That Elusive Cure 10

Peter and Lucy were waiting at the gate when I got there, a stern looking teacher giving me her best disapproving expression as I arrived.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said and herded the children back to the car before the teacher could tell me what she thought of me. She was lucky anyone was coming for them, what with their mum being a manic depressive and me with cancer. But the teacher probably didn’t have a clue.

The church and the machine were fading into memory by now, like a daydream rather than being real. But the extra energy keeping me going wasn’t fake. Maybe it was all a placebo effect.

The kids sat quietly in the back of my car. Too quiet for eight and ten years old. I knew what they would do the minute they got home and it made me so sad. I decided to try and insert a little levity into their life and veered off the road that led to their home and went to the beach instead.

“Come on you two, let’s go for a walk.”

Lucy and Peter glanced at each other, their expressions far too adult for my liking. It was Peter who spoke. He always did, getting words out of Lucy was like a holy grail to me.

“But Mum will need us.” His tone was so serious it made my heart break.

I sighed. Children his age shouldn’t be worried about their mum. “She’s been by herself all day. She’ll be okay for another ten minutes,” I told them as I yanked on the handbrake.

The children exchanged another long look, they type that made me think mind reading was real. “She’ll be needing me to make supper. And Lucy says she’ll need a cup of tea.”

I decided to ignore his pleadings and opened the door. “Just ten minutes, kids. She’ll be fine.”

Being an adult won the battle for me. Obedient and quiet, they climbed out of the car. I’d parked by the beach in Hoylake. Other kids were here, either with parents or without. I counted almost as many dogs as people. “We’ll walk to the lifeboat station and back. The sea air will do you good.”

They followed me, not once breaking into a run or smiling or chasing the puppy that came and begged for their attention. In the end I gave up halfway to the station and turned back.

We found Sally tucked up in bed. Peter went straight to the kitchen while Lucy climbed under the covers and whispered in her mother’s ear.

“Hey Sal.” I sat on the armchair opposite the bed. “It’s probably time to get up.” I knew better than to force her. The trick was to slip in the children’s needs without making her feel like a crap mother. It was a very hard trick to do.

Peter came in with a full mug. “Mum, I’ve put a tea beside you. Three sugars, just like you always want.”

Sal was curled up on her side, the bed covers almost covering her entirely. Long strands of black hair escaped onto the pillow. They were greasy and I wondered how long it’d been since she’d had a shower.

“Peter’s made a tea for you. Do you want me to put some food on for the kids?”

Sal made a small noise and buried deeper. “It’s so dark,” she finally said, her voice muffled by the covers.

“That’s because the curtains are closed and you’re buried so deep you’re nearly in China.” I tried to insert a joke, something to lighten the mood, if not for Sal, at least for the benefit of the kids. I opened the curtains and threw open the window. Sunlight blasted into the room, the sun low in the sky.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sal replied.

I’d been in the dark places – maybe not like Sal, and certainly not for the same reasons – but I’d been there. Peter had gone off and reappeared with a bottle of pills. He placed it next to the mug and went back to the kitchen.

I’d been taking care of Sal for as long as I could remember, through her father’s suicide and then Rob’s. I think losing her husband was harder than losing her dad in some aspects. Every day I feared what I’d find when I showed up here. Today she was still alive, I was feeling well. Almost deserved some sort of celebration. An image of the machine floated behind my eyes, reminding me of my strange afternoon. Maybe it would make me better. That way if Sal went further downhill… let’s just say I could fulfil promises made before cancer got me.