The Mother-in-Law(55)
“Watch this, Dido,” Archie said, and I watched him pretend to walk down the street and then accidentally fall into the pool. Funny little fellow.
I glanced at Tom at the end of the pool and noticed Tom was holding Harriet strangely, sort of using his forearms to press her against him. By the time I realized she was slipping, it was too late. I pulled myself up and out of the pool but I was still several meters away when Harriet slid from his grip and her head hit the limestone tiles with a crack.
In the ambulance, I sing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.”
“Old MacDonald had a farm. Ee ii ee ii oo.”
There is blood. A lot of blood. Heads bleed a lot, I remember someone saying that once. Lots of blood vessels close to the surface of the skin or something.
“With a quack quack here, and a quack quack there . . .”
Harriet is awake, which is a good sign, but she’s very distressed, has vomited twice and a sizable bruise is already coming up the side of her head. She seems drowsy, but it is her nap time. My job, the paramedic said, was to keep her awake. And so, I sing.
“ . . . here a quack, there a quack, everywhere a quack quack . . .”
It’s funny, the places the mind goes. My mind drifts from the idea that I may have permanently injured my grandchild, to the question of why Tom dropped her at all. Mostly my mind sticks on what I’m going to say to Lucy. I know what it’s like being told that you might not get to keep your baby. I remember that feeling as if it were yesterday. I cannot be the reason that Lucy has to hear these words.
I run my fingers through Harriet’s soft, baby hair.
“Ee ii ee ii oo.”
*
Lucy and Ollie arrive at the hospital in a flurry. Ollie is in his work clothes, minus the suit jacket—he must have come in such a hurry he didn’t stop to put it on. Lucy is still dressed in the tracksuit she wore when I picked up the kids this morning.
This morning feels like a lifetime ago.
“Lucy,” I start, but she ignores me, rushing to Harriet’s side. I cringe. Harriet looks terrible. Her head is bandaged but blood soaks through the gauze. Lucy rears back in horror.
“Is she . . . unconscious?”
At first I think Lucy is talking to me but then I realize there is a tired-looking doctor in the doorway. She’s dressed in scrubs and glasses dangle around her neck on a chain.
“Your daughter has been sedated for an MRI,” the doctor says. “We do that with young children, to make sure they’ll lie still. Try not to worry.”
“Why does she need an MRI?”
“It’s just a precaution. She has a depressed skull fracture, which may require surgery to lift the bone to prevent it pressing against the brain. We also need to check for cerebral lacerations and contusions, which are tears and bruises to the surface of the brain,” the doctor says. “This can happen when the skull is fractured. Your daughter was vomiting in the ambulance, so we want to make sure we don’t miss anything. Chances are, she’ll be fine, but we can’t be too careful with head injuries.” There is movement in the doorway—a nurse gesturing to the doctor. She nods, then looks back at Lucy. “I’m just going to check that we have everything ready here, and then we will be back to get Harriet.”
Lucy turns back to Harriet. Ollie comes to stand beside her and she reaches out to grip his forearm.
“Lucy,” I start, but she holds up a hand, silencing me.
“Why were you in the pool?” She doesn’t even face me to ask me this.
“I’m sorry. I know you said no swimming, I just thought . . .”
“ . . . that you knew better?” She whirls around. Her eyes flash wild. “That you were entitled to override me in decisions about my children?”
“You have no idea how sorry I am, Lucy. Honestly, I am. But it’s done now and I think it would be better if we could just—”
“What?” A rush of air expels from Lucy—almost a laugh, not quite. “Put it behind us?”
“Well . . .”
“Did you hear what the doctor said? Harriet needs an MRI. My daughter could have died, because you thought you knew better than me.” She takes a step toward me. Lucy is usually hard to pin down—like a child she is in a state of perpetual movement—but right now she’s eerily calm and quiet. I find myself taking a step back.
“I know we’ve never been close, Diana. First there was my wedding day. I thought we’d shared a moment when you gave me that necklace. Then you felt the need to remind me that I had to give it back, which I knew, by the way, but pointing it out like I was planning to steal it wasn’t the best way to ingratiate yourself to me.” She takes another step toward me. “You made me feel like a gold digger when we asked for money to buy a tiny worker’s cottage. You know what? I didn’t even want your money. It was Ollie’s idea.” Lucy’s entire body pulses. “You bring me a raw chicken when I have a newborn. A raw chicken!” I can actually see the flickers in Lucy’s brain, sparks, metal on metal, memory on memory. It all forms into a spinning cyclone, more powerful together than separate. “My baby might have brain damage because of you. We cannot ever put that behind us.”
“Lucy . . .” Ollie says. I’d almost forgotten he was here. In the back of my thoughts it occurs to me that Ollie is the fruit of my womb, yet at some point he’s become almost insignificant. He and Tom and Patrick are the cogs and spokes, but Lucy and Nettie and I, we are the wheels. “You need to calm down.”