Читать книгу The Postcard: Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 16

‘Can you hear me, Penny?’

Penny didn’t want to open her eyes. Who was this person disturbing her?

‘Penny, love, my name is Sandra. I’m a paramedic. You’ve taken some pills.’

Penny answered silently. Yes, I did, and now I’m sleeping. Stop tapping my hand.

‘Penny, stay with me. Can you say “Hello, Sandra”?’

Penny mustered the words. ‘Hello, Sandra.’ There, satisfied?

‘What was that? You’re mumbling a bit.’

Are you deaf? I’m trying to sleep.

‘Your husband’s here.’

Oh shit.

‘He found you and called us. He’s very worried. How many pills did you take?’

Not enough.

‘Penny, come on, stay with me.’ The patting on Penny’s arm was getting quite painful. She tried to pull her arm away but it was held fast.

Now she heard Simon’s voice, anxious, ‘Penny, darling. They’re going to pop you in the ambulance and get you to hospital.’

‘Where’s Jenna?’ she managed to say.

‘Jenna’s OK. Don’t worry about Jenna,’ said the bloody Sandra woman again. ‘She’s with your friend.’

Simon’s voice again, ‘Yes, she’s with Helen. I’m coming with you to hospital.’

She quite liked the feeling of being manhandled onto a stretcher and carried down the stairs. She could at least keep her eyes closed and no one was asking any more silly questions. The ambulance was comfortable but still the bloody Sandra woman wouldn’t let her sleep.

‘Open your eyes for me, would you, Penny?’

Bugger off, thought Penny.

‘Come on now, Penny, open your eyes for me, please.’ The woman started patting the back of Penny’s hand again.

‘What now?’ asked Penny, angrily opening her eyes.

‘That’s it, well done,’ said Sandra who immediately shone the brightest of lights into her eyes. She instantly shut them again.

When she woke next, she was in a hospital bed feeling groggy. There was a canula in the back of her left hand attached to a drip. The room was quiet apart from the beep of what she assumed was a heart machine recording her pulse. She wasn’t dead, then.

Simon was sitting in a plastic-covered armchair at the foot of the bed. He looked grey.

‘Hello,’ he said with a tired smile. He got up and came to the bed, bending down to kiss her forehead then her hand. He started to cry. ‘Oh, Pen. Why did you do it?’

‘What time is it?’ she asked him. Her throat was dry and her head ached.

‘Almost six.’

‘In the morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have I been here all night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you been here all night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you …’

Outside, the corridor was already rustling into life. She heard a rattle of teacups as a trolley pushed closer to her room. It stopped at a door along from hers and she heard the squeak of soles on the rubber floor, a cheery voice. ‘Morning, Mrs Wilson. You ready for a cup of tea, my dear?’

‘Why did you do it?’ asked Simon again.

She turned her head away from him and felt the pillow cool on her cheek. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Are things so bad that you wanted to leave Jenna and me?’

‘I just wanted to stop for a bit. I wanted everything to stop, just for a minute, and leave me be. I didn’t want to die, necessarily, just … stop … Stop.’

‘Did you think about me?’

She thought and answered truthfully. ‘No.’

He reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before blowing his nose. ‘Don’t you love us any more?’

She closed her eyes. ‘It’s not that. I just wanted to … I don’t know … just have a bit of peace. I was, am, so tired.’ She looked at him, tearfully. ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

‘I’m not angry,’ he said a little angrily, ‘but I can’t bear the thought that you – that we – nearly lost you.’

The door pushed open and a smiling nurse came in. ‘Good to see you awake, Mrs Canter. Mr Canter has been watching you all night.’

‘I know he has.’

The nurse, whose name badge said Sister Mairi McLeod, busied herself with taking Penny’s blood pressure, temperature and pulse. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked.

‘OK,’ said Penny.

‘Got a headache, I expect?’

