‘That’s very true, so that wasn’t the surprise.It was more the person he’s with.A woman.And going by their body language, her expression, his state of undress, and what looks like an advert for the staying power of Viagra, I’m pretty sure they’re more than just friends.’
Stevie’s eyes widened and there was an unmistakable flicker of amusement, before she cleared her throat.‘And is that a problem?’
‘I think so.Because I know his ex-wife and last I heard, he’d just got remarried to another mutual acquaintance.So that woman in there… I’ve no idea who she is, but she’s definitely not his wife.’
10
MARGE
Nurse Yvie stepped aside and, with a flourish of the hand, ushered the visitor into the room.
‘Presenting Wilma Cunningham,’ Yvie said, with an elaborate bow.
‘Honest to God, Marge, that lassie thinks she’s a comedian,’ Wilma quipped, with faux disapproval, as she swept past the amused nurse and came straight over to Marge’s bed, arms outstretched.
It wasn’t the person that Marge had been praying to see, but this was a wonderful consolation prize.
‘Oh Wilma, you’re looking smashing,’ Marge told her truthfully as the other woman wrapped her in a gentle hug.The pain and tightness in her throat had eased a little, thanks to her daily medication, and she was finding it easier to speak.She knew from experience that it wouldn’t last, but she was grateful that it gave her a chance to talk to this most welcome arrival.‘And what a transformation.It’s great to see you looking so well.’
Marge meant every word, but if she were being entirely truthful with herself, somewhere deep inside, she did have a twinge of envy.Wilma had been chronically ill when they’d met, and now look at her.She’d got better.And Marge never would.That thought sent unexpected tears springing to her lower lids and she blinked them back.Not now.This wasn’t the time to crumble.
A glance at Estelle’s puzzled face distracted her long enough to compose herself.As Wilma released her and plonked down on the edge of the bed – a breach of the rules that Nurse Yvie appeared to be ignoring – Marge found the strength to make the introductions.
‘Estelle, this is Wilma.She was in the furthest away bed on the ward next door when I was first admitted.’
A flicker of recognition, then a wide smile from her gorgeous daughter.
‘Of course.You do look wonderful now.’
Marge wasn’t surprised that there had been no instant recognition on Estelle’s part.The ward next door was a four-bed unit and Wilma had been diagonally opposite her.However, on that ward, visitors were only allowed in for two hours twice a day, and Wilma always had several of her seven adult children surrounding her at visiting times, often with the curtains pulled, because they were smuggling in fish and chips to try to tempt their mother to eat.That had caused another pang of envy in Marge’s soul.She’d have loved to have a big family like that.Not just for herself, but, more importantly, for Estelle.The thought of her daughter being alone to deal with Marge’s death was more painful than this disease.
‘Thank you, love.I was on death’s door when I met your mum, but it’s almost four weeks since my operation now and I’m still a bit sore, but other than that, I’ve never felt better.’
Estelle was clearly interested in her good fortune and Marge understood why.Good-news stories, especially ones that defied the odds, were like gold dust to the families of terminally ill patients.They offered the one thing that the science, or even the swankiest hospital, couldn’t always deliver – hope.
‘That’s wonderful to hear.’Estelle leaned forward, her smile a little apologetic.‘Can I ask what surgery you had?’
‘Of course.Honestly, I’m so relieved that I survived the bloody thing, I’d put it outside on a billboard if I could.It was a kidney transplant, love.Touch-and-go for a while before the surgery.All of my other six were tested, but they weren’t suitable donors, then it turned out my boy, Malcolm – he’s the second youngest one – was a match.We only discovered it at the last minute, because he ran into a bit of legal trouble in Thailand last year and was detained there for an unexpectedly prolonged period of time.I swear, if my shite kidneys don’t kill me, the worry of my Malcolm will.Anyway, he just got home last month and now all is forgiven because he gave me half of one of his kidneys – which is enough to keep me going for a while longer.I was a week down in ICU after the op, and then they put me on ward 54 with a load of younger women because that was the only free bed.They barely said a word – all of them scrolling on their phones all day.Not like all the chats we had up here.’
Wilma wasn’t wrong about the chats.Olive and Theresa in the other beds weren’t much fit for talking – Olive had dementia, and Theresa was a quiet, reserved woman who spent most of her time with her earphones in, listening to audiobooks that she’d tell them all about over dinner.But Marge and Wilma would blether all day, or rather, Wilma would gab, and Marge would listen, because with seven children, eighteen grandchildren and four former partners, the other woman had an infinite stream of stories to tell.Marge was happy to hear them all because they passed the time, kept her entertained, and, most of all, they made her think.
In fact, it had been the thinking that had led her, in the middle of the night, to one awful, stomach-churning worry.
Wilma’s life had been saved by a kidney transplant from her son.What if Estelle ever needed someone who shared her DNA?Marge was the only person she had in her life, and when she was gone, Estelle would have nowhere to turn.At least, nowhere her daughter knew of.
The truth was, there were still people out there who shared her genes, people who could help if they chose to.Estelle had options that she knew nothing about.Could Marge really go to her grave with that on her conscience?Or could she summon up the courage to be honest, even if it hurt the person she cared about most on this earth?
Never shy to chat, Wilma was now giving Estelle a blow-by-blow account of her illness, her surgery and her recovery, barely drawing breath between sentences.Marge was grateful for it because it allowed her mind to wander back to the last time she’d had the courage to be honest.It was not long after she’d met Ian, and it was one of the most difficult conversations of her life.Marge felt herself drifting back there, watched as his handsome face came into focus again, his smile, his kind eyes.
They were sitting in a garden… The little patch of grass at the back of the cottage flat she lived in then… It was a sunny day.He was holding her hand.She’d decided that she had to tell him what was on her mind because she couldn’t keep it to herself for a moment longer.He deserved the truth, even if it meant he would leave her.As a tear began to run down her cheek, she’d opened her mouth to speak.‘Ian, I need to tell you…’
She didn’t get another word out because the ground quite literally trembled.Marge opened her eyes to see that Wilma had stood up, causing her bed to shake.
‘Anyway, Marge, I’ll leave you in peace, because I can see you’re tired, pet.’
Before she could respond, Marge felt a dampness to the side of her face, and realised that a tear had slid down there in this life too.She wiped it away, hoping Wilma hadn’t spotted it, but fearing she had.This wasn’t a time for sadness.Especially not when her friend had a new lease of life, something wonderful to celebrate.
‘I am a little tired,’ Marge said, hoping that would cover up her sorrow.
