Cath Staincliffe - Witness

The operator said an ambulance was on its way. Could she make sure the door was open so they could get in?

Cheryl ran downstairs; she unlocked the front door and left the latch off. Ran back, still on the phone, still answering questions, following instructions: has there been any change; could you please gather together any medication the person uses, the paramedics will bring that with them .

Cheryl collected the tablets from Nana’s bedside table and the ones she had downstairs in the top cupboard in the kitchen.

When she got back upstairs Nana’s eyes were closed, and still. Cheryl’s guts turned to ice. ‘Nana?’ She squeezed Nana’s knuckles and stroked her head, the hair soft with the oil that Nana rubbed on it.

‘She’s asleep,’ Cheryl told the operator, hearing the terror in her own voice.

‘Is she still breathing? Listen and put your hand by her mouth.’

Cheryl put her hand close to Nana’s lips; felt a slight, damp stream of air. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘That’s good; the ambulance will be with you any time now.’

‘Tell them to come upstairs,’ Cheryl said, she couldn’t remember if she’d already said that earlier. Nana was quiet. Cheryl wondered what was wrong. Then there were voices and she felt the temperature fall as the paramedics came in and up the stairs.

One of them got down by Nana and began to examine her, the other talked to Cheryl, lots of the same questions as the operator had asked. Cheryl was still on the phone. ‘You can hang up,’ the paramedic told her. Cheryl noticed he’d had his teeth done, veneers, a bit too big, too long, like horse’s teeth.

The one on the floor said they needed the stretcher.

Nana’s eyes stayed closed, she didn’t even open them when they moved her. They put all the tablets in a bag and wrote her name on it.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Cheryl asked.

‘Hard to say. Best we get her in and let the doctors see. She allergic to anything?’

Cheryl shook her head.

They took the stretcher down and out into the ambulance. It was growing light, the sun a soft orange ball to the east, the sky a pale baby blue.

‘Ask at A &E,’ the man said.

It was going to be a nice day. The thought made her want to cry. She rubbed at her face. They closed the ambulance doors and drove away.

Cheryl went inside, the pulse hammering in her throat. Milo was awake, she heard him cry out. A sudden cramp seized her, a rush of saliva in her mouth. She reached the kitchen sink in time. Retched until she was empty. She cleared up then went to get Milo. She changed him and sat him in his high chair with a banana while she got herself changed. She half-filled a bottle with apple juice and diluted it, grabbed a packet of raisins and made a little sandwich with honey in for him to have later. Added extra nappies to his bag, and a change of clothes.

She drank a glass of milk and rang a taxi. There was a tenner in Nana’s ginger jar. Rainy day money. If anything counted as a rainy day, today did.

The taxi came straight away, sounded its horn. Cheryl carried Milo out in one arm, his bag and buggy in the other. They settled in the cab.

‘Where to?’

‘Manchester Royal, A &E.’

The cab pulled out. Milo sat beside her, eyes bright, pointing at the advert on the fold-down seats opposite. ‘Woof!’ he said and kicked his legs.

‘Yeah,’ Cheryl managed, trying not to weep, ‘woof.’

There was a dull calm in A&E. None of the rushing about or panic Cheryl imagined.

Cheryl gave Nana’s name at the window and was told to wait. Someone would call her. They’d no idea how long but it was fairly quiet still. It was eight o’clock and Cheryl was supposed to be meeting Joe Kitson at nine, due at the court for ten. She couldn’t think about that now. She just couldn’t.

She let Milo toddle about for a bit, watching to make sure he didn’t trouble anyone. One woman with grey hair and age spots splashed over her face played peek-a-boo and made Milo laugh. ‘Peepo,’ he echoed. Then the woman was called through and Milo hauled himself up and sat on her empty chair for a while.

Cheryl kept checking the time, her nerves about to snap. Had they forgotten her? She couldn’t stay still any longer; she fetched Milo and went outside to the smoking shelter. She lit a cigarette, the first drag making her dizzy, the second a buzz of relief. The rest tasted foul, her mouth was dry and chalky. She had some of Milo’s juice. Milo walked along the yellow lines of the ambulance bay, humming to himself.

‘You a car, Milo?’

‘Car,’ he agreed, then ‘Tacta.’

‘Tractor.’

She’d have to stop smoking. But not yet. Not today. Not with everything going on. She heard a siren woo-wooing and called Milo closer. Finished her cigarette and took him in as the ambulance pulled up. She didn’t want him to see anything scary. Didn’t want to see it herself.

Another half-hour. Milo was getting bored and Cheryl was about to ring Joe, and tell him she was stuck at the hospital, when they called her name. The doctor checked out who she was and asked her a few questions about Nana and how she had been over the last couple of weeks.

‘Not sleeping well, tired, she thought it was the anaemia,’ Cheryl said. ‘And feeling a bit sick.’

‘And her appetite?’

‘She isn’t eating much. What’s wrong with her?’ Cheryl should have seen it, got help. Nana