Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [47]
But I went in and I sat next to her and I tried to enjoy the magazine that Granny, who was already there, had bought me. It wasn’t easy. I was bored. I couldn’t help it. No one was talking, Mum hadn’t budged since last night and Granny looked like she would burst into tears if you asked her the time.
Why was everyone making such a fuss? Why didn’t they listen? She does this every week!
The next day Mum was still in hospital. I admit that surprised me. She’s normally up by now. Even so, when Grandpa suggested going back to see her after school, I asked not to. Eventually he relented and I stayed and played at their house. It was the same the next day, and the next. In fact, probably a week passed before I returned. Even then, it was against my better judgement. Yes, it had been longer than usual, but nothing was set in stone with Mum. I’d learnt that years ago.
So back I went and tried to talk to her, but she barely reacted to anything.
Fine. I’ll talk to you when you wake up.
I thought I deserved a medal for lasting as long as I had. Eventually though, patience absolutely exhausted, I said, ‘Can we go yet?’
Granny sighed and spoke quietly to Grandpa. Then he said, ‘Come on, Cathy, it’s probably time to eat anyway.’
‘What about Granny?’ I asked, ever the practical little girl I’d been forced to become. ‘We’ve only got one car.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Granny replied. ‘I’ll make my own way home.’
I wasn’t happy, but I accepted it. A second later I was skipping out of the hospital entrance, relieved to have escaped that dreary place. I really, really hoped I wouldn’t have to go back there the following day.
When I got up for breakfast Granny and Grandpa were waiting for me.
‘I’ve got some terrible news,’ Granny said, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Your mother . . .’ she paused. ‘Your mother died last night.’
As soon as the words left her lips, she slumped back as though she’d been building up to say them all morning. I took all of this in before the message hit home.
Died.
‘She’s dead?’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘Dead?’ The word sounded wrong even as I was saying it.
‘Yes, dear,’ Granny said and came over to hug me. I didn’t exactly push her away. I was just too shocked. Immobile through disbelief.
‘But there was nothing wrong with her,’ I spluttered.
Grandpa looked surprised. ‘She was very ill.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ I insisted. ‘That was normal. She’s like that, then she gets up. Normal, see?’
But they didn’t see. They both shook their heads and Granny started crying. The more I protested, the more upset they both became. Whatever they’d planned for this moment, I don’t think it was working out.
‘She can’t be dead. It must be a mistake.’
‘There’s no mistake, dear,’ Granny said. ‘I was there when she left us.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘She’s gone. Really gone.’
Part of me wanted to rush down to the hospital and check for myself. Another part wanted to hare round the garden screaming. But yet another part wanted to gather up my satchel and set off for school. That was how my life worked: you got upset and you moved on. Things to do. Always things to do.
But I did none of those things. Looking back, Granny and Grandpa must have thought I had a heart of stone. But there was a reason I didn’t cry. It wasn’t because I hadn’t loved Mum. It was because I refused to accept she’d gone. It was all a big mistake, I was sure of it. Mum needed me to remain vigilant, to work out how to get her back. Crying wouldn’t help her or me.
In any case, the Beavises were not a crying family. I don’t know if Grandpa ever cried in his whole life; I certainly never saw him shed a tear over Mum. Even Granny would usually remove herself to her room when she became emotional.
Tears or not, there was a horribly subdued atmosphere at Tremola Avenue that morning. I spent most of it in my room, while Granny and Grandpa had visitors or spoke on the telephone. There was a lot to talk about. People had a lot of questions. But I just had one.
How can she