologises.

“Sorry,” she says. “It's been a really long day. I'm sure the doctor will be with you in a minute. Why don't you go back to your friend and I'll see what I can do.”

I head out through the lobby and, amidst a gaggle of smoking medical staff, phone Penny to give her an update.

“Don't worry,” she says. “I'm just making a bit of tea. I'm in no hurry.”

I consider phoning Ricardo too. I need to hear his voice, and I want to tell him what's going on, but there's so much to tell I can't really think where to begin.

When I get back to Jenny a doctor has finally appeared. Because he looks too young, I check his name tag, but
Doctor Rowney
is what the tag says.

Dr Rowney has a pierced eyebrow, the same as Tom's. Who would have thought that doctors could look this cute? Who would have thought they could be this young?

“Well you seem to be fine now,” he tells her with a mild smile. “I can't see any reason why you can't go home. You'll be very tired for a while.” He nods at me. “She just needs sleep now.”

“Really?” I say. “But what happened? Will it happen again?”

He shrugs. “A seizure. These things happen,” he says. “And often as not they never happen again.”

“God, really?” I say.

“Just keep an eye on her for twenty-four hours.”

“But what causes it? What if it happens again?”

“Do what you did. Recovery position. Make sure she doesn't choke or hurt herself. Phone 999. But it won't.”

“God,” I say. “If it doesn't happen again then in twenty-four hours we're out of the woods then?”

“I think we can probably say that you're already out of the woods,” he says. “Now, I'll get an orderly to take you out to the taxi rank. Back in a tick.”

I stand there feeling cheated. If I am supposed to take Jenny home and look after her I need infinitely more information than I have been given. I crouch down beside her. She looks back at me in a vague, unfocused manner.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Awful,” she says.

“Do
you
think you're OK to go home?”

“I'm tired,” she says.

“OK,” I say. “But do you feel OK to go home in a taxi?”

“I want to sleep.”

“Right,” I say, feeling utterly convinced that this
isn't
the right thing to do, that Jenny should stay in a place where people know what to do if her eyes roll backwards and she starts vomiting.

“And Sarah. At five,” she says pulling at her hospital tag as if it's maybe a watch.

I slide my phone from my pocket. I don't tell her that it's already ten to eight. “Sure,” I say. “Where is she?”

Jenny frowns at me.

“Sarah? Where is she?” I repeat gently.

“She's at school.”

“School?”

“Well, nursery school.”

“Right. And after?”

“Next door. Susan's picking her up. I want to go home now. It stinks here. What's that smell?”

“Hospital smell. Disinfectant I think,” I say.

“It stinks,” she says.

I hear the curtain being dragged open and turn to find the doctor standing next to an asian orderly. “There you go,” he says.

“Are you sure this is OK?” I ask. “Because I really don't feel …”

“Oh!” the doctor says, looking past me and furrowing his brow.
“Oh!
You're not fine at all, are you?”

I swivel back to see that Jenny's head has lolled forward and her left arm and leg are juddering exactly as before. The doctor pushes me out of the way and crouches down beside her, and I think,
“Thank God! Thank God it happened here.”

This second seizure lasts only ten or fifteen seconds, and this time Jenny comes around almost immediately, saying, stumblingly, “What … Did it happen again? That smell!”

This second attack though, is enough to shift her hospital experience into an entirely different gear. Doctor Rowney stops smiling blankly at me and starts chewing the inside of his mouth instead. “We're going to have to keep her in,” he says. “Two seizures,
isn't
normal, not by any stretch.”

Jenny is wheeled, with urgency, to a ward. She doesn't react to any of this – she just sits there and stares out at us all. She looks like one of those
confused old ladies you see being wheeled around in retirement homes.

I sit outside her ward for an hour and watch nurses whizzing back and forth. I play spot the cutest doctor, and check out the corners to see if they are as dirty as people always say. They aren't.

And then my phone shows 21:40 and I decide that I have had enough. I collar the cutest nurse on one of his many strides past. He's a chunky guy in his late twenties with a shaved head, a neat, golden goatee and electric blue eyes.

“Oh God, I'm sorry. Someone should have told you …” he says. “She's fine. We've sedated her. And we've given her anti-convulsants to stop the fits. She'll sleep until tomorrow, and then we'll have to do some tests – try to work out why this is happening.”

“And why
might
that be?”

“There's no telling really …” he says. “Sorry.”

“No idea at all?”

“Maybe she's epileptic … As I say … It's hard to know.”

“Should I stay, or …”

“She'll sleep. Guaranteed. So there's no point. She mentioned a daughter. Do we need to contact social services or …”

“No, I can go and sort her out,” I say. “If I don't need to be here, that is.”

“No, there's really no point staying. You're better sorting out her daughter.”

“Can I give you my number?” I ask. “Just in case …”

“They'll take it at the front desk,” he says.

“And tomorrow, I should … what? Call?”

“Sure. After lunch I would say. I doubt we'll know much before then.”

“Right,” I say standing a little too fast. Just for a second, I think that I might faint – I have to hold on to the wall to steady myself.

“Sugary tea,” the nurse tells me with a wink.

“Sugary tea?”

He nods. “Cures all ills. There's a machine at the end of the corridor.”

As I head off in search of the drinks dispenser, I think,
“If only it did. If only sugary tea did cure all ills.”

When I get back to the house, Penny, already slipping into her overcoat, opens the front door. “How is she?” she asks.