Penny attempted humour. ‘Yes. Which is odd considering I took so many pills. You would have thought I’d have slept it off!’

Sister Mairi frowned. ‘You took enough to kill yourself. It wasn’t funny for the team in A & E who had to get them out of you.’

Penny was chastened. ‘Sorry.’ She glanced over at Simon, who was examining his hands. ‘When can I go home?’ Penny asked

‘After Dr Nickelson, the consultant psychiatrist, has assessed you.’

Psychiatrist? ‘I’m fine,’ said Penny, panicking a little. ‘I just needed some sleep and now I want to go home to my daughter, she’s only a baby. I don’t need a psychiatrist.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m not mad.’

Sister Mairi clicked the end of her Biro and began to write on the file of notes that hooked onto the end of the bed. Without looking up she said, ‘Let Dr Nickelson decide what’s what. Once he’s had a look at you, you’ll know when you can go home. I’m going to check your bloods again now. Hopefully you won’t have done any long-term damage. You’ve been lucky.’

Penny wasn’t sure she agreed.

At some point during the following minutes and hours Simon had gone in search of breakfast and a cup of tea and had returned with a copy of the Telegraph and the latest Vogue. He gave the magazine to Penny, who waved it away, and then settled in the plastic armchair to do the crossword. He made no attempt at conversation, which Penny appreciated; although she noticed that he was just staring blankly at the lines of text without reading. She didn’t want to face any of his sad-eyed questioning. She closed her eyes and spent the time drifting in and out of a pleasant slumber.

Just before lunch – she knew it was lunchtime because the smell of mince and onions was drifting through her door – a young man in a check shirt and corduroy trousers came smilingly into the room.

‘Hello, I’m Dr Nickelson. Consultant psychiatrist.’

Simon leapt to his feet and pumped hands with him. ‘Jolly good of you to come,’ he said, delighted, or so Penny thought, that at last there was a male in the room. Someone he could understand.

Dr Nickelson turned and smiled at Penny. ‘Mrs Canter.’ He shook her hand too and dragged a smaller chair up to the bedside. He had a file in one hand, which he opened and quickly scanned, reminding himself of the facts.

Penny lay silent.

‘May I call you Penny?’ he asked pleasantly.

She nodded.

He settled himself. ‘So. Let’s start with the hardest question. Why?’

Penny took a deep breath. ‘I have a young baby.’

‘How old?’

‘Just turned one. And she’s such a good girl but I get so tired. I just …’ Her voice broke. ‘I just wanted a good night’s sleep.’

‘Hm.’ He looked at her notes again. ‘With a large quantity of pills.’

She nodded. She could feel tears gripping her throat. She tried to swallow them down.

‘Have you had suicidal thoughts before?’

She paused, forcing the dreaded tears not to come. ‘I didn’t want to die – I just wanted the world to stop for a bit. So that I could get some rest.’

He smiled again and she saw the understanding in his eyes. ‘I think we all want that sometimes. You’re not mad.’

The tears raced up her throat and into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she croaked.

‘So, apart from managing a young baby, have there been any other difficulties recently?’

She wiped a trickle of snot from her nose. ‘Not really.’

Simon uncrossed his legs and leant forward, passing her a tissue. ‘That’s not true, Penny,’ he said. ‘What about work? And your mother?’

Dr Nickelson kept his eyes on Penny and waited.

She turned her eyes from Simon to Dr Nickelson and all of a sudden found her tears flowing unstoppably. She tried to compose herself. ‘Oh, I work in television and a programme I make has been cancelled.’ She stopped.

‘And your mother?’ prompted Dr Nickelson.

‘She, erm …’ Penny wiped her eyes with a fresh tissue then twisted it around her fingers. ‘She and I hadn’t spoken for a while, and – and she died. A couple of weeks ago I think.’

‘You think?’

‘My sister told me a few days ago and it was … It was a shock.’

‘I’m sure it was. Has there been the funeral yet?’

