It turns out that her somewhat chaotic life means Aprildoes trauma and disaster marvellously.
‘Marin, you need a hug,’ she says when I open the door to her. She was the second person I phoned.
There are two carrier bags on the step behind her, full of food with flowers and a blanket for some reason which escapes me, and the latest magazines. April, dear April, is coming to take care of us. I think I might cry. But I cried enough last night and I have certainly dried out my entire tear duct supply already and it’s going to take quite a lot of water and coffee to get them working again.
‘Thank you, darling, you’re a lifesaver, I couldn’t call Ma.’
‘Only if you were having a psychotic breakdown,’ says April cheerfully. ‘And if you call Dad, well, she’d know, she’d want to be here. It would be your fault, either way.’
‘That’s true,’ I say.
I look at April with renewed respect. Normally, she doesn’t want to talk about our family and gets upset if she has to discuss Ma at all, because Ma is such a judgemental, angry character. In fact, I was under the impression that April prefers to pretend she doesn’t exist. A bit in the same way she pretends to imagine that her prince will come. But thisno-men-for-six-months thing is clearly changing her.
‘Have you told Rachel anything?’ says April quietly.
‘No, not going to yet, maybe not ever.’
‘It’s your call,’ says April more decisively than she ever normally says anything. ‘But if you ask him to leave, then you’ll have to tell her. It’s your secret in one way but in another, it’s Nate’s. He’s the one who got caught with Bea. Bea! I am astonished, I have to tell you. Joey and I will have a lovely day here. I’ve got supplies,’ she displays many supermarket cartons ofready-made food, ‘so that whenever you come back we’ll have food and we can watch nice movies and play games and do whatever.’
‘You’re wonderful,’ I say.
‘Oh, Aunt April.’ Rachel has suddenly appeared in the room and throws herself into my sister’s arms.
What did she hear? I think in horror. But her next words prove that she didn’t hear any painful truths.
‘Poor Dad, I don’t want to cry, I shouldn’t cry in front of him, should I?’
‘Your dad loves you, he’ll be fine. And I’m sure he’s going to be all right,’ says April.
I look at her thinking, where is my sister and what have you done with her? But then maybe I never needed April before. Maybe being needed is whatsheneeds.
I don’t have time to think about that now. It’s time to go into hospital and see my husband and pretend that he was not brought in with another woman. I kiss Joey goodbye.
‘We’ll ring you with Dad when we get in, OK? But it’s probably better if you don’t come in today, just until later and we know how he is and he’s out of the intensive care place, which he’s going to be out of later today, OK?’
I am lying again. I know nothing. I merely want to make him feel that everything is under control.
‘I want to come, Mum,’ says Joey tearfully.
‘Well, you know younger people bring in lots of germs, so I think probably the best thing is, if you don’t come in now. But we can go in again later.’
‘He’s going to be fine,’ says April. ‘Your dad’s so strong. Doesn’t do all that swimming and weightlifting and all those running things for nothing, you know. This will be nothing for him, Joey. I dare say he’ll be doing next year’s marathon in aid of people who have had heart attacks.’
Joey grins. ‘That’s Dad,’ he says, looking cheered up.
‘Now, Rachel, it’s perfectly fine to cry when you see Dad,’ I say to Rachel, as we park in the hospital car park. ‘Hospitals scare all of us.’
I’m saying this because I want her to feel strong. I don’t want her to be undone by seeing her father in the hospital bed. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do. Hit him, hug him, tell him he’s not coming back to our house? None of those things.
I can’t tell my husband he’s being thrown out of our house and our marriage while he’s in coronary care. There’s probably a law against it. I realise that the trauma seems to have brought out my funny side. Not suitable right now, Marin, I tell myself.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Rachel squeezes my hand. ‘You look scared.’
‘Yes I’m fine, I’m fine. We’re going to get through this. Just got to be calm and let the doctors and nurses do their jobs,’ I say, and silently add, and not let on that my husband came in with another woman.
The nurse on the desk outside coronary care tells us Nate had a good night, which I already knew, and says we can both go in and see him. ‘He can tell you himself what the doctors have been saying. It’s going to be a slow recovery, but he’s doing well.’
There’s still no let up on the numbers of machines surrounding Nate in the bed. And in the way hospital beds always diminish even the strongest people, he does look smaller, paler against the snowy white sheets.
