Then She Vanishes(90)
Jess nods and is already reaching for her phone as the doctor leads Margot away.
‘I’m afraid your daughter is very poorly,’ he says, his face grave. ‘She overdosed on heroin and, if she hadn’t been found just then, she would certainly have died. We’ve given her naloxone, which will help to reverse the effects, but she’s finding it hard to breathe and I think one of her lungs has been affected. She’ll start to get withdrawal symptoms. It looks like she’s been an addict for a long time. Suffice to say her health isn’t good.’
An addict? Flora is a heroin addict? Margot can’t get her head around it. Please, God, let her survive this.
He stops when they reach a line of cubicles: groaning and shouting are coming from behind a curtain. Thankfully he goes to a cubicle further down the line and Margot takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
The first thing that strikes Margot about the woman – woman, not girl: she had pictured Flora as a sixteen-year-old – is how tall and thin she is. Margot glances at the doctor for reassurance but he gives her a look that says, ‘Go on.’
This woman, this creature in the bed, looks nothing like her beautiful little girl and Margot has to suppress a sob. She has an oxygen mask over her face and, although she has blankets and sheets up to her waist, Margot can see she’s wearing an ugly hospital gown.
Oh, Flora, what have you done to yourself? How could her clever, na?ve daughter end up like this?
‘Flora?’ she whispers, moving closer to the bed. She looks so old, this girl – woman. Her once glossy dark hair is now dull and matted, hanging in strands over her shoulders, her skin no longer young and fresh but sunken and lined. Margot’s eyes fill with tears as she runs her fingertip over the chickenpox scar just in front of her daughter’s left ear. It’s her baby. She can hardly believe it, but it’s true. She gently brushes the hair away from Flora’s forehead. It’s been a lifetime, yet the curve of her forehead is so familiar that Margot’s heart feels like it might burst with love, fear and sadness for all the lost years. She takes her elder daughter’s pale hand in hers and holds it to her face. She wants never to let it go.
The doctor touches her upper arm gently and says he’ll be back in five minutes. Margot hardly notices him leave.
And then, much to her delight, Flora opens her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, so like Heather’s, and she squeezes Margot’s hand. ‘Mum?’ she croaks.
‘Oh, my baby. It’s me. It’s Mum. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re safe.’
A tear slides from the corner of Flora’s eye and seeps onto the pillow. She turns her head slowly towards Margot. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice is raspy, as though she’s been smoking twenty cigarettes a day.
‘You don’t have to be sorry, my darling,’ Margot says, a weight crushing her chest. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘I’ve missed you too … Please … Heather … Is she alive?’
‘She’s alive and well. Don’t worry about Heather.’ How did she know? She must have read about it in the newspapers. Is that why she’s come back? Because of Heather?
Margot replaces the oxygen mask over Flora’s face. ‘We can talk later. You need to get well. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.’ Flora’s chest rattles as she breathes and the sound worries Margot. Her eyes slowly close again and Margot sits on the cold, plastic chair next to the bed, still clutching her daughter’s hand and watching as her chest rises and falls. She only lets go when the doctor comes in and checks the monitor by Flora’s bedside. There is a flurry of activity and noise as another doctor rushes in. Then an overweight nurse with a kind face ushers a startled Margot out of the cubicle.
‘What’s going on? Is there something wrong?’
‘They’re just taking her to the right department, pet,’ the nurse says. ‘She needs more specialized care, that’s all. Come with me, and when she’s settled, you can see her.’
Margot wants to scream and kick the woman, this nurse, who’s keeping her apart from her child. She wants never to be parted from Flora again. But she resists the urge, instead allowing herself to be led away.
Jess and the boyfriend are sitting at a table holding hands and murmuring to each other when Margot stumbles into the waiting area, blinking from the harsh overhead lighting. Everything has changed. Since Flora went missing Margot has been going through the motions, like an actress playing a part, but it hadn’t felt real. She’d been numb, even when something good happened, like being with Heather or Ethan, and any elation would swiftly be followed by a surge of guilt. And now. Now everything feels hyper-real, too bright, surreal almost. She still feels like she’s in a play, but one in which the ending has suddenly changed without anyone telling her.
When Jess sees her she drops her boyfriend’s hand, pushes her chair back and darts over to her. ‘Is it her? Is it Flora?’
Margot can only nod and Jess has to help her to the table.
‘No,’ says Margot, stopping in her tracks. ‘I need to go. I need to see Heather. She knew Flora was still alive. I need to tell her that her sister is here.’
Jessica’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘Wait. What?’
‘Heather knew. I don’t …’ she gulps ‘… I don’t understand any of it. Not yet.’