She drifted back to Jeanie’s question.‘No, it’s a bit different,’ she told her honestly.
Another irony.If her illness had been diagnosed while she still worked with Kenneth at the private hospital, the terms of her contract included health insurance that would have allowed her to have been cared for there for free.Instead, her symptoms had developed just a couple of months after she’d handed in her notice, on the day after Kenneth’s funeral.Just another twisted stitch in the tapestry of her life.
The door to her room opened again, and her daughter, Estelle, came in.Her gorgeous Estelle.Her quietly artistic only child had grown up to be creative, confident, athletic and so different from the woman Marge had been at thirty-five.Back then, Marge had been modest in her fashion.Pristinely dressed and well-groomed at all times.Never left the house without her hair done, her lipstick on and shoes that matched her handbag.
But Estelle?In she came, her light brown, highlighted hair pulled back in a high ponytail, face free of make-up and dressed in… what did she call it?Athleisurewear.Stretchy flared trousers – apparently ‘yoga pants’ was the official title – and trainers, with a sweatshirt that fell off one shoulder and had holes in the cuffs for her thumbs to stick out.The reasons for that were beyond Marge, but she didn’t ask, just happy to have her daughter here, whether she was wearing office attire, athleisure garb or a pink polka dot bikini.Although, the latter would risk her being ejected from the building.As always, Estelle had a sketch pad under her arm, a permanent presence since she was a teenager with an obsession for sketching beautiful gowns.That passion had seen her through a fashion design degree at the Glasgow School of Art, where her talent had been honed and elevated.An internship had led to a ten-year stint as a designer at a bridal fashion house, until she’d taken the step of setting up her own company, specialising in the kind of stunning bespoke gowns that fairy tales were made of.Marge couldn’t be more proud, and she chose to believe that her late husband had been by Estelle’s side for every step she’d taken since he passed.
Estelle’s smile was infectious.‘Good morning, ladies.Lovely to see you this morning.’
Both Yvie and Jeanie returned the greeting, while Estelle went round to the opposite side of the bed from where Yvie was standing and leaned in to give Marge a kiss.
‘Good morning, Mum.Did you sleep well?’
Even if there had been a rock band playing outside her door, three fire alarms and a SWAT team raid during the night, Marge would have given the same answer.She could already see the deep lines of stress around her daughter’s eyes, and the concern that no amount of faux cheeriness could mask.If Estelle could fake this, could pretend to be cheery, then the least Marge could do was match that sentiment and be relentlessly positive as she forced out her words.
‘I did, darling.’She didn’t.‘And I feel properly rested…’ She didn’t.‘And all the better for seeing you.’That last one was true.‘No Craig, today?’
Estelle’s boyfriend often popped in if he was dropping Estelle off, and sometimes stayed a while, depending on his work schedule.
‘Not today, Mum.He’s gone off to do some work at his brother’s house in Edinburgh for a couple of days – they’re fitting a new kitchen.’Craig had a joinery business and was always helping out family and friends too.He’d even installed a whole new set of beautiful bookcases in Marge’s lounge a few years ago.Definitely a keeper.
Estelle sat down on the blue armchair with the washable surface on her side of Marge’s bed.She’d spent countless hours there in the last month, sometimes working on her laptop or on her sketch pad during the day, other times curled up under a blanket in the evenings.Marge would often insist that she go home, but Estelle would always say, ‘A little while longer, Mum.’Then Marge would fall asleep and it would be morning again.
This might not be a swanky private hospital, but she was grateful for the private room because it came with open visiting hours, allowing Estelle to come whenever and as often as she wanted.Of course, Marge knew why she’d been moved out of the four-bed ward next door.Over the years, she’d seen many patients and their families being given their privacy and dignity when it became clear that time was running out.On the day they’d moved her into this room, she’d been both relieved and devastated.But she wasn’t going to give in to that despair when Estelle was here.
‘Here you go, Mum, I brought you a ginger slice.Your favourite.Got one for me too and I plan to hoover it up like a Dyson.’
Jeanie was clearly jealous of Estelle’s breakfast choices.‘Och, these young ones can eat anything and not put on a pound, eh Marge?What I’d give to have a metabolism like that again.I’ve gained half a stone just being in the same room as that cake.’
Estelle laughed, as she pulled her legs up under her on the chair.
Her daughter ran every day and did Pilates or yoga five times a week – three things that Marge had never taken to, despite Estelle dragging her along many times.She much preferred a bit of Zumba or salsa.Of course, that was before her lungs grew TBD.The Bastard Disease.
‘Ah, but I only eat like this on a Saturday, Jeanie.It’s my one cheat day.’
‘Cheat day?I like the sound of that.But only if it involves me and Brad Pitt.My Arthur would never need to know.’
And with that, and a cackle, she went off to cheer up the patient in the room next door.
Marge’s mind latched on to what Estelle had just said.‘But your cheat day is normally a Saturday, darling.Did you change it this week?’
Estelle put her hand over hers.‘It is Saturday, Mum.’
‘It is?I get so mixed up with the days in here.It’s so easy to lose track.’She didn’t add that the reason for that was because every day was the same.
Something else was causing another tug of confusion in her brain as she tried to work it back.Once upon a time, she’d been the most organised person on earth, storing calendars, itineraries and schedules in her acutely methodical mind.Now time just seemed to slip past.
So today was Saturday.It was February.A memory.On the first day of the year, when she opened her new calendar.Circling a date in red.Just as she’d done every year for the last four years.Could that be…
‘Darling, what date is it?’
Estelle paused to think about it, before answering.‘It’s the twenty-first of February.’
The panic set in before Marge even spoke.
The twenty-first of February.Tonight, Marge had somewhere she should be.Somewhere she went on today’s date every year.It was the anniversary of a gathering that had changed her life, one that protected secrets she should have told Estelle about many years ago, but Marge had been too cowardly, too scared to reveal the truth to the one person in the world that she loved more than life itself.This was her last chance to let Estelle meet the family who would look out for her after Marge was gone – people Estelle didn’t even know existed.
Today was the day that all her truths had to come out.
