Priscilla Masters: Frozen Charlotte

In spite of the warning bells alarming in Martha’s head, she forced herself not to over react. ‘And where are you going?’

‘To the new club that’s just opened in town. It’s a sort of disco/coffee shop. Don’t worry, Mum’, Sukey said quickly, ‘Feodore’s dad is being taxi driver tonight and he promises to have me home before eleven. And as for you, little brother,’ she said, turning to Sam, ‘as penance for abandoning you tonight for the fleshpots of Shrewsbury I shall spend all day tomorrow listening to your utterly boring football talk.’ She diluted the insult by rumpling her brother’s hair and they exchanged a small, secret smile, one that perhaps only twins can share.

‘All right, Suks,’ he said, good-naturedly, then eyeing the decorating with resentment he continued, ‘I suppose I shall have to help Mum paint this room.’

Both mother and son looked around them with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘It seems to be taking an awfully long time,’ Sam tagged on disconsolately.

‘Mmm.’ Martha wiped her face, smearing emulsion across her right cheek and privately she agreed. Perhaps she had bitten off more than she could really chew. The ceilings in this room seemed particularly high and full of nasty small cracks that would all need filling with Polyfilla. She’d never done much decorating and now wished she’d summoned a professional. She was not enjoying this, particularly as tonight was a rare occasion. She would have her son all to herself. It seemed a waste to spend it doing something so mundane as decorating. As Sukey left the room, presumably to see if Agnetha would iron her white T-shirt, Martha put the paint tray down. ‘You know, Sam,’ she said, ‘I don’t much feel like doing this tonight. How about we do some cooking and watch a film or something instead?’

His answer was a wide grin. She and Sam shut the door firmly on the chaos, took the brushes out to the laundry and started rinsing them through.

But now she had dealt with one problem her mind focussed on Sukey’s deliberately careless words. Sixth-form boys?

A mother might see her daughter every day but the moment is still sudden when she realizes her little girl has become a woman. Martha watched the paint-stained water swirling down the plughole. It had happened so fast.

When Sukey came downstairs fifteen minutes later Martha and Sam were rifling through the kitchen cupboards, trying to decide what to cook. Sukey walked into the kitchen and Martha realized that her daughter had the poise of a woman twice her age. She shook her head almost in disbelief and watched her. When had Sukey turned from sweet schoolgirl into something so resembling a super model? As she eyed the tiny black skirt around boyish hips, long, slim legs and blonde hair swinging almost to her waist and noted that she was wearing the newly ironed T-shirt – ironed by whom? – Martha felt a snatch, not only of apprehension, but also of pride. Was this really her own daughter?

‘You look lovely, Sukey,’ she said. ‘Really lovely.’ She sighed. ‘Nothing like me or your father. I don’t know where you get it from.’

Sukey gave her a grin. ‘Neither do I,’ she said cheekily. Behind her Sam chortled and for a brief, precious moment, they were a family of three, undamaged by grief or unhappiness.

‘What do you think, Mrs Gunn?’ Agnetha had appeared in the doorway. ‘I am glad I ironed the shirt so she could wear it. It looks so good on her.’

One question answered.

‘She does look great, Agnetha. You’re going to miss her when you leave to get married.’

‘I am. But maybe you will allow her to come over to see me?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘That would be lovely. My family will like her so very much.’ She and Sukey looked at each other and smiled conspiratorially. In the years since Agnetha had been their au pair they had built up a close friendship.

Uninterested in Agnetha’s impending wedding, Sam had stayed silent during this girlish exchange. He was still rooting through the fridge to see what he could find to cook. He waited with unaccustomed patience as the three women chatted about clothes and fashion and the forthcoming wedding in the summer.

The conversation was cut short by the ring of the doorbell. Sukey jumped up and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Bye, Mum,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. See you later. Bye, Sam. Bye, Agnetha.’ And she was gone leaving Agnetha a free evening to watch the television, surf the Internet and chat with her fiancée and Martha and Sam to enjoy cooking fish pie, once they’d defrosted some cod steaks.

As they steamed the fish, grated the cheese, peeled and cooked the potatoes, Sam began to unburden himself.

‘It’s sort of unsettling, Mum,’ he said, his face looking troubled. ‘I mean – you’re never really on an even keel, you know. One minute they’re calling you a god, the next they’re throwing shit in your face and calling you a dickhead.’

‘Sam.’ She was shocked at how cynical he’d become so very quickly. Her daughter might have the poise of a woman twice her age but her son had the cynicism of someone twice his age. He’d only been at the academy a little over a year and he’d changed completely. She felt a sudden anger. What the hell did they teach boys there? She studied his face. He’d always been a gritty little character, biting his lip when he’d fallen and hurt himself, determined not to cry. In that way he had not changed at all. He was still her tough son, wiry and determined, yet vulnerable, but this newly acquired cynicism made him appear older, much wiser, than his almost fifteen years, even a littler careworn. She watched him with concern until he started forking in the food, energy and enthusiasm increasing by the mouthful. She smiled and relaxed. It turned out a pleasant evening.

Saturday night is ‘drunks night’ which always keeps the staff busy. But this night was different. After the initial rush of casualties during the day and early evening, the department gradually emptied out as the snow was obviously keeping people to their own homes and encouraging those who were out to return earlier than usual. By a little after 9 p.m. the department was clearing, the chairs slowly emptying.

Dr Jane Miles wiped some hair out of her eyes and looked at Staff Nurse Ramshaw. ‘How’re we doing, Lucy?’

Lucy grinned back and rotated her shoulders to loosen them up. ‘Not bad. We should manage a cup of-’

This was being a little over optimistic. The bleep interrupted her. ‘Dr Miles to Resus. Dr Miles to Resus.’ Jane picked up the number and started running.

There is a particular atmosphere which surrounds a cardiac arrest. Noise and stillness, activity and a lack of movement. Quiet words of direction and finally a decision. Screens are put round, relatives ushered away and anyone who does not have an active role keeps on the periphery, to act as messenger. It was a young road-traffic victim, a youth of twenty who had been walking along the road because the pavement was icy but a car coming in the opposite direction had struggled to maintain control and had smashed into him causing multiple injuries. The team worked on him for an exhausting half hour before their eyes met and they made the decision to stop resuscitating. There is nothing more defeating than this moment. But it is not only a time of grief. It is the moment of decision. Tragedy for some can be the ray of hope for others. There is the question of organ donation which has to be hurried past already traumatized relatives.

And so, amid the bustle and noise of the A &E department on this Saturday evening, the woman continued to sit with the pink woollen bundle on her lap. She was not so much ignored as sitting at the bottom of the department’s priorities. Finally, at half past ten, it was left to Staff Nurse Lucy Ramshaw, to deal with her just before she finished her twelve-hour shift. First of all she went to speak to Sarinda, the clerk on the registration desk. ‘Do you know anything about the lady sitting in the corner?’