Page 70 of Too Busy for Love

‘Oh,’ she says, and I spot a look of concern on her face. ‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘He’s not here. He’s in hospital.’

‘Hospital? Why?’ My heart has started thudding uncomfortably in my chest. I know he’s old but, apart from being very frail, he’s always seemed fine.

‘They’re doing tests, but it looks like a stroke.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘This morning. His daughter’s with him.’

‘Is it serious?’

‘When you’re Reginald’s age, these things are always serious,’ she says softly. ‘Try not to worry about it, though. He’s had a long life, and it’s a comparatively kind way to go.’

‘He’s not dead yet!’ I exclaim, horrified.

‘Of course not. He might recover, but he’ll need a lot more looking after if he does. I’m afraid his needs will be more complex than we’ll be able to cope with here.’

I’ve always liked Hazel, but her defeatist attitude is seriously winding me up.

‘You don’t know it’s a stroke,’ I tell her firmly. ‘It could be a TIA. My grandad had one of those. Everyone thought it was a stroke but it wasn’t and he made a full recovery.’

‘You’re right,’ she says in the kind of soothing voice that lets me know she doesn’t share my optimism. ‘Let’s hope that’s it.’

By the time the taxi drops me at the hospital, however, my stomach is churning with anxiety and I’m barely breathing. It takes me a while to find the ward that Reginald is in but, when I do, my worst fears are confirmed. He looks absolutely tiny in the hospital bed; his eyes are closed and there’s a monitor next to the bed recording his vital signs.

‘You must be Beatrice,’ the woman sitting in the chair next to him says quietly. ‘I’m Jeannie, Reginald’s daughter. He’s told me so much about you that it’s lovely to meet you in person at last. I just wish it could have been in happier circumstances.’ She has a peculiar accent, I notice. Some of her inflections are pure American, but there’s the residue of a British accent there too. She’s elegantly dressed and, even though she must be well into her sixties, she looks younger. There’s a clear family resemblance; she has the same colour eyes as him and I can see hints of him in the shape of her face as well. I turn my attention back to Reginald, who looks so vulnerable; his white hair is spread out on the pillow and his mouth is slack and toothless. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of the sheet over his chest, I could believe he was dead. I’m aware of silent tears rolling down my cheeks as I look at him.

‘How is he?’ I ask, equally quietly.

‘It’s too early to say. It was a major stroke, they tell me. He’s stable at the minute, but very sleepy. He can’t speak, but the nurses tell me he should be able to understand, so I’ve been sitting here talking to him. It sounds a stupid thing to say, but I’m so grateful it happened when I was here. Please, sit down.’

She indicates the visitor chair next to the adjacent bed, which contains a sleeping woman almost as old as Reginald. ‘She won’t mind,’ Jeannie assures me. ‘Her visitors have just left. From the look on her face, she was relieved to see them go.’

I pick up the chair and silently move it next to Reginald’s bed, taking care not to snag the wires coming out of the monitor. Jeannie is holding one of his hands, but the other is resting on his chest. The skin looks paper thin so I take it in mine gently. It’s warm but limp; there’s no trace of the fierce grip that he had when he was imploring me to focus on love.

‘Talk to him,’ Jeannie urges. ‘I think I’ve run out of things to say for now.’

‘Hello, Reginald,’ I say gently. ‘This is Beatrice. Hazel told me you were in here so I came as quickly as I could. You’ve given us all quite a fright…’ My words dry up.

‘Tell him about the hotel,’ Jeannie suggests. ‘He’s been so interested in it; he’s talked about little else when I’ve called him.’

‘We took up the horrible floor in the lobby,’ I continue. ‘The original is still there, and it’s perfect. The mermaid mosaic looks as good as new.’

Reginald’s eyelid twitches.

‘We’re making really good progress. Do you remember I told you about the retro-style lift that we were going to put in? It’s pretty much finished and it looks amazing. Between you and me, Emilio is still being a mighty pain in the arse, though.’

This time, there’s no mistaking the reaction. The corner of Reginald’s mouth turns up and he squeezes my hand. Jeannie obviously notices too, because she mouthsKeep goingat me. SoI carry on chatting to him about everything and nothing. Nearly half an hour passes but there’s no further reaction and, after a while, his breathing indicates that he’s asleep.

‘I expect you think I’m a terrible daughter,’ Jeannie murmurs sadly over Reginald’s prostrate form. ‘His only child living so far away.’

‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ I tell her gently.

‘The truth is that I tried to get him to move over so he could be closer to us all after Mum died. But he’s a stubborn old mule. I love him to pieces, and I couldn’t have asked for better parents, but he made it absolutely clear he wasn’t going anywhere. What could I do? My husband, my children and grandchildren are all American.’

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