The Good Sister - Sally Hepworth Page 0,79
call Rose?
“Why would they call you?”
Rose looks a little sheepish. “I’m Mum’s emergency contact.”
I stare at her. I have been visiting Mum every week for sixteen years and Rose is Mum’s emergency contact?
She takes a long deep breath. “It’s not good news, Fern. Mum … she died.”
I hear the words. I understand them. And yet, I feel … nothing. I become oddly aware of all the sounds around me. The birds in the nearby tree. My breath whooshing past my ears. My heart beating.
“There aren’t many details yet,” Rose says. “They will probably have to do an autopsy. They think it must have been a stroke.”
“But … she couldn’t have had a stroke. She was in good health. Better than ever.”
Rose shrugs. “Unfortunately, even healthy people have strokes sometimes.”
A tear slips from my eye and I wipe it away quickly with my shirtsleeve. Another immediately takes its place.
“I know this is hard for you, Fern. I know you loved her.”
“Can I see her?” I ask.
Rose shakes her head. “They’ve already taken her … for the autopsy.”
I stare at her. “Already?”
“Yes.”
“But … when did she die?”
“The hospital called me yesterday. Apparently, she didn’t wake up in the morning.”
“Yesterday? Mum’s been dead for a whole day and you didn’t tell me?”
Rose looks surprised. “Please don’t get upset, Fern.”
I try to fathom how I could not be upset. It is, after all, exquisitely upsetting.
“I’ll take you home,” Rose says, placing a hand on my arm. “Why don’t you wait here a minute and I’ll explain what has—”
“No,” I say, pulling my arm free and wrapping it around myself. “I’m staying here.”
But Rose is already walking back toward the door to the library. “I’m sure they’ll understand, Fern.”
“NO!” It comes out louder than I intend, but at least Rose stops walking. “I don’t want to go home. I have work to do.…”
Rose stares at me. “Really? You want to stay here?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am.”
Rose looks confused. I’m not sure why. The library has been my home for as long as I can remember. After a lifetime together, you’d think she would have known that. But more and more lately, I get the feeling that Rose doesn’t know me at all.
* * *
I feel agitated as I walk back into the library. I don’t pause as I pass Gayle and Carmel, I just continue straight into the secret cupboard. Inside, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Sun Meadows.
A receptionist named Jessica answers the phone. “Good morning, Sun Meadows, how may I assist you?”
“My name is Fern Castle. My mother, Nina Castle, was a patient there and I have just been informed that she has passed away. Can I speak to someone about this please?”
The receptionist tells me she’s sorry for my loss and then asks if I can hold the line. I’ve always thought that was a stupid saying—after all, what line do they want me to hold?—but today I am too upset to worry about it. After a minute, she patches me through.
“Hello?” says the voice.
“Hello,” I say. “My mother, Nina, was a patient and—”
“Fern?” she says. “It’s Onnab. I was one of your mother’s nurses. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh,” I say, realizing that until that very moment I’d been holding on to hope that it had been some kind of terrible mistake. “Thank you, Onnab.”
“Your mother was a very nice lady,” she says. “I always enjoyed looking after her.”
I inhale a wobbly breath. “Thank you, Onnab. I wanted to check if you knew anything about the cause of Mum’s death yet.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It will be at least a few days before we get the results of the autopsy.”
I sink into the armchair.
“It may be of some comfort that I saw your mother the evening before she died. She seemed happy. To see your sister at last, I think, really lifted her spirits.”
I repeat the sentence in my head, making sure I had interpreted correctly. But I couldn’t have.
“Mum saw Rose?”
“Yes. At least, I think it was her. Small girl. Brunette?”
I can’t believe it. Rose visited Mum. She visited her.
I let my head fall back against the armchair. Any anger I’d felt toward Rose dissipates. What that must have meant to Mum.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Fern?” Onnab asks after a brief silence.
“No,” I say, wiping a tear away. “You’ve already helped enough.”
I don’t know how long I sit in the secret cupboard. It might be ten minutes. It might be an hour. No