‘You’re a good girl,’ says Nanna Beth, faintly. She looks small in her nightie and dressing gown – as if she’s shrunk in the last few months.
‘Come on then, love,’ says the porter cheerfully. ‘We’ll have you upstairs in no time.’
Ward 12 is a small room with six beds in it. All but one of them are occupied, and it must be visiting time because almost all of them have family members sitting around. There are get well cards and balloons and boxes of chocolates sitting on top of the side tables, and a low murmur of conversation. A nurse arrives and helps Nanna out of her chair and into bed while the porter wheels the chair away.
‘You’re in the best ward,’ the nurse says in a warm, deep voice that sounds like honey. Nanna, who can’t resist a good-looking man, beams up at him as she allows him to tuck the sheets around her waist and plump up pillows behind her back. ‘We’ll take good care of you here, don’t you worry.’
I watch as he walks away, whistling. It makes me think of Alex, and how he must be with the patients on his ward. He’s working on orthopaedics right now, he told me the other day, and it’s basically nothing but elderly people with broken hips. Oh and one mother of four with a broken ankle. She did it playing roller derby, apparently, and she said she was quite enjoying the peace and quiet.
Nanna Beth has closed her eyes again.
I take the opportunity to message Alex back.
She’s in a ward. Mum’s gone to the theatre.
A moment later, Alex replies.
You must be exhausted. Where are you sleeping?
Mum’s place, I suppose. x
His answer flashes straight back.
When I said let me know if there’s anything I can do, I meant it. x
Alex has heard enough stories about my childhood as we’ve walked around London to know exactly why the prospect of staying with Mum doesn’t exactly fill me with joy. I spent most of my life growing up at Nanna and Granddad’s little house, because Mum was almost never around. If she wasn’t off with one boyfriend or another, she was on some hare-brained money-making scheme. She’d only been seventeen when I was born, and she’d been happy to let my grandparents bring me up.
‘Hello, lovey,’ says a different nurse, walking into the room. ‘Just going to take some observations.’ She picks up a clipboard and writes something down, taking Nanna’s pulse and blood pressure.
‘It’s all go here,’ Nanna says, faintly.
‘Do you know what’s happening?’ I ask. ‘How long will she be in?’ I feel a bit stranded, waiting for something to happen.
‘We’ve got Beth on some medication, which should lower her blood pressure. The doctor will be here tomorrow morning and do her rounds. She’ll take it from there.’
‘What about tonight?’ I look at the clock. It’s already half seven.
‘Well, visiting hours are over at seven forty-five,’ the nurse says, checking her watch, ‘but you can come back tomorrow.’
I feel a wave of anxiety wash over me. ‘What if Nanna needs me?’
‘Don’t you worry,’ Nanna Beth says, reaching her hand over and squeezing mine, gently. ‘I’m in the right place. You get back to your Mum’s place and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. And don’t you worry about the cat – she’s being looked after.’
I feel weird leaving her there. She looks small and faded and old against the bright white sheets, and my stomach contracts in fear at the smells and sounds of the hospital as I make my way down flights of stairs to the entrance. I can’t bear the thought of losing her.
My mother’s sent a text, at least, telling me that she’s going to be at the performance until eleven, and that the key is under the stone cat on the front step. She’s moved again, to a flat in a scruffy-looking part of town, and I have to check the map on my phone to make sure I’m on the right street. I climb yet more stairs – she’s on the third floor, overlooking rooftops and a distant view of the sea. I peer out of the window in the sitting room, looking at the dark autumn sky. Winter is creeping in. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. There’s a gas heater and I switch it on, clicking the button five times before it sparks into life.
I wander around the empty flat, noticing bits and pieces that