One Minute Later

Did they realize how important it was to cherish every minute of every day?

She was just learning the lesson herself, and still had a very long way to go.

Almost two months had passed since she’d gone from being a perfectly healthy person (or so she’d thought) to someone who was only alive thanks to tireless and dedicated expert care, and the massive cocktail of drugs she was now dependent on. Learning what life was going to be like for the foreseeable future – no more work, limited and careful exercise, constant assessments, pain management where needed, special diets: the list was endless – had been a shock she hadn’t yet come to terms with, and she didn’t feel confident that she ever would. This was nothing like the life she had planned for herself. She was an invalid now, someone who could only survive on medication and the hope of a new heart. It was as though she’d suddenly become old. The worst of it might have been the advice to refrain from physical intimacy until she was strong enough to cope with the strenuous nature of it, but since she didn’t have a partner it was hardly an issue. And it was never going to be one, for what chance did she stand of ever finding anyone in Kesterly, or anywhere, who’d want to take on the hassle of a sick woman whose condition was only going to get worse, unless a miracle came along in the shape of someone dead so she could live?

The horror of that was too hard to think about, so she didn’t.

While being assessed for a new heart she’d read stories online about those who’d managed to get their lives back on track after the transplant, and who’d even gone on to greater things. There was no reason, she’d been told, for her not to be one of their number. There was no guarantee that she would be, either, for in amongst the many upbeat stories had been just as many – more, even – telling a much sadder tale: waits that had gone on for years only to end in death; mad dashes to a transplant centre to find the donor heart wasn’t suitable; post-operative immunosuppressive drugs causing cancer … The only good news in all this, as her mother saw it, was that she hadn’t been rejected for transplant, which could have happened, since some people were too sick for the procedure. If she were one of their number she’d know for certain that she wasn’t likely to make it beyond a few months. As it was, she probably wouldn’t anyway.

Her mother had been there every day throughout the transplant assessment and the surgery, only a few days ago, to fit her with an ICD – implantable cardioverter defibrillator. There had been much discussion about going straight for a VAD – Ventricular Assist Device – and Vivi had prayed with all her might that it wouldn’t happen. She’d read much about that too, the open-heart surgery to attach the pump to the left ventricle and aorta with drivelines connecting her heart, through the skin, to a controller and batteries that she’d have to take everywhere with her. Plenty had been written by those who had one about the pain of it, the fear of it stopping, and the dreadful things that sometimes happened if it did.

She’d wept with relief when the decision had been taken to hold the VAD in reserve for the time being.

Gina had shared the relief, but Vivi had turned away when her mother had broken into a smile. She was glad her mother was there, but she couldn’t bear to see her clutching at straws that were little more than thin air. Nor did she want to see her fear and worry, nor how shattered and gaunt she looked as one setback was overcome, only to be replaced by another. This was obviously affecting her deeply, but there were times when Vivi had needed to wallow in her terrible, wrenching emotions alone. Surely running a marathon for such a deserving cause was a good thing, not something to be punished for, so why had it turned into this? It was small comfort – maybe no comfort at all – to be told that it would have happened sooner or later anyway. Her heart had been weakening for a long time without her knowing it, and now it was a virtually useless vessel of such pathetic performance that it could fail at any time. It was a pump that had run out of thrust, a muscle that was atrophying like a flower past its bloom.

This time next year, or maybe even before that, there would very likely be an empty space where she was now, just Mark in the back seat of the car, an empty chair at their table, a bedroom that would no longer be used, someone they wouldn’t have to consider when they bought gifts and made plans. All that would exist of her would be the memories her friends and family shared, or maybe she’d be a ghost, moving amongst them unseen, unheard and unable to reach out and touch them.

‘It’s quite natural for you to be feeling blue and frightened right now,’ the psychologist had told her before she’d left hospital. ‘It’s a lot to take in, but you’ll find it becomes easier as you gain strength and your coping mechanism comes to the rescue.’

‘What if none of it shows up?’ she’d asked. ‘No strength, no coping mechanism, no hope even?’

