The Weight of Him(71)

“It could just be dehydration,” the paramedic said in her lilting Northern accent. “We’re giving her some fluids right now, that should help.”

Billy watched his mother, trying not to think that this could be all his fault.

As the ambulance arrived at the hospital, his mother came to, her hand rushing to the side of her head. She moaned, and complained of pain at her temple and pressure behind her eye. Billy’s thoughts jumped to a tumor, or a stroke. He searched her face for signs of palsy. She appeared normal, aside from the scrunch of pain and the now-gray hue to her complexion. He asked the paramedics, his voice too loud, too sharp, if they could give her something for the pain.

*

In the emergency room, amid the acrid smell of disinfectant, Billy waited on a comfortless plastic chair next to his mother on her bed, both of them hidden behind an orange curtain. He studied the outline of her feet under the pink blanket, a part of her he had no recollection of ever having touched prior to the ambulance, and which he would likely never touch again. He found himself missing the heat of her foot and its solid, smooth feel. In his head, he continued to call her Mammy.

A young male doctor appeared, thin and tanned. He shone a light in Billy’s mother’s eyes, and asked her question after question. The pain and pressure had eased, she told him. She said she thought she might be all right. Said she needed to get back to the zoo and the business of celebrating her grandson’s tenth birthday. “He’s my last grandchild.”

Billy needed a moment before he could speak. “Ivor will be fine, it’s you we need to worry about right now.” He tried to make light. “I’ll make sure Tricia keeps us some cake.”

The doctor looked Billy up and down. Like you need cake. Billy’s face burned. He might sometimes miss his size and how it wrapped and hid him, but he would never miss moments like this.

“Did you phone Lisa?” his mother asked. “Is she on her way?”

“I’ve no phone coverage in here,” Billy lied, hoping the doctor wouldn’t say otherwise. Lisa would fuss and cause a scene, give orders to him and everyone else. “I’ll phone her and Dad later, when we know more. No point in worrying them.”

The doctor ordered a brain scan. “Just to rule out anything sinister.” Sinister sent a shiver through Billy. Minutes into the wait for an orderly to wheel his mother to radiology, she dozed off. Billy escaped to the hospital canteen and returned with the Independent and the Times, a cup of too-weak tea, and several bars of chocolate, a reward for the day he was putting in.

The tea scalded his mouth and the chocolate didn’t taste right. He checked the date on the wrapper, and then realized there was nothing off or different about the treat, but with him. He could taste the amount of sugar in the bar and how it coated his mouth with an aftertaste, and not in a good way. He found himself craving a shiny red juicy apple with crunch. He threw away the tea and chocolate, and walked outside, to stretch and get some air.

As he walked, he phoned Tricia. “They’re worried she may have had a stroke,” he said, surprising himself with the exaggeration. It was just that Tricia hadn’t sounded this kind, this concerned, since those early days after Michael. And his mother’s condition could be serious. The results of the brain scan could be sinister.

“Oh, no,” Tricia said.

“Well, we don’t know anything yet for sure.”

“Have you phoned your dad and Lisa? Do you want me to call them?”

“No, no.” He hoped he didn’t sound cagey. “There’s no point in worrying them just yet. I should know more in an hour or so.”

“I don’t know, I think they’d want to be with her.”

“She’s still sleeping, wouldn’t even know they’re here.”

“Poor Maura.”

“I’ll phone again as soon as I know more. I’ll phone Dad and Lisa then, too.”

“Do you want me to drive over there and wait with you?”

“No, I’ll be okay. You stay with the children. How’s Ivor? Is he having a good time?”

“Yeah, yeah, great. He’s a bit worried, of course, they all are, but we’re keeping ourselves well distracted. Don’t worry about us, you just take care of yourself.”

“I will, thanks.” His scalp tightened. Why did it take tragedy to bring out the best in us? And why was that state of grace so fleeting?

After he rang off, he tapped his phone to his lips, considering a call to Denis, to also play on his friend’s sympathies. He pushed his phone into his trousers pocket, telling himself not to be pathetic.

When he returned to his mother, she was still sleeping. A short, squat nurse appeared, wearing large, black-framed glasses that Billy could swear didn’t contain lenses. She checked his mother’s vitals and assured Billy they wouldn’t have to wait much longer for her to be taken to radiology. “She’s sleeping peacefully, must have needed a good rest.” Her eyes stayed on him. “You’re the father from the newspapers, aren’t you, the one doing the suicide prevention fund-raiser? I heard you on the radio, too. Well done, you’re an absolute inspiration.”

He thanked her, too overcome to know what else to say. After she left, he returned to the end of the bed and looked at his mother’s thin, pale face, seeing how old she’d gotten, how fragile. She could never say anything even close to what that nurse had said. She just didn’t have it in her.