Paparazzi, Jo Fenton [books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

***

Matt is sleeping on the ward, and his condition is stable, by the time a nurse comes along. Once we’d got to the ward, I sent Cheryl back to Joanna, so I’m sitting quietly when the nurse comes in. She beckons to me to leave Matt alone in the side ward.

“Will he be okay?” I ask as she pulls the door closed behind us. She guides me to the nurses’ station, and hands me a leaflet.

“He should be fine now. He’s on drugs to thin the blood, and there are lots of monitors and alarms that will alert us immediately if there’s a problem. I think you should go home and rest. He’s going to be in for a few days at least. That pamphlet tells you about our visiting times, and emergency contact details. We’ve got your number now, from the details you filled out in A&E, so please don’t worry. We’ll call you if there’s a problem, but I think he’ll sleep now until morning. You can phone after 8:30 tomorrow for an update.”

She ushers me to the door leading back to the main corridor before I’ve had time to gather my thoughts, and she disappears without waiting for me to thank her. Not that she should have to wait, but being in hospital in that situation weirdly combines waiting around doing nothing, and flurries of intense activity from the hospital staff. There never seems to be the opportunity to ask questions, or to say something as simple as thank you.

In the corridor, I get my bearings. I assume Cheryl and Joanna will be in A&E, so checking out the signposts on the wall, I head back to that part of the hospital.

I feel almost numb with all that’s occurred, but I’m still conscious that the sight of Joanna triggered Matt’s heart attack. Maybe it just altered the timing of an event that was waiting to happen, but either way, I’m shaking at the thought of seeing her again. Being in a hospital is not great either. I’ve not been here since… well, since that awful week. Now that the emergency is over, memories crowd in, and I’m relieved to see a sign for the ladies’ loo. I rush in and throw up in one of the cubicles until there’s nothing left.

I rest my head weakly against the edge of the cubicle as I try to summon the strength to stand up. I need to return to my younger daughter. I will also need to contact my oldest at Uni. Unless Cheryl has sorted that. It’s not her responsibility, though.

I finally stand up, but my legs feel as though they’ve been de-boned, and I have to lean against the wall for a moment. Come on, Becky, pull yourself together.

I splash water on my face from the basin before tottering out to the corridor and making my way the last few yards to the A&E waiting room.

Cheryl and Joanna are chatting as though they’ve known each other for years, and it’s with mixed feelings that I interrupt.

“We can go home now. Your dad’ll be in for a few days, but he seems settled now.”

“You look awful, Mum. Are you okay?” Cheryl stands up and gives me a hug.

“I just need to get home.”

“I’ll order a taxi,” says Joanna, heading to a Freephone box on the wall.

“Will she be staying with us?” My daughter gives me a pleading look, and I suddenly realise that she doesn’t want the responsibility of looking after me alone. Guilt floods through me. I should be looking after her, not the other way round. But I feel wiped out, and the thought of another adult in the house is a relief. Even if it is Joanna.

Chapter Four

We’re home now. It’s gone nine in the evening, and I just want to go to bed, but instead curl up on the sofa. Joanna makes herself useful in the kitchen, sorting out something to eat.

She’s very good at finding her way around a strange kitchen. Is she trying to be helpful, or is it her way of assuaging guilt? Or of trying to get me to agree to the crazy idea of her detective agency? No way is that happening now. Why did Matt have a heart attack as soon as he laid eyes on her? Is she an old flame? Or a newer one? Has he been having an affair? Did Joanna know that he was my husband? Did she come here on purpose?

I put a lid on all the questions in my head as she brings me supper on a tray.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks, setting the tray on the coffee table next to me. Her expression holds wariness and fatigue, rather than guilt. I can’t quite believe she would knowingly have an affair with Matt, then turn up to invite me to go into partnership with her. The girl I was friends with thirty years ago was rebellious and had a wicked sense of humour, but she was never vindictive (except to her stepmother).

“Yes, probably. Do you think you should leave?”

“I know it looks bad, but I hardly know Matt. We met at a conference a few years ago and had a few drinks. That was all. I don’t know why my appearance set off that reaction. I didn’t even know we were connected through you until he walked in earlier this evening. I was surprised, but pleasantly, until he fell ill. Now I feel awful. I seem to have caused his attack, and I don’t understand why.” She looks embarrassed, but I’ve been trained to detect whether someone is being honest. I have a gut feeling that she’s telling me the truth, but not quite the whole truth.

The door opens, saving me from answering. Cheryl comes in, holding a plate of pizza.

“I found this in the fridge, Mum. I think it’s from yesterday. In case you don’t fancy eggs.”

“I’m fine with eggs on toast. Thanks.