‘It happened without me knowing.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, no wonder you have been feeling so low. Just one of those events – new baby, problems at work or the death of a parent – would be enough to make anyone feel the way you do.’

‘I suppose.’ She looked at Simon. ‘I’m so sorry, Simon. So sorry.’ Her tears came again.

He blinked his large chocolate eyes behind his spectacles and got up, bending awkwardly to hug her prone body lying in the bed. ‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said. ‘I should have noticed how bad you were feeling. I’m so grateful that I’ve been given the chance to make things better for you. I could have …’ He fought the lump in his throat. ‘I could have lost you. But I know now, and we can get through this, together.’

Dr Nickelson talked a bit more about the tests they’d run. Her liver and kidneys were undamaged but she should get a lot of rest and do only the things she wanted to do. ‘More long baths, walks and time to heal,’ he said. ‘I’ll write to your GP and will see you once a week for the next month or so, after which we’ll see which is the best way forward.’

‘Not the Priory?’ she said as another small joke.

He smiled. ‘No. Not the Priory.’

‘When can I take her home?’ asked Simon.

Dr Nickelson looked from one to the other. ‘Well, as long as you promise to ring me or your GP or even the hospital if you feel the harmful thoughts coming back, I don’t see why you shouldn’t go home now.’

‘Really?’ Simon tightened his hold on Penny’s hand and her own fingers tightened in response.

‘Really. I’ll write a prescription and then you can jump on your horse and ride outta here.’

As soon as Nickelson had gone, Simon sat on the bed and took Penny’s hand. He pressed it to his lips as he looked into her eyes. She saw his fear and his love and squeezed his hand tightly. ‘I do love you, Simon Canter. I’m so sorry.’ She felt a tremendous rush of gratitude for her husband and the life she still had. ‘I love you. I really do love you. I promise, I won’t ever try to leave you again.’

They went home, Simon settling her into the front seat and then driving very carefully to the vicarage. There was too much to say to each other, and neither had the words.

Helen was there when they arrived, opening the front door with Jenna on her hip. Penny took her beloved daughter in her arms and hugged her tight, kissing her sweet-smelling hair. Helen got them both upstairs and ran a hot bath for Penny while putting Jenna into Simon’s care.

Helen watched as Penny undressed and got into the bath. ‘Would you like me to wash your hair for you?’ she asked. Penny nodded, and shed more tears as her friend performed this gentle and loving kindness.

‘I’m so sorry I spoke to you harshly yesterday,’ said Helen, keeping her own guilty tears at bay. ‘I wasn’t a good friend to you.’

Penny shook her head. ‘You’ve been a wonderful friend. Always. I’m so sorry I have let you all down.’

‘All you’ve done is make us realize how very unhappy you have been.’

‘Does Simon think me very selfish?’

‘You’ll have to talk to him about that.’

Penny nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Here, tip your head back and I’ll give you a good rinse.’ Helen took the showerhead and allowed the warm water to do its job. ‘Bloody hell! When did you last have your roots done?’ she mocked affectionately.

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Well, that’s tomorrow sorted then. We’re going to get ourselves pampered.’

Lying in bed that night, Penny listened to the house gently settling around her. She heard Simon see Helen out of the front door, thanking her again. She turned and looked at the bunch of Christmas roses and winter honeysuckle in the blue jug on her windowsill. Helen had put them there, knowing that they were her favourites. Old friends and family … She closed her eyes and felt so grateful. Tonight she could have been in a mortuary, but instead she was in her own bed, surrounded by her true family and the scent of honeysuckle.

At her parents’ house she could remember the breakfast table always had a cut-glass vase of fresh flowers perfectly in the centre, but with the atmosphere crackling with barbed comments from her mother and patient responses from her father. She would always arrive late for school having been hurried and harried and, more often than not, having forgotten some vital piece of homework or kit in the flurry. Life was chaotic and loud and tense.