The psychologist hadn’t seemed to doubt that it would all kick in at some point, and probably sooner than she expected. He’d then talked about the counselling that would be available any time Vivienne required it.

Reading reports from other heart patients, Vivi knew that the counselling promise wasn’t one to rely on. There had been too many cuts to the NHS budget to guarantee anything, least of all treatment for mental health when the costs of her physical needs were running into many tens of thousands of pounds.

Why didn’t they save the money and let her go now? What was the point of trying to keep her alive when they already knew they were going to lose the battle?

Vivi’s eyes moved to her mother’s blonde head. The little parting that had appeared at the crown made her seem vulnerable, as though she was the one who needed to be taken care of. What the worry of it all was doing to her mother kept agitating Vivi, upsetting her a lot, making her feel guilty and frustrated, even angry and resentful at times. She didn’t want to concern herself with it, but as soon as Gina was out of sight Vivi’s overwhelming relief at seeing her go was quickly smothered by an almost panicked, childlike need of her.

‘What are you thinking about?’ she sometimes wanted to ask, but afraid of the answer she stayed silent. She wondered how much pressure the turmoil of her own emotions was putting on her heart, if the quick flare-ups of bitterness and anger, followed by painful, anxious surges of love and guilt, were damaging it further. Maybe it would be better if she and her mother weren’t together, and yet she couldn’t bear to think of how much it would hurt Gina if she tried to shut her out. Worse would be attempting to manage without her – of course she couldn’t – and all tied up in this terrible, tormenting tangle of feelings was the undeniable gratitude that she had a mother who cared. It wouldn’t be true for everyone in her position; they might not have a wonderful stepfather either, or a brother who was doing his young man’s best to navigate the thorny and explosive territory that existed between his mother and sister.

Wanting him to know how much she appreciated him being here today, Vivi reached for his hand and curled her fingers around his. His grip tightened, but she kept her gaze fixed on the passing hotels and town houses with their hanging flower baskets and wide-open windows, too tired to turn her head to look at him. Later, when she was feeling stronger and they were alone, she’d tell him that he didn’t have to stay, that he shouldn’t stay. His exams might be over, but the plans he’d made to travel through Italy with friends for the summer must go ahead. Just because she couldn’t live a normal life any more was no reason for him to put his on hold. In fact, knowing he was out there making the best of everything the world had to offer would do far more for her than thinking of him wasting away at home.

Wasting away at home.

‘Michelle should be waiting for us,’ Gina said over her shoulder. ‘She wanted to get a few things in and make sure everything was all right with the house before we got there.’

For the first time in her life Vivi felt no pleasure at the thought of seeing her oldest and probably dearest friend; she wasn’t capable of feeling very much about anything right now. It was hard to imagine any kind of hope or enthusiasm swooping in to rescue her from the cloying, debilitating pessimism that was stifling her.

Rachel, the specialist cardiac nurse, had said, ‘We’re adding antidepressants to your medication …’

‘No, please, not more pills …’

Rachel’s hand went up. ‘It’ll be much harder for you to regain energy if you’re feeling depressed. In fact it could be impossible, and that’s not what we want. When it comes time for the transplant you’ll need to be in as good shape as possible or it can’t happen.’ When it comes time for the transplant. It was good of Rachel to talk about it as if it were a foregone conclusion, when they both knew it wasn’t. It was far more likely that a suitable donor wouldn’t be found.

At this moment Vivi doubted she’d ever feel strong or happy again. She seemed even weaker than she had at the start of it all, but she realized that the sedation to implant an ICD probably still hadn’t fully worn off. It was a nifty little device – that was how the cardiologist had described it – that now sat just below her collarbone and was connected to her heart by a couple of wires that had been threaded through a vein to their destination. Its purpose was to monitor and record all arrhythmic activity in her pitiful heart, and to deliver a good electrical thump to get things going again should they come to a stop.

Ingenious, even miraculous, considering that it also allowed the dedicated cardiac team to monitor her remotely. This meant they could check on her at any time of the day or night – apparently it was going to happen each night – via an Internet connection plugged into the phone line next to her bed, and she wouldn’t even know it was happening. They’d be assessing everything from her heart rate, to her blood pressure; to the effect her medications were having on the struggling performance. She’d asked if they could programme it to make her a cup of tea in the morning, and they’d all dutifully laughed.

