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

You have the pizza.” I force a smile and turn to Joanna. “Do you want something to eat? It’s nice of you to feed me, but you’re a guest. You should eat something too.”

“I had chocolate and crisps in the hospital. The vending machine was in front of us, and there wasn’t much else to do.”

“We did pig out a bit, didn’t we? Do you want some pizza though? A bit of protein?” Cheryl offers the plate, and Joanna takes a small piece. “Shall we find a movie? It’ll help us all take our minds off everything. I’m sure Dad’s in the best place, and they’ll look after him.”

I love her practicality, optimism and kindness. Maybe I was like that once. Before life got in the way.

We settle down on the leather suite and let Cheryl choose a DVD.

***

Next morning, I’m up at seven, and itching to phone the hospital for an update. I slept badly, not used to the half-empty bed; and spent the night worrying about Matt, amongst other things.

I occupy the time to 8.30 by cleaning the kitchen cupboards. There’s no sign of Cheryl or Joanna, but they’d stayed downstairs chatting about books and movies long after I went to bed. I think I heard them come upstairs at around 2am.

I’m about to call the hospital when my phone pings. It’s a WhatsApp from my elder daughter, Alison.

‘How’s Dad? I’m on the train home. Can you pick me up from the Met? I’ll be there in about an hour.’

‘Sure. Call me when you get to Crumpsall.’

We always do this. The time to get my coat on and drive to the tram station in Whitefield allows me to get there a minute or two ahead of her.

I’m going to have to throw Joanna out. She’s sleeping in Alison’s bed at this very moment. I push the thought aside. She can have another half hour to sleep. I have other priorities right now.

I key in the phone number on the leaflet the nurse gave me last night. The phone rings out for about a minute, and then finally it’s answered by an elderly female.

“Hello, I’m Matthew White’s wife. How is he?”

“I’ll get the nurse who’s looking after him. Just bear with me a moment.”

A moment later, a male voice says, “Hi. Mrs White?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Your husband is doing well. He’ll be having scans and a stent put in this morning, but you can come and see him after two o’clock.”

I thank him and disconnect, then immediately regret not asking to speak to Matt directly. I try his mobile, but it goes directly to voicemail. I decline the invitation to leave a message and send him a WhatsApp instead.

‘Good luck for this morning. See you later. I love you. x’

It’s now ten to nine, so I go to wake up Joanna. I knock on the bedroom door, and a sleepy voice calls out, “Come in.”

“Hi. Sorry to wake you up, but my elder girl is coming back from Uni this morning to see her dad. I’m afraid I’m going to need to get her bed ready for her.”

“Sure. Am I okay to have a shower?”

I nod, and notice she’s looking more alert.

“I’ll find somewhere to stay tonight. Maybe there’s a cheap hotel around here. Then tomorrow I’ll start looking for somewhere to rent.”

I leave her to get herself ready and go down to the kitchen to Google local hotels on my phone.

***

By the time we go to the hospital, Joanna has booked into the local Travelodge – a five-minute drive from home. I’m relieved to have her out of the house, but I strongly suspect I’ve not seen the back of her. I still don’t know Matt’s side of the story, and I don’t really want to confront him while he’s not yet recovered.

Alison’s been quiet since I picked her up from the tram stop. She went straight to her freshly-made bed when she got home, with barely a hello to our guest. I refrain from telling her that the guest spent the night in her bed.

Now the three of us are alone in the car. She finally speaks.

“So, who’s that woman?”

“That’s Joanna. She’s a really nice lady. An old friend of Mum’s. She turned up yesterday, just before Dad got ill. I think she’s going to live round here.” Cheryl’s description stirs up mixed emotions: a tinge of jealousy that Joanna wormed herself into my daughter’s affections so easily, but also a recollection that Cheryl’s character judgement is remarkably reliable for one so young. Maybe I’m the one who needs to learn to trust.

Alison is silenced again by her sister’s enthusiastic approval. She remains quiet until we arrive at the hospital.

My heart pounds as we approach the cardiac ward. I clench my sweaty hands for a moment, but it doesn’t help.

When we enter the ward, a tall male nurse, roughly in his thirties, catches my eye and comes over.

“Hi. Can I take your name?”

“I’m Becky White. Matthew’s wife. Is he okay?”

“Yes. Are these your daughters?” He smiles, and I nod. “Girls, your dad is down the corridor, in Room Six. Do you want to go down and say hello, while I have a quick word with your mum?”

The girls head off towards their dad’s room, while the nurse waffles for a few minutes, describing the treatment that Matt’s undergone. It all seems to have gone smoothly, so I’m not sure why he had to banish the girls. Maybe he thought they were squeamish.

When I finally extract myself from the conversation, I follow the girls down to the other end of the ward. Cheryl’s lively tones reach me before I get to the room.

“… and she says she met you in London a few years ago and that you had a few drinks with her. She had no idea that you and Mum were married.”

I arrive in the room in time to see a strained look in Matt’s eyes. But he forces a smile when he sees me.

“Cheryl, stop chattering and