Page 57 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘I suppose all I can do is wait and see,’ I say.
She nods in agreement. ‘I’m sorry all of this has to be a consideration for you,’ she says.
‘I’m sorry it is for you too.’
She reaches out and gives my hand a quick squeeze, and then she disappears towards the doors. I watch her until she’s gone. How many women are there out there, like Fern and me and my mother? How many of us are living in fear, weighing up our options, starting again? It’s astonishing, really. It’s outrageous. I still haven’t seen my mum, and I feel a sudden pang for her. It’s built up in early childhood, that bond, and it doesn’t always matter what’s happened since. Where is she?
In the afternoon, I decide I’ll go to see Matt. The restaurant’s on the ground floor, and I’m on the third, but I can use the lift. Still, it feels like a big deal, like a mission. I go to the toilet first, take a good look at myself in the mirror. I’ve got used to seeing myself without makeup on, and now that the bruises are fading, I just look like myself. Just a few years older than I’m used to, a few more lines here and there. There’s still fear in my eyes, but it’s lessened. It isn’t the most prominent thing. I wait until Jamie’s done my obs, because I don’t want him to come round when I’m gone and wonder where I am. And then I slide out of bed and out of the ward and I think, for a fleeting moment, about what would happen if I just walked straight out of the hospital and back into the world like this, in my pyjamas and with my dressing gown flapping in the wind.
On the way to the lift, people pass me and I half expect someone to stop me and send me back to my bed, but of course no one does. Everyone in a hospital has somewhere to be. No one is paying me any attention. I get in the lift and press the button for the ground floor, look down to avoid eye contact with my fellow passengers. It’s busy on the ground floor, and cold, with various doors sliding open and closed, the wind rushing in. There are lots of people in coats, coming in for visits or appointments, and everyone seems like they’re in a rush. I pause for a moment, think about turning back, but then I see a sign for the restaurant, Fresh, and I decide I’ve come this far and I can go a bit further.
The noise and smells when I push open the heavy door to Fresh are overwhelming. Coffee and some kind of spice. And what sounds like a thousand people talking. I locate the counterand walk over. I can’t see him, but he could be out the back, in the kitchen. An older woman in a crisp white apron and a hairnet beams at me.
‘What can I get you, dear? Soup of the day is parsnip. We’re not selling much of it, if I’m honest.’ She laughs, puts her hands on her hips.
‘Is Matt here?’ I ask.
‘Matt Thornton?’
I stammer, realising I don’t know his last name. ‘The manager?’
‘No, love, he’s not.’
‘Oh.’ I don’t know what to do. Why would he not be in? ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Yes, he’s at the refuge where he helps out. Do you need to get hold of him? I could take a name and number…’
The refuge. ‘No, thanks.’ I back away. Matt helps out at a refuge. Is that a coincidence, or is that the reason he’s been helping me, because he knows about my situation with David? But no, that isn’t why I’m here. Not now.
‘Sure I can’t get you anything? Soup? Coffee?’
I think about how nice it would be to join the buzz and sit drinking a cup of tea as if I’m a normal person living a normal life for a few minutes, not a hospital patient with memory loss.
‘Thanks, I’m okay,’ I say.
And all the way back to the Brain Injury Unit, I keep my head down. I don’t know why, but I feel foolish, like I’ve been tricked. If he’s not working at the hospital today, I can probably safely assume he won’t visit, and the disappointment I feel over that is wrenching. It’s an alarm bell. I’m letting this man become more important to me than I should. He’s little more than a stranger, and there’s a woman in his life already.
I spend the rest of the afternoon dozing, in between Jamie’s checks. The trip to the restaurant took it out of me, and it’s areminder that I need to be careful about what I do. My progress has been good but there’s a long way to go before I’m back to normal. I’m thinking about this, drifting in and out of sleep, when I hear a familiar voice.
‘I can come back later, if she’s sleeping.’ It’s Matt. He sounds weary.
I force my eyes open, ready to tell him I’m awake. I don’t want to miss a visit, especially on a day when I wasn’t expecting to see him. But he has his back to me, talking to Jamie. Their heads are bent in close, and I can’t make out the whole conversation, but I hear Matt saying something about it being hard and us all having to wait and then Jamie says something about being thankful, about how things could be worse.
‘Shelley,’ Matt says when he turns for another look at me.
‘Hi,’ I say, and I can’t help it, my face breaks out in a big grin.
‘Do you want me to go and come back? If you’re tired?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m fine. Stay.’
He puts a polystyrene container on my tray table. ‘Coffee cake. From the restaurant.’
It’s a strange thing, when you know someone’s lying to you and you don’t have any idea what their motive might be. ‘How was your day?’ I ask. ‘In the restaurant.’
‘Oh, you know, the usual. Busy busy, an average amount of complaining. Although I did have a new one today. A woman said she didn’t like coriander and could we take it out of the carrot and coriander soup.’
‘The soup was parsnip,’ I say.