Anyway, it was quite possible she wouldn’t be aware of the device once she got used to the discomfort in her shoulder, but if a major incident occurred she’d definitely know it.

What a sobering, nightmarish thought that was; she could be in the throes of an emergency CPR at any minute, all carried out by the little gadget inside her. Still, it was better than the alternative of letting the heart try to fend for itself, when it clearly couldn’t. She’d been warned that the shock of the device going off was likely to hurt – a lot – but only for seconds. Like a donkey kick to the chest, she’d both read and heard. It might also sap her strength and leave her incapacitated for a while, but there again she might be able to continue as though it hadn’t happened at all. She guessed she’d find out soon enough; she just hoped that the many emotional conflicts tearing around her depleted vital muscle right now wouldn’t trigger an emergency all on their own.

It took no more than fifteen minutes to drive along the coast road past the marina, Ed and Kev’s donkey sanctuary, then a wide and wild stretch of wasteland apparently about to be developed. Just after that they reached the narrow spur of Bay Lane that would be easy to miss for anyone who didn’t know it was there, for the main road curved sharply away from the shore at that point to continue on to the lower reaches of Westleigh Heights. The Heights, as the area was more commonly known, was where Michelle’s family had always lived. It was also where Vivi and Mark had lived during the time their mother had been married to Gil. After the break-up they’d returned to their grandmother’s house on Bay Lane.

Most of the properties on the lane, now used as holiday homes, were set back behind high wooden gates and protective laurel bushes. Number eight wasn’t much different, except the gates were always open and the hedges were low enough to see across the lane to the dunes and estuary beyond. Gil pulled into the drive and came to a stop in front of the double-fronted Edwardian house where an Audi convertible was already parked. Gina’s VW Beetle was presumably tucked away in the garage, and Vivi felt her spirits sink even lower as she remembered that she was no longer allowed to drive.

However, one look at Michelle’s wonderful, freckly face as she came out of the house was a tonic she hadn’t expected. The joy of seeing her, of realizing she was going to be there for her, was helping, if only for a few moments, to lift her from the misery she was in.

After hugging carefully and tearfully, Vivi gazed into Michelle’s tender blue eyes and saw straight away that the bond they’d always shared was still there. They didn’t need words to express it, they could both feel it and that was enough. There would be time later for talking, for trying to come to terms with what was happening and how they were going to cope. For now Vivi allowed Michelle to take her into the house, so glad she was there that it took her a moment to register the familiar scent of the place. It transported her back over many years, confusing her with emotions as all kinds of memories flashed up, and nostalgia closed in on her like the tide lapping the shore outside. The hallway was long and only just wide enough for the two friends to walk side by side past the old telephone table and coat hooks towards the foot of the carpeted stairs. They stopped at the threshold of the room NanaBella had always called her best room. It occupied the whole of the right side of the house with views out to the beach through the bay window at the front, and French doors to the garden at the back. The door to the left led to the kitchen-diner and family room for everyday use. NanaBella had entertained Gil in the best room when he was dating Gina, wanting to impress him and make him feel welcome as though he was someone very special, which he was.

Apparently her mother had asked Michelle to get the room ready for Vivi, and it was clear from the pillow arrangement, scented candles and new Smart TV beside the old-fashioned tiled fireplace that Michelle had done her best, but it wasn’t what Vivi wanted.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ she growled, when she saw that the small double bed from the guest room had been set up in place of NanaBella’s rosewood dining table. ‘I can get up the stairs.’ It might take her a while to achieve it, but she was determined to try.

‘No one’s saying you can’t,’ her mother replied evenly. ‘I just thought it would be nice for you to have your own room for entertaining – and, well, it’s a place you can call your own.’

Vivi said, ‘So what are you going to do for a sitting room?’

Gina’s eyes stayed on her, but her cheeks were flushed with colour, showing how upset and sorry she was that she’d apparently got it wrong. ‘We have the one we’ve always used,’ she reminded her.

