Page 34 of Annabel and Her Sisters
At the hospital in Oxford we made for the main reception, not knowing which department to head for.
There was a queue and the waiting room was full.
When we finally made it, the young girl behind the glass partition, after we’d explained, looked dubious.
What, just like that? her expression seemed to say.
You want to see a doctor now? Without triage? But nonetheless, she made a phone call.
‘Take a seat,’ she told us, covering the handpiece.
We didn’t want to, we wanted to listen, wait for an answer, be directed to a lift or something, but we dutifully went and sat at the back of the crowded waiting room.
None of us spoke. It felt like forever, but it can only have been about fifteen minutes before a middle-aged chap with grey hair and glasses in a smart suit appeared down a long corridor.
For some reason I instantly knew it was him.
He glanced around the room, then saw Clarissa and with a flash of recognition came across. We stood up.
‘Thank you, Peter,’ she said quickly.
‘No problem, nice to see you after so long.’
‘This is my sister, Annabel.’
‘Hi,’ we both murmured, then all our eyes fell to my mother, who was still sitting down, looking dazed and not at all with it.
He crouched down. ‘Hello. I’m Peter Hunter,’ he told her gently.
‘I trained with Derek, your son-in-law, at Charing Cross many moons ago. In fact, I think I even came to your house once, in Primrose Hill. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure, but apparently you’ve had a bit of a shock, so we’re going to give you a minor overhaul.
If you could just come with me, we’re going to take you to a side room, it’s a bit more private.
’ He straightened up: glanced at both of us enquiringly.
‘Does one of you want to come with her?’
‘Yes, please,’ both Clarissa and I said at once.
My mother had got unsteadily to her feet. ‘This is my daughter Clarissa and my best friend, Pammy,’ she explained politely.
We all looked astonished.
‘How about you then, Clarissa, please,’ Peter said quickly, to my sister, as she and I both looked stricken.
They slowly walked Mum away, one on either side, and Clarissa had the grace to turn and shoot me a sympathetic look.
For want of a better, more constructive idea, I sat back down in the heaving waiting room.
It’s the shock. Just the shock, I told myself repeatedly.
I realized I was hyperventilating. I breathed in and out slowly, deeply, trying to fill my lungs.
To distract myself I dug my phone out of my pocket and texted Polly.
There was already a message from her asking how Granny was.
I replied that she was in good hands and being checked over at the hospital.
I told her the dogs had gone to Ginnie’s, and that Lara was there, too.
I thought they were going to Joan’s?
Yes, but not immediately. That would be too much at the moment. We need to float that idea with Granny and get the house cleaned etc.
I’ll organize that.
Oh, well, I began, then I erased it. I stared into space, my mind racing.
Should we do that now? Get Joan’s house sorted out already?
How ill was my mother? Would she even end up there, or– God forbid– in some home for the…
bewildered. I didn’t reply to Polly. If she wanted to get Joan’s house sorted out– something my mother had been itching to do for years, and had mooted it, only to be told to mind her own business– then clearly, as the last twenty-four hours had shown, Polly was the person to do it.
How she would get Joan to agree I had no idea, but I had enough on my plate.
I didn’t want to, but I did. I googled sudden onset dementia. I knew nothing about it, I realized, with shame. And yet Hebe’s stepfather had it. Could it come on just like that? As a result of trauma? I wracked my brains to think of any clues we’d had. Any memory lapses, forgetfulness.
‘Symptoms can sometimes develop suddenly and quickly get worse.’
I snapped my phone off. Went hot. Then I quickly checked the site I’d just been looking at.
I always told the children that if they must google about health issues, which I strongly disapproved of, they should only look at the NHS, because there was so much ill-informed medical advice on the internet.
Damn. It was NHS. I swallowed and rested my head back on the wall.
Then I shut my eyes. The waiting room was full, but it seemed to me I was the only person in it. My phone pinged. It was Ginnie.
Any news?
Not yet.
You with her?
No, Clarissa is. And the doctor.
No response. And I knew she would have thought it odd that it wasn’t me with our mother, but didn’t say. The phone pinged again. Luke.
Granny OK? Polly messaged me.
She’s being looked after really well. I’m sure she’ll be fine.
OK. I’m at home. Popped back for some stuff. Poll’s not here. That André guy was asking for you.
