Page 35 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
As she wheels me past the man lying in the bed next to the one I was in, he lifts one hand in a wave, and I wave back, and it makes me laugh a bit. Being pushed around and waving at people like I’m the queen or something.
‘What’s it like, where I’m going?’ I ask Angela, because I know I’m going to miss the sound of her voice.
‘Oh, party central on the Brain Injury Unit,’ she says, and we both laugh.
‘Is there anyone else there like me?’ I ask.
‘What do you mean, like you?’
I’m not sure what I mean. Young? Abused? Alone in the world? ‘I mean, have the others had accidents or been attacked?’
‘People are there for all sorts of reasons. Attacks, like you say, car accidents, strokes. You name it. They’ll look after you, Shelley. Try not to worry.’
I’m glad I’m sitting in front of her and she can’t see my face, because I find it hard to accept kindness, sometimes, and I feel like I might cry.
We go in a lift with a couple of doctors who are talking about a football game, and then we’re there, at the Brain Injury Unit, and Angela’s handing me over to a nurse who introduces himself as Jamie, and together they are helping me into my new bed.
‘She’s a real handful,’ Angela says.
‘Looks like it,’ Jamie says.
They move away and I expect they’re talking about me, about how I ended up here. Then Angela comes to say goodbye.
‘Did you try my mum?’ I ask, remembering.
‘I did. I forgot to say. No luck, I’m afraid. I called a few times and it just rang out.’
‘Oh.’ I feel deflated. I shift around, trying to get comfortable. And for the first time in a long time, perhaps because I’ve been talking about it, I remember the time after Granny Rose died.
20
THEN
David holds my hand, and I feel quite sure that if he let go, I would come completely unravelled, like a poorly knitted scarf. It is a blustery March day and we are standing outside a church, and I want it to be time to go in, and also don’t. Granny Rose. When I was a child, I thought that Granny Rose would live forever, because there was just so much of her. Not in terms of physical size, more her love and her personality and her support.
The cancer took hold of her quickly. By the time it was discovered, it was already everywhere. Already too late for surgery and fighting. I met her for a coffee in town, for the first time in ages, and when Granny Rose told me the news, I just refused it. Chased the crumbs of my chocolate cake around my plate like nothing had happened. Because it couldn’t be true. Because if it was true, and I was going to lose this woman who’d been such a mainstay in my life, who’d been everything to me, and with whom I’d foolishly missed out on the last few years, I would never get over it.
I started going back to the house, though I had to take deep breaths as I approached it, and I was still too angry with Mick and Mum to do more than exchange quick hellos. I spent hoursby Granny Rose’s bedside, trying to catch up on everything we’d missed. Trying to fill her in on the life I had built for myself. David, and the flat with Dee, and the pub. It didn’t sound like much, when you listed it out like that, but it felt like enough. Granny Rose listened and held my hand. She didn’t say much. She didn’t ask why I had cut ties with her when she hadn’t done anything wrong, but I apologised for it anyway. Over and over. And then, one morning, I went round and Mum was weeping in the kitchen, Mick’s arm wrapped tightly around her. And Granny Rose was gone.
‘Thanks for coming with me,’ I say.
And David screws up his face. ‘Shelley, I’m your partner. I would never leave you to do something like this on your own.’
Sometimes, he says all the right things. We’ve been together a little over a year now, and I am trying to focus on things like this, and not on the side of him that makes me worry. The side that is controlling and wild.
We go into the draughty church, at last. I see Mum and Mick in the front row and go to join them. I hadn’t been sure whether I would, but Mum looks broken, and the decision is made. As we slide into the pew, Mum turns to me and reaches out, grips my arm.
‘Oh love,’ she says.
And there are a few seconds when it is only the two of us, and these men we’ve chosen don’t matter, and we have lost the third point of our triangle. I know that if I start to cry, I won’t be able to stop. So I hold it in, but it takes everything I have.
David holds my hand through it all. The hymns and the prayers and the readings. And afterwards, when everyone trails out and clusters in small groups outside to talk, he doesn’t let go. A woman approaches us. She’s a similar age to Granny Rose.
‘Shelley,’ she says, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Elizabeth. I was a friend of your grandmother. She was a wonderful woman.’
‘She was,’ I say. We’ve met before, and I don’t know whether she doesn’t remember or assumes I won’t. Elizabeth and Granny Rose used to go out for drinks and gossip.
‘What she did for you and your mum, well. I don’t mind telling you that I advised her against it, moving in like that when your dad left. I knew it would be a full-time job taking care of the pair of you, and I thought she deserved to live a bit, you know? But she wouldn’t hear it. Stubborn as a mule, as I’m sure you know. Anyway, I just wanted to say that. She loved you very much.’
