The Things You Didn't See(21)

Cassandra, who had been silent through this whole conversation, said, as if dazed, ‘If Mum dies, that would make her shooting a murder. Then the police would have to find the culprit.’

His response was immediate. ‘Stop that crazy talk, Cass. You know she done it herself. You’ll make yerself sick with thoughts like that.’

Cassandra said nothing to her father, but looked at Holly with such a pleading expression that Holly felt as if she were reaching across to her: Please believe me.





10

Cassandra

Mum? Can you hear me?

They’ve told me to talk to you. The nurse – Lauren – said that it might help, but maybe she’s just trying to be kind, and wants to give me something to do.

Mum? It’s me. Your daughter, Cassandra.

You’re in Ipswich Hospital. Dad’s just gone outside for a smoke. You fought so hard to get him to stop after his stroke, but what does any of that matter now? The intensive care unit is peaceful, not like the maternity ward in the main building where Victoria was born fourteen years ago, where I could hear women screaming and babies crying all night. Not that I minded, not when I had her in my arms. She was such a sweet thing, so small. I could hardly believe something so precious belonged to me.

Lauren is at the nurse’s station with two colleagues, discussing cases. They’ve all been kind, but she’s the one I like best. She’s jazzed up her white tunic with a rainbow of pens poking from the pocket, her lipstick is a cheerful pink and you’d say she’s wearing too much foundation but then not everyone’s as naturally blessed as you. You don’t even have any grey hair – amazing for a woman in her sixties. You always joked that marrying a younger man was the secret to keeping youthful. I wish I had a comb, to remove the dried blood from your hair.

My chair is pulled up as near as I can get to the side of your high hospital bed, so I can reach you to stroke your hand, bones slender as a bird’s, skin loose as silk, avoiding the place in the middle where a plaster covers a cannula that feeds you with saline. The other side, near the window, is where most of the wires lead to the machine, beeping its mechanical heart like a clock, hypnotising me, keeping you alive.

They don’t know if you’ll die, or if you’ll wake and be yourself, or if something inside has been broken forever. Dr Droste said they can’t measure the damage, not yet. Not until they release you from the induced coma and see if you can breathe on your own. He’s very direct, German I think, though his English is impeccable. I trust him, or I trust his white coat and expertise.

This ward is on the first floor, looking out onto the car park below. All I can see is darkening sky; it’s only just past six and already stars are appearing. No moon though.

Mum? Everyone is saying that you shot yourself. Dad won’t talk about any other possibility, and even Clive said that I was in shock, not thinking straight. As if believing that someone else did this to you means I must be crazy.

Only Holly seems to believe me. I felt it at the farm, just after the other paramedics took you away, that she had her suspicions. And today, when Dad tried to stop me from talking about it, I saw her expression: she knows it wasn’t attempted suicide. It’s true what I said to Daniel: you never handled those guns. It’s also true what I said to Clive: you think suicide is cowardly. And I have better reason than most to know that.

If I’m going to find out what really happened, I can’t do it alone, I need help. And Holly was there at the farm, she helped save you. I know she’s the one.

I lower my head so it rests on your lap and listen to the heartbeat of the machines. I close my eyes and fall. I can smell the starch of hospital sheets, the faded bloom of your jasmine perfume, the sour scent of old sweat which might be mine.

I stand, stretch, go to the window. Does it open? Probably not. There are cars down in the car park, their shiny roofs pocked with bird shit, staff arriving for shifts, visitors for patients, visible to me only as the tops of heads.

Turning, I can see the nurse’s station from here. Lauren looks up from her notes. Something she sees in my face makes her get up and come into the room.

‘How’re you bearing up, love?’

‘Okay,’ I say. I’m not though. Not by a long stretch.

‘Would you like a blanket?’ Without waiting for my answer, she opens the bedside locker and takes one out, handing it to me, and I’m so grateful I want to cry. She pats my hand.

‘You’re going to be seeing a lot of me. I practically live here.’ She rolls her eyes, and I’m glad of the chance to smile.

After she’s gone, I return my head to the dent in the sheet, the blanket around my shoulders, and begin to cry. I’m crying deep into the bedding when I feel an arm around my shoulders, holding me tight. I think it’s Lauren but when I look up, peering through swollen eyelids, it’s Holly. She came back, like I knew she would. She doesn’t take her arm away, she doesn’t tell me it’ll be okay and her deep brown eyes are full of concern.

‘I’ve just finished my shift,’ she says. ‘I thought I’d pop back and see how your mum is?’

I smile gratefully at her. It’s as though my silent prayers summoned her back. ‘The same. Lauren says talking to Mum will help. I’ve been doing that.’ My nose is running, and I reach for a tissue. ‘She says we should try and stimulate all of her senses, and that even though she’s unconscious she could still be responsive in other ways.’