‘I came over when I saw the lights,’ Mrs Bishop says, breaking away from a Hail Mary to look at me. ‘I have a key so I let them in. Poor Roisin,’ she says, her watery eyes darting to my mother, but still I keep my gaze determinedly on the side of the room that does not contain my possibly dying parent.
‘Saul was talking to her on FaceTime and he called for help,’ I mutter, grateful beyond words that my boys love their grannyso much that they speak with her regularly. What would’ve happened had she not been on the phone to him? Would she still be lying on the floor now and not a being knowing about it? She could lie there all night, slip away even, and none of us would be any the wiser.
‘She was fine earlier.’ Mrs Bishop cuts through the horror-show of my thought process. ‘I saw her at teatime. She was fine. A bit tired, maybe. She said she’d get an early night and be grand in the morning. We were going to talk about our TikTok thing.’ She is shaking and I sit down beside her and take her hand in mind, feeling the plastic of the rosary beads smooth against my own skin.
‘Can we pray together?’ I ask, and she squeezes my hand back, telling me of course we can pray, so I bow my head. It’s surprisingly easy to block out a person on the floor. Dissociation is a nice place to be. Instead, I concentrate on sitting on the sofa muttering prayers I’ve known for as long as I can remember but have no memory of learning. I concentrate on feeling the warmth of another human’s hand.
‘Becca,’ I hear, and I look up to see Laura looking directly at me. I want to tell her to stop talking. I want to scream ‘DON’T TELL ME’, but I can’t speak. I freeze. Brace myself for impact.
Suddenly there is movement in the room and my mother is being lifted onto a trolley, a sense of urgency in the voice of the paramedics.
‘Becca, they’re going to take your mum to the hospital now.’
‘Okay,’ I stutter. ‘Can I go with her?’
‘They need to move fast,’ Laura says gently. ‘Maybe we should give them the room to do their work. I’ll bring you to the hospital. We’ll be right behind them.’
I nod, trying not to think about what all of it means. Tryingto accept that for now she is alive, but no one knows for certain if she will stay alive. It’s bad, I know that much.
‘Okay,’ I say, standing up. ‘Can I give her a kiss?’ Suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world to do.
One of the paramedics, a young woman with a septum ring and tattooed arms, nods. ‘Yes, love, but quickly. We need to get you to hospital, Roisin!’ She sounds remarkably cheery, I think, for someone dealing with a woman hovering between life and death.
Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? My mother is not well. I have known that since Saul called me, but now, as I look at her face for the first time, I see how very unwell she is. Her face is slack, fallen on one side. Any trace of the spark she has developed these last months rediscovering life with Mrs Bishop is gone. She – the very essence of who she is – is not there to be seen. But she is alive and her eyes – wide with their own fear – are staring at me.
‘Oh, Mammy,’ I say, taking her hand and holding in a sob. Mum would not want me making a show of myself and sobbing while the decent folk of the Northern Ireland Ambulance Service are just trying to do their work. Her hand sits limply in mine and I feel only the slightest of squeezes. It will have to be enough for now.
‘I’ll be right behind the ambulance. I’ll just pack you some things and I’ll meet you at the hospital. You behave yourself, and do what they tell you. We need you so no messing about. Just get better.’ I bend down and kiss her forehead, relieved to feel some warmth there, realising that a part of me expected to feel the same marble cold that I felt the last time I kissed my father. ‘I love you, Mammy. You hang in there, okay? I love you.’
She opens her mouth, but barely a whisper comes out and Ican see the distress in her eyes that she isn’t able to form the words she so wants to.
There’s a gentle push of the trolley, a subtle sign from the paramedics that they need to go. I step back and feel Laura catch me, her hands grasping my arms. And then my mother is taken from her house and loaded into a waiting ambulance while I do my very best to keep my shit together.
27
TOWELS, ANYONE?
Becca
As the ambulance leaves the street, Laura guides me towards the stairs. ‘Let’s pack her a bag.’
‘I… I can do that,’ I say. ‘Can you maybe see if Mrs Bishop is okay? Maybe make her a cup of tea? I think she had an awful shock.’
‘Of course. And just shout if you need me.’ Laura pulls me into a quick hug before I scoot upstairs.
I need nighties, underwear, her favourite slippers and a dressing gown. I need a toothbrush, a hairbrush. Her favourite Nivea Crème. Gathering them together, I at least feel like I’m doing something useful, even if I’m doing it with shaking hands.
I need to get these things packed and get in the car and get my ass to the hospital. My worries of earlier tonight feel so ridiculously insignificant now. A man loves me enough to want to live with me. My friend loves me enough to worry about losing my friendship. How pathetic am I to have worried about that? To worry about singing in front of strangers.
I would give anything to have only those things to worry about now. I’d consider myself a very lucky girl. I swear I would.
Laura insists on driving again and I let her. I am only too willing to let her take control of everything, and she has been doing such a great job of it. She made Mrs Bishop a cup of sweet tea and helped her back to her own house and tucked her into bed before making sure to get her phone number so she can keep her updated. She even called Niamh to fill her in on what happened, only to find that Niamh is already aware something is wrong. Saul had phoned Adam, who was at Niamh’s with Jodie and Clara. Laura was able to tell me that Niamh is on her way, and bringing Adam to the hospital. She also called my brother, Ruairi, and he is on his way down from Belfast. Saving me from these conversations is gold-level friendship. I’m not sure I could find the words if I needed to.
‘Do you think she’ll be okay?’ I ask as we drive over the Foyle Bridge towards Altnagelvin Hospital.
‘I don’t know,’ she says honestly. ‘I hope so. I think it was good Saul was on the phone to her. That will have given her a good chance, I think. So let’s hang on to hope.’
I nod. ‘I can do that,’ I say, which of course is an absolute lie.
