Page 2 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘Dad?’ I run into the living room and he’s in his chair. The fire in the grate is dead.
He looks at me, his eyes wide and confused. ‘IshnososurchIfeelingwoof …’
I stare at him in shock. Is he drunk?
No. He’s not drunk, but he is in shock. ‘It’s okay, Dad. I’m here. You’re going to be fine.’
The dogs stop barking. I reach for the landline phone, which is on the table beside him, a letter underneath it. Yes, he still has a landline: the mobile reception around here is generally dreadful.
‘Jem!’ I hear Matthew call my name as I’m dialling 999.
‘In here,’ I call back. ‘It’s Dad. I think he’s had a stroke or something.’ Then to Dad, ‘It’s going to be okay,’ I say. ‘I’m here … Hello? Ambulance, please!’ I put my hand on Dad’s. ‘They’re on their way, Dad,’ I tell him, as I hang up, feeling his cold hands.Blankets. I need to keep him warm. Like we’d do with the lambs that struggle when they’re first born.
I run into the kitchen, grab the latch and pull back the internal wooden door to run upstairs for blankets.
My old bedroom is as I remember it – it always is. But Dad has put on fresh bedding and laid out towels, clearly getting ready for our stay. I toss the towels onto the floor, yank the duvet off my bed and run back downstairs with it in my arms, my nose in its folds, smelling the comfort of home as I do.
‘There you are,’ I say.
Matthew is standing in the doorway, holding his case, a box of wine and a jar of pickled onions, rain dripping from his neatly cut short hair.
‘Did you hear me calling you?’ I ask.
‘No, sorry, I was in the car, just waiting for the rain to pass. But it didn’t. God, it’s wet out there! Did you say you were calling me? What did you say?’
I take a deep breath. ‘It’s Dad!’
‘Oh, yes? Where is he? Looking forward to saying hello.’ He looks left then right, sniffs and looks down at the sole of his smart brogue. The corners of his mouth turn down. ‘But I think I may have stepped in something … unpleasant,’ he says.
But Matthew’s brogues are the last thing on my mind right now.
3
‘Sepsis,’ the doctor tells me at the hospital. ‘Good job you brought him in when you did. Left for much longer it would have been a lot more serious. We’re lucky to have caught it in time.’
I’m in shock, what-ifs racing round my head like a rollercoaster ride.What if I hadn’t got there when I did? What if I hadn’t come down this weekend? What if no one had found him?
‘He shouldn’t try to rush his recovery. It’ll take a while to build up his strength again. His appetite may not be good, but you should encourage him to eat.’
I nod.
‘We’ll keep him in for the next day or so to see how things are looking. Once he starts to pick up, we’ll send him home.’
‘Hear that, Dad?’ I put my hand on his. ‘You’ll be home in no time. Back on the farm.’
He opens his eyes and nods wearily. I turn back to the doctor. ‘Just one question, how did he get sepsis? Is it likely to come back?’
The doctor gestures at the bandage around Dad’s hand. ‘Probably from that. A cut. Anything could have done it, a rusty knife, a bit of fencing. We see it a lot in farmers – they’re used to small injuries and tend not to get them looked at. If a cut isn’t cleaned properly, it can lead to sepsis.’
I can just imagine Dad not really noticing a cut when he’s working in the yard, just carrying on. I lean in and kiss his forehead. He’s hot, like he’s got a fever.
‘His temperature should come down once the antibiotics kick in.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much,’ I say to the young doctor.
‘No problem. It’s what we’re here for,’ he says. His eyes are tired. Maybe he’s coming to the end of a long shift.
After an evening at the hospital, I’m stiff from sitting in uncomfortable waiting room chairs. I leave Dad tucked up in bed, under the thin blankets in the warm ward, sleeping, with reassurance from the nurses that they’ll call if there’s any change. I thank them andhead out towards Reception, where a nurse is smiling as she wheels a patient through the big double doors. I hold the door open for her and she thanks me. I recognize her from school, I think, but I don’t say anything. All I can think about is Dad, and I replay what the doctor said: Lucky to have caught it in time.