I didn’t answer. André. God, I had that to sort out, didn’t I?
I had to– you know. Tell him. How had I got myself into this pickle?
That life where I was choosing between two men seemed a million years ago; a different woman’s existence entirely, not mine.
What on earth had I been thinking? I wanted to eliminate at least one from my life immediately, clear the decks and concentrate on Mum.
Indeed, I had a strong urge to text André and say:
Look, I know we had a couple of dates but I’m afraid I’m not interested.
I mean, obviously not those words, but something final.
But I knew you weren’t supposed to text.
The rule was that you did it face-to-face.
Well, I supposed it was the same in my day.
Or was it? I cast my mind back. I remembered being chucked– dumped, now of course– when I was about sixteen, over the phone.
I’d had to take the call in the hall. Very public.
Then I ran upstairs to my room in floods of tears, flinging myself face-down on the bed.
Mum came in, stroked my back, brought me up a cup of tea, no doubt thinking– here we go.
Daughter number three on the helter-skelter of boyfriends.
It’s begun. But I wasn’t sixteen now; I was fifty-six.
So it would have to be a conversation. Another ping.
Wants to check the bathroom mirror.
I almost smiled. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Annabel.
This was a handsome, fit builder who’d shrug it off in moments.
And I knew they were almost finished, too, the builders: tiles, mirrors, lights, just the finishing touches.
Soon we’d have a splendid loft conversion, and Clarissa her tractor, and Ginnie her roof.
And Mum… would only have four dogs and might even be in a home.
No. We’d look after her. Come what may, we’d take care of her.
Joan couldn’t. That was for sure. If Mum had dementia.
So we’d revert to plan A: the daughters in rotation, but eliminate Clarissa from the equation.
Just Ginnie and me. Even if we had to have a stand-up-knock-down with Clarissa.
Even if she went shouty crackers– oh yes, she could.
Bright red in the face, fists clenched, bellowing with rage. But we’d achieve it, Ginnie and I.
All at once the woman herself, my eldest sister, appeared, hurrying towards me across the waiting room, looking far from furious. She even looked relieved. I stood up, realizing Clarissa didn’t look like this unless a new calf had just been born.
‘Urinary tract infection,’ she told me breathlessly, excitedly. ‘Apparently it can send old people doolally, and that’s exactly what’s happened. She’s on a drip now, saline. She’ll be fine.’
‘Oh!’ My hands went to my mouth in joy. I almost hugged her.
And then I did. We held each other tight and I gasped into her shoulder.
She was much taller than me and it occurred to me I’d probably never really hugged Clarissa properly, not like this, but it felt good.
Then we released one another abruptly. Or she did.
‘I did wonder why she kept going to the loo,’ she admitted. ‘Every five minutes. And we’d hear her get up in the night, about six times.’
Suddenly I wanted to slap her and never hug her again. What was it with my sister? Could she only think about heifers? If one of her precious cows had a symptom like that she’d be on it in moments. But her own mother? I swallowed.
‘Yes, well, that is a little unusual,’ I managed. ‘How long do they want to keep her in for?’
‘Overnight, because of her age. And to get a load of salt and fluid in her and for observation.’
‘Can I see her?’
‘She’s fallen asleep. Exhausted. And… well, you know. She didn’t recognize you, did she? Let’s leave her.’
Thanks, buddy, for pointing that out. I nodded, with difficulty. ‘No, fine. And the doctor said…?’
‘That she’ll be fine. Right as rain, as she would say.’ She smiled, and I felt my heart lift at this. I could hear her saying it. Could even see her, striding out again, from Joan’s: four dogs at her feet, in her tweeds, better already, smiling. Always optimistic, happy, cheerful.
I rang Ginnie as we made our way out. She cried with relief. Then I tried Polly and Luke, who, as usual had their phones on silent, so I texted them instead. I got relieved texts back.
OMG PHEW!!!! From Polly.
That makes sense Luke said. Hannah’s grandpa had the same, from a UTI.
Hannah rang a bell but I couldn’t remember why in my confusion.
Oh yes. Clarissa and I were almost at the exit when we saw Peter Hunter.
I thanked him profusely and he smiled and said it was an occupational hazard for the elderly, but one to watch out for in future, and to keep her well hydrated. We agreed that we would, and then left.