It’s the most unexpected thing. It’s like having a weight lifted – to actually sit and calmly talk to someone about things that are so difficult and so serious. I keep thinking about my mum and how I couldn’t in a million years have this kind of conversation or this kind of relationship with her. I had no idea this sort of calm support was even possible.
I sit back from the laptop and am stilled. I look across at Gemma and burn with the shame of what I’m feeling. I should be pleased that she found a friend – and I am. Sort of. But I am also feeling jealous; that we were so very far apart, she couldn’t talk to me. That I’m not the kind of mother my lovely daughter could turn to.
I need to read on but first I move across to the bed.
‘I’m so very sorry, Gemma.’ I smooth her hair and kiss her forehead, leaving my lips touching her flesh for a few seconds. But there’s something not quite right. I pull back.
Her skin feels especially warm which is unusual. She looks so still and so distant, I have come to associate her form in the bed with coolness. Apartness.
I could never in a million years talk to my mother . . .
I reach for her hand. It feels quite warm too. I wonder about calling a nurse and am trying to remember the temperature of her hand the last time I held it. Am I imagining this? Am I just upset from reading the laptop?
I feel Gemma’s forehead with the back of my hand but it’s not hot per se. Not like a fever or anything. It occurs to me that I find the hospital too hot most of the time so perhaps it’s my own body thermometer that’s struggling.
I feel my own forehead for comparison.
And then it happens. Gemma suddenly opens her eyes.
It’s such a shock that at first I simply gape – frozen and silent, just staring at those beautiful blue eyes.
Then both joy and panic kick in. ‘Gemma. Gemma. It’s Mum. Can you see me? Can you hear me? I’m right here, darling. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.’
I stretch out with my free hand to ring the buzzer for a nurse – all the while talking, talking, talking. Babbling about how wonderful it is to see her. That I’ve been here all the time. How sorry – so very sorry – I am about everything.
For a short while, Gemma’s eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling. But then they close again.
‘Gemma. Open your eyes again, darling. You can do this. I’m right here by the bed. You can wake up now. You’re perfectly safe.’
On and on I babble as a nurse appears.
‘She opened her eyes. Not for long but wide open.’
The nurse looks at all the numbers on the machine and gently lifts Gemma’s left eyelid to check the pupil.
‘Hello, Gemma. It’s your nurse here. Do you want to open your eyes for me now? You’re in hospital. But you’re perfectly safe. Can you hear me? Do you want to open your eyes again for me?’
We watch. We wait. Nothing happens. The nurse repeats her encouragement. Nothing. She looks at me.
‘She definitely opened her eyes. I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Did she look at you? Respond to your voice?’
‘No. I don’t know. She was just looking at the ceiling. But this is a good sign, isn’t it? She could be waking up?’
‘Possibly. It’s a good sign – yes. I’ll let the doctor know. You should keep talking to her. Stay with her. Call us if anything else happens.’
‘I will. I will.’ I stroke the hair back from Gemma’s face. ‘I’m still here, Gemma. Right here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise you.’
CHAPTER 50
THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
‘It’s nice, don’t you think?’ Matthew is standing in the conservatory off the kitchen with its view of the sea. Waves roll in the distance and a seagull watches them from the roof of the stone garage at the end of the garden.
‘It’s lovely. A good choice.’ Sally’s tone is flat, her eyes worried. Matthew puts his arm around her waist. The seagull tilts its head.
It’s been a rush. Fixing this. The packing. The journey.
‘I’m so sorry about this.’ He tucks the hair behind her ear and takes in her profile.
‘It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.’ Sally’s still looking out to sea and Matthew wants to press rewind; to tell Mel – No. I’m really sorry but I can’t help with the case.
The cottage in Porthleven has been booked for a week – to take them well past the final graduation ceremony tomorrow. It was a lucky find – a cancellation – and Mel’s said he can charge it to the force. Not an official safe house but as expenses for his work on the case. Just a precaution, he told Sally. Until we wrap this whole thing up.