Vivi decided not to protest any further because Gil, Mark and Michelle were clearly feeling embarrassed and sorry for Gina, and who could blame them?

‘I expect the kettle’s boiled by now,’ Michelle said cheerfully. ‘Let’s go and have some tea.’

Vivi stayed where she was, looking around the large, rectangular room with its cream and yellow flowered wallpaper and NanaBella’s mustard-colour three-piece suite. The sofa converted to a bed and had always been used when the house was full at Christmas or for birthdays – and now for when a dying daughter might have a visitor? It was so depressingly outdated, and so different from her wonderful flat in Chelsea that she wanted to sob. Aware that she might damage herself if she gave in to too much emotion, she put a hand to the implant in her shoulder, feeling its sharp edges through her skin, and let tears drop onto her cheeks. Her conscience was flooding her with beautiful, happy memories of times spent in this room when sparkling Christmas trees had filled the niche next to the fireplace, and when she’d helped NanaBella to set the table for all kinds of special occasions.

How could she be so ungrateful and mean about the room NanaBella had been so proud of? The room she’d apparently once helped her grandpa to wallpaper when she was three (no doubt causing havoc); where she used to practise her ballet for her mother and NanaBella, and where she’d watched NanaBella weep tears of joy as she’d taken a day-old Mark from Gil to cradle him in her arms.

Now her mother had turned this special place into hers, to try to make her life easier.

‘OK?’ Mark said softly, sliding an arm round her shoulder and putting a mug of tea into her hand.

‘I will be,’ she promised. She rested her head against him, inhaling the earthy, tangy smell that was so familiar and comforting it made her want to weep again. ‘Have I upset her?’ she asked, briefly closing her eyes.

‘She’ll get over it.’

Her gaze went to a sideboard where photographs of them both at various stages of their lives were displayed in silver and leather frames. There were several of their grandparents too, at their wedding, her christening, Mark’s first birthday party, but there was only one of their mother, with Vivi and Mark at Vivi’s graduation.

There used to be one of Gina and Gil on their wedding day, but it had been taken down soon after they’d broken up and Gina had returned to live with her mother.

‘I don’t know why I feel so angry with her,’ she said. ‘It’s like I’m blaming her for what’s happening when it obviously isn’t her fault.’

‘I heard Dad telling her that it was natural to lash out at people you love when you’re feeling afraid. She probably knew that already, but I think it helped her to hear it.’

Vivi felt sure it had.

Michelle appeared and drew her into a careful embrace.

‘I won’t break,’ Vivi promised, relaxing into the feel of her, and wishing it could be just the two of them, though not wanting Mark to leave. Or Gil. Or her mother.

‘You look tired,’ Michelle told her.

Vivi’s weary eyes managed a spark. ‘If you’re about to tell me to lie down then don’t,’ she warned, meaning it to sound like a mock rebuke, but it didn’t quite come out that way.

‘I wasn’t,’ Michelle assured her, apparently unfazed. ‘It was just a comment. I’ll trust you to know when you need to eat or sleep or pee or whatever you fancy. Mum’s just texted to ask if you’re feeling up to having dinner at her place tonight. All of you,’ she added, looking at Mark.

Not wanting to admit that she wasn’t up to it, while feeling grateful for the way Michelle and her family were drawing her back into the fold, Vivi looked round as Gil called out, ‘Hey, son, can you give me a hand to bring this lot in?’

Realizing it was some of her belongings from the flat, Vivi’s eyes went to Michelle’s, knowing, because her mother had told her, that her friend had helped to pack them sometime over the last few days. She felt so useless and wretched that she didn’t know what to say or do.

‘We’ve arranged for a man with a van to bring your furniture,’ Gil told her as he came along the hall with a heavy box. ‘Once it’s here we can get things looking a bit more like your kind of home.’

Unable to stop herself, Vivi looked down at the carpet with its yellow and black diamond design and in spite, or maybe because of how awful it was, she found herself wanting to laugh.

Gil followed her eyes, and Michelle said drily, ‘I think it qualifies as retro.’

