Witness - [59]

She had to use a buzzer to get on the ward. There were signs everywhere about germs and gel dispensers every few feet. Cheryl did her hands but Milo refused. At the desk Cheryl waited for the nurse, who was typing away. When she was done she stared at Cheryl, no smile. ‘Yes?’

‘Theodora Williamson,’ said Cheryl. She could see Nana’s name up on the whiteboard behind the desk.

‘Are you a relation?’

‘Yes, her granddaughter.’

The nurse nodded. ‘Room C, just there,’ she said. ‘And if you can keep the little boy quiet.’ Milo was singing softly to himself. Cheryl turned away, a flame of anger in her throat, her hands shaking.

There were four beds, curtains drawn round two, one empty and Nana by the window. She looked the same, eyes closed, but there was a mask over her nose, a tube leading from it to behind the bed. Cheryl guessed it was oxygen. She wheeled the buggy to the foot of the bed. Left Milo there and edged round to the chair at the bedside.

‘Night night,’ said Milo.

Cheryl took Nana’s hand. It was cool and light, the bones frail as a bird’s. Did you talk to people who’d had a brain haemorrhage? Was it like a coma where they could still hear you? Cheryl wanted Nana to wake up and smile. Or to snap at her, ‘I ain’t need no audience, child.’ And sort out getting herself home.

‘Nana?’ said Cheryl.

Milo giggled.

Cheryl’s phone rang, the ring tone – a sample from one of Jeri’s remixes – startlingly loud and punchy in the room. Cheryl jumped and pressed the screen. It was Joe Kitson.

‘Cheryl, where are you?’ The signal was poor, his voice breaking up.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

The nurse appeared in the doorway. ‘No mobiles,’ she snapped.

‘It’s just-’ Cheryl began.

‘They interfere with the equipment. You need to switch it off now.’

‘Well, where?’

‘You’ll have to take it outside.’

She’d lost the connection anyway. It was quarter past nine. She should be on her way to the crèche. Tears pressed at the back of her eyes.

‘Nana, I have to go now. I’ll be back later.’ It wasn’t enough. ‘I’ll pray for you, Nana, shall we pray?’ Cheryl closed her eyes, bent closer. ‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…’

When she had finished the prayer she kissed Nana on the forehead, smelt a trace of bay and rosemary from her hair oil. Nana mixed it up every few weeks, had her own recipe. Cheryl preferred hers over the counter.

‘Cheryl, where are you?’ Joe sounded worried.

‘At the hospital. My nana – she collapsed. Could be her brain.’

‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s unconscious. They have to do a scan.’ She didn’t know what else to say. She watched three lads leave the building. One had a fresh white plaster cast on his leg; another had his arm strapped up. She wondered what had happened, a car crash? A fight? ‘I should be here,’ she said.

‘When’s the scan?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Cheryl, I’m sorry but I have to ask you to do this. We only get one chance.’

‘But how long-’ Her chest felt crushed, her breath thick.

‘I don’t know. It won’t be all day, I’m pretty sure of that.’

‘When she wakes up-’

‘Please. I can come and get you now.’

A pigeon landed close by and pecked at the floor. Milo clapped at it and yelled with delight when it flew off.

Nana in the bed, still and small and her face all wrinkled. Every line a story. That’s what she used to say when Cheryl tried to tempt her with anti-age creams and that. Nana in the bed. And Danny laughing with Cheryl about church, flushing at her interest when he talked about the gig at Night and Day. Danny on the screen, singing like a dream, trying to moonwalk, laughing. The life in him!

‘Cheryl, are you there?’

Nana furious at people for not speaking out: likea new set of chains, slaves to fear. ‘Yes,’ said Cheryl, ‘I’m here.’

Unlike the first time that she’d left him at the crèche, Milo was clingy, wailing when she tried to put him down then grabbing her leg and burying his face in it and sobbing.

‘You go,’ the crèche worker said, smiling: she must have seen it all before.

Cheryl stalled.

‘He’ll be fine,’ the woman said. Cheryl nodded, biting her lip, her nose tingling. The worker picked Milo up and turned away with him, ignoring his outstretched arms. ‘Mummy’s coming back soon; we’ll have a look at the toys over here.’

‘He loves dogs,’ Cheryl called after her, sniffing.

Joe smiled and thanked her again as she got back into the car. But the way his fingers tapped at the wheel as they waited for the lights to change showed he was stressed too. It was almost quarter past ten.

‘That’s more like it,’ he said as the road opened up ahead. He picked up speed.

Cheryl felt the back of her neck burn and her mouth water, then the spasm bucking in her stomach. ‘Stop! Please. I’m gonna be sick.’ Oh, God.

He didn’t need telling twice but pulled up on to the pavement. Cheryl flung the door open and bent over. She retched again and again, thin yellow stuff, until there was nothing left, just a taste like sour cherries in her mouth, her throat raw, eyes watering.

She had a tissue somewhere in her bag. She wiped her mouth and got back in. ‘Sorry.’