“Not good,” I say. “She had another fit, and …”

“Oh the poor love,” Penny says.

“They sedated her. We should know more tomorrow.”

“They don't know what caused it then?”

I shrug. “Epilepsy maybe. That's the only word I heard anyone use.”

“God.”

“I know.”

“Sarah's with the woman next door. She came around. She was spitting blood … but I calmed her down.”

“Right,” I say. “That side? The June Whitfield lookalike?”

“That's the one,” she says. “She
does
look a bit like her. You know her then?”

“Not really. We met briefly. You look like you're on your way home.”

“I'm sorry love, but yes, it's after ten. I have to go. Will you be OK?”

“Sure,” I say.

“I made a big bowl of pasta – it's in the fridge. I thought you'd all be hungry.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I'm starving.”

“You can microwave it. I'm sorry love, but I really have to …”

I nod. “Sure. Thanks so much.”

“I've left my number next to the phone. If you need anything.”

“Right,” I say.

She shuffles around me and then pauses and pulls a face. “What a day, huh?”

I smile feebly. “Yes, what a day!”

Penny opens her arms, and we hug briefly.

“You don't have a key do you?” I ask.

She releases me and wrinkles her nose. “A key? Oh, for
here?”

I nod.

“I'm sorry love. The truth is, I don't really know her at all.”

“Right,” I say. “Well, thanks so much.”

“Good luck with the little one.”

“Yes, I think I'll need it.”

“Bye.” She gives me a little wave and then walks quickly away.

I take a deep breath, put the door on the catch, and head back to June Whitfield's house. It's her husband who opens the door though.

“Hi there,” I say. “I'm, um, looking for Sarah? Jenny said she was here.”

“I'll get Susan,” he says, vanishing into the lounge as Sarah's head appears at the top of the stairs.

“Hello you!” I say.

She looks at me very seriously, then descends one step and sits, rubbing her eyes. “Where's Mummy?” she asks.

The door to the lounge opens again and Susan appears. “Hello,” she says, without much pleasure, “you again.” Then to Sarah, she shouts, “And you, back to bed young lady.”

Sarah ignores her completely.

“How is she?” Susan asks. “I came around, but she said – a woman answered the door – and she said she's at the hospital.”

I wince and flick my eyes at Sarah. “Not in front of you-know-who, eh?”

Susan nods, closes the front door, and with another, “Bed!” directed at Sarah, leads me into the lounge. It's one of those not-redecorated-since-1970-but-spotless lounges, all green wallpaper, cut crystal, and mock walnut.

“She's had some kind of fit,” I explain. “Well, two actually. We don't know why yet. They had to keep her in.”

“It's not drugs, is it?”

“Drugs?”
I ask, astonished. “Why would it be drugs? Do you know something I don't?”

“Well it happens,” she says.

“Oh … well, then, no – no it's not drugs.”

“Well, good. Sarah can stay here the night if that's any help,” she says.

“Sure. I was going to take her home, but …”

“I'd rather she stayed here,” she says. “At least until I can speak to Jenny.”

“Of course,” I say. “You don't really know me, do you. Well it's up to you. I can take her next door or …”

The door pushes open and Sarah's face appears. “I want to go home,” she says.

Susan sighs. “I think it's best if you stay here,” she says. “Your dad's very tired and …”

“I'm not her dad,” I interrupt. “I'm just a friend. A friend of the family.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Susan says, warming up a little. “Oh, God, I'm sorry. I just assumed … I thought you were Nick. And he doesn't have the best reputation from what I hear.”

I wince again, and she glances down at Sarah and pulls a face. “Sorry,” she says. “So is Sarah happy to go with you?”

“Sure,” I say. “You remember me, don't you? Uncle Mark. From France?”

Sarah nods seriously. “You stole Mummy's boyfriend,” she says.

I snort, grit my teeth, close my eyes, and rub the bridge of my nose. I don't know whether to laugh, or cry, or faint from hunger and exhaustion. When I open my eyes again, Susan's expression has reverted to grim. “I definitely think she should stay here,” she says.

“Where's Mummy?” Sarah asks, her bottom lip trembling. “Is she at the hotel?”

“Yes, she's at the hotel,” Susan says, shooting me a glare.

“It's got a baby fridge,” Sarah tells me. “Full of chocolate.”

I nod. “Wow. Sounds good.”

“Yes, but Mummy said you can sleep over,” Susan says. “Wouldn't you rather sleep over with Franny and have pancakes for breakfast?”

Sarah's frown fades slightly, just enough to indicate that she might yet be convinced.

“And tomorrow we can go to the park again.”

Sarah blinks and rubs her eyes.

“But only if you get straight back up to bed.”

Sarah nods and hesitantly vanishes behind the door again.

“God,” I say, “you're good.”

Susan shrugs. “They love sharing a bed. They won't get any sleep, but …” she shrugs. “Tomorrow's not a school day.”

“Does she go to school already?”

“Franny does,” she says.

“Right, well, I'll, just, um, leave her with you then.”

“I think that's best.”

I nod. “Oh, and you don't happen to have a key, do you?”

“A key?”

“To Jenny's place? This was all a bit unplanned, so …”

“No,” she says, starting now to look suspicious as well as grim. “No, I don't
have a key
. How well do you actually know her?”

I sigh. “Pretty well. Well enough to fly all the way from Colombia to come to the funeral, anyway.”

“Colombia?” she says.