‘Just what I was going to say,’ Gil agreed.

Mark said, ‘Remember, NanaBella was always going on about changing it.’

It was true, but the room was used so little they’d ended up forgetting about it, even after NanaBella had gone. Gina only used the other side of the house, which was much more up to date.

‘Do you want me to take this stuff upstairs?’ Mark asked. ‘Or would you rather have it down here?’

Though Vivi had no idea what was in each of the holdalls or boxes, she remained determined that this wouldn’t be her full-time base, so she said, ‘Upstairs.’

‘Are you sure?’ her mother asked, coming out of the kitchen.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Vivi told her shortly.

Apparently not wanting to fight, but still keen to get her way, Gina said to Mark, ‘Anything that needs to come down again can always be sorted out later.’

Vivi turned away, and Michelle put a steadying hand on her arm.

‘If we’re going to Yvonne’s for dinner,’ Gina said, ‘then I think you should have a lie-down first.’

Vivi was tense to breaking. ‘Do you?’ she muttered.

She didn’t have to see her mother’s expression turn to one of awkwardness and regret as she picked up on her unrealized error, because she could feel it. It took a lot of effort for Vivi to raise her head and say, ‘I’m sorry, you’re right,’ because of course her mother was, and she really didn’t want to hurt her.

‘I’ll go on ahead to give Mum a hand,’ Michelle said, breaking the tension. ‘The kids are dying to see you, Vivi, but if you’d rather wait till tomorrow, Sam can always stay at home with them tonight.’

In spite of knowing she’d prefer to wait, Vivi said, ‘I’ll be fine by the time we get there, so I’d love to see them.’ Life had to go on. She needed to find the strength to be normal.

After Michelle had gone Mark took himself off upstairs, and Gil remarked to no one in particular, ‘Well, I guess I probably ought to be making a move.’

Vivi waited for her mother to protest, but Gina said, ‘Thanks very much for driving us today. We couldn’t have managed without you.’

Pulling Vivi into his arms, he spoke tenderly. ‘Take care of yourself, sweetheart. You know where I am if you need me.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, close to tears again. She desperately wanted him to stay, to carry on understanding her and her mother the way he always seemed to, but they weren’t his responsibility any more. Her mother had seen to that.

As Gina walked outside with him Vivi watched from the window, wondering what they were saying and if they would kiss. They did, but briefly, dutifully almost, before Gil got into his car.

By the time her mother came back Vivi was perched on the edge of the sofa trying to get a sense of the ICD, and whether it was registering any rogue events in her heart to relay to the cardiac team later.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Gina offered.

Vivi looked at her as hard as she could as she said, ‘Why do you do it?’

Gina flushed. ‘Do what?’

‘Why do you send him away when any fool can see that you want him to stay?’

Gina flinched. ‘He’s got someone else,’ she replied.

This was the first Vivi had heard of someone else, and for a horrible moment it felt as though he was cheating on her mother, and on her. ‘If it’s serious,’ she heard herself saying angrily, ‘then you only have yourself to blame.’

Gina didn’t argue, merely set about straightening up cushions that didn’t need it at all.

There was so much more that Vivi wanted to say, or shout, or simply beg answers to, but it took all the energy she had left to say, ‘Everything’s different now, Mum, I hope you realize that. I intend to find out the truth before I die,’ and knowing Gina understood exactly what she meant she turned away, not able to say any more for now.

Vivi had been awake for a while, remembering when Gil had come into their lives and bought a house only four doors away from Michelle’s parents on Westleigh Heights.

He hadn’t only done it for her so she could stay living close to Michelle, as she’d believed at the time, he’d done it for her mother and NanaBella, because NanaBella hadn’t wanted Gina and Vivi to leave Kesterly either. So Gil had kept everyone together by renting out his home in Bath, relocating his consultancy business to Kesterly, and, best of all, he’d come most days to pick her up from school. That had shut everyone up about her not having a father, because they’d been able to see him, and so what if he wasn’t a real dad? As Michelle used to say, ‘That makes him even more special, because he chose you.’