What Goes Around...

I still don’t.

I’m trying to work out where everyone is going to sleep when I suddenly remember Paul.

God, the poor guy, we were supposed to meet at eight. I look at my watch and it’s ten past nine and I think of him sitting there all that time. He hasn’t texted or rung and I don’t blame him. I knew it took a lot to ask me out. He’s about my age, well a few years younger and he’s a quiet guy, a bit shy really. He’s divorced, like me, except his is more recent and I’m the first person he’s asked out since the break up.

Sorry

I start a text, but what the hell do I write? That my ex-husband dropped dead at lunchtime and my eldest daughter’s gone into labour, and her husband’s not here because they’ve broken up, because she’s not sure if the baby is his….

I can't really put that can I?

Except, I'm too tired to dilute the facts for anyone, to weary with it all to make it sound more palatable, so I put exactly that.

Welcome to my life, I think, as I hit send.

I light up another cigarette, I really ought to head back, but then I see Rose heading out from the end of her shift and she comes over to me.

‘How's Eleanor?’

‘Getting there. I think this will be my last break before the baby is born.’ It shouldn't be like this, I think. My grandchild is about to be born, it’s usually such a happy time, and it shouldn’t be so mixed in with grief. ‘Thanks for all your help today, Rose. It must've been awkward for you.’ I see her frown. ‘I mean, having the wife and the ex-wife in the same room.’

‘I just felt sorry for you,’ Rose says. ‘I know how hard it must have been. I dread the day Vince goes.’ She rolls her eyes and I think she’s going to say goodnight but she doesn’t head off, she just stands there. I don't know if it's my place to ask, but I do want to know.

‘Was it quick?’ I ask, because no matter how I feel about him, I don't want him to have suffered, or maybe I do, I don't know.

‘I think so,’ Rose says. ‘He arrested at home and they got him back but then he arrested again when he got here. We worked on him for ages but there was nothing…’ She shakes her head and I know what she means but I want to know more. We’ve been friends for years Rose and I, well, loose friends. We’re about the same age and we’ve both been through messy divorces and have worked a fair number of shifts together over the years.

I need to know more.

‘Did he get chest pain?’ I ask. ‘Did he say anything?’ I want to know if he said anything before he collapsed, I want to know if even for a minute he thought of me, of our girls, of the family we once were.

‘He was in full arrest when the paramedics got there,’ Rose says gently. ‘Let him rest,’ Rose says. ‘He’s with the Lord now.’ And that’s Rose - she’s all Lordy, Lordy, it gives her comfort and I want some. I’ve always had my faith but I don’t know what I believe tonight.

‘I’d better get up to Eleanor.’ I am so tired and there’s still so much to do, but just as I move to go, Rose stops me.

‘I called for the porters before I went off.’ I know that means that they're taking him to the mortuary. ‘Do you want to see him before he goes?’

‘Me?’

‘You were his wife for a long time,’ Rose says. ‘It might help you if you can say goodbye.’

‘Do you think it's allowed?’ I ask, because it seems a bit strange and I don't even know if I want to see him. I never really expected to be offered. Rose even makes me smile as she takes my arm and leads me inside.

‘Perk of the job,’ she says.

He looks older.

Dead too.

But the first thing I notice, as I walk in there, is how much older he looks - he was in his late forties when he left me – so of course he would look older, he’s coming up for sixty now.

I haven’t seen him for ages. I’ve seen photos but I haven’t seen him in the flesh for years, and I mean years. Not since Bonny left for Australia. He and Lucy had just got married, (I think because she was pregnant – she was always determined to get that ring) and Charlotte must be eleven or twelve now.

I look at his skin and it’s a waxy blue and I don’t want to touch him.

I just stand there and remember all the hurt.

‘What you did to me…’ I start. I feel the shame again and then I stop because it's done with now, dealt with I hope – all those nights I poured my heart out to a journal must surely count for something?

I look at the man who just walked away and started a new life.

What if I’d gone?

What if I’d been the one to walk away?

He knew I never would – that’s the difference between us.

He could walk away and just leave it all behind, not caring what it did to me. I poured my terrified heart out to those pages. Divorce wasn’t as common then. I just felt so ashamed, like I’d failed – I guess I had.

But I can't be angry any more and maybe finally there’s the forgiveness I’ve been searching for all these years.

After all, I’m still here.

Still standing.

‘Look after our girls,’ I say to him, because even if he was a useless husband he did love our girls. I believe in heaven but I don't know if he’s got there yet, or if he’s hovering around, but if there is anything he can do, I ask it of him now. I'm scared for my girls sometimes. Eleanor’s life’s a mess, and even though they live far away, I worry about our other girls too. I look down and I’m holding his cold hand and having a conversation that parents should have about their children. I’m sharing the pain and the fears - which is another thing he denied me by walking out the door. ‘Look after our girls,’ I say and then I feel guilty, because it's not just about my girls. I think of little Charlotte and how much she looks like him, how she actually looks like one of mine and I revise my request. ‘Look after all your girls,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t know where you are but, if you can, will you please look out for your girls.’

I feel drained after I’ve seen him.

In a way that I never have before, it’s as if all my energy has left with him.

I'm so tired I cannot tell you as I trudge up to maternity. I hear my phone but I'm too wiped to even look, it will be Lex or Bonny or Paul or… I just don’t want to deal with whoever it is now. I’ve got Eleanor to cope with and so I turn it off and walk into the delivery room and see we’re just moments away from the baby being born.

Eleanor is screaming, I’ve never been present at one of my girls’ labours before and I don’t recommend it. I try to encourage and say the right thing. I try not to let my fear show in my voice and then I hear myself cheer as I watch her slither out onto my daughter's stomach and then hear her cry but Eleanor lies back silent.

‘Do you want to cut the cord?’ I'm offered, and my hands are shaking as I do it. Even though I’ve done it so many times it's different when it's one of yours.

And she is one of mine.

They whizz her off to be checked and she’s a bit small but doing well.

They tell me all this, not because they know I’m a nurse and I’ve done my midwifery too, but because Eleanor is refusing to look at her. Eleanor is lying with her eyes closed and when she refuses to take her baby, they hand her to me.

She is so small and light and is so incredibly beautiful, new and innocent.

‘We’ll keep her in the nursery for the night,’ the midwife offers later when we’re moved to the maternity ward. ‘Eleanor's been through a lot today. We’ll put the baby under a warmer…’

‘Can we have her in with us?’ I ask, because Eleanor needs to be near her baby. ‘I’ll stay…’ The midwife nods and they set up the cot and the warmer and I put the baby down now and have a rest in the chair but I'm not tired any more and I just sit there.

I’m not even thinking.

I just sit there, not thinking.

It’s too hard to think sometimes.

But then I do.

I stand up and I go to the window and I look out to the night, but there’s no solace there, because my eyes are drawn to the outline of the hospital mortuary. I can’t really fathom that he’s in there.

So I go and sit down and I turn on my phone and Paul’s replied.

Call me, doesn’t matter what time.

It’s almost midnight, I can’t call him now.

But I do.

He’s nice.

He says that he knew something must have happened when I didn’t show up but I’m not to worry about that. He’s only worried about me. How I’m doing.

I’ve never really had that.

He’s taking a taxi over to the hospital to get me at seven. He’ll drive my car and me home and, when I’m there, he’ll make me a cup of tea.

It helps.

I see the baby stir and even though she’s sleeping I pick her up. Maybe I shouldn’t, I don’t want to get her into bad habits but she deserves to be held surely – her mum hasn’t so much as looked at her. I guess I need a cuddle too. She wakes up but doesn’t cry, she just stares up at me.

‘You look like your granddad,’ I say, because she does. She’s got his chin and that sparkle in her eyes, that sparkle that could melt the hardest heart – it melted mine once and then it melted Lucy’s. ‘Use it for good,’ I say, because her Granddad certainly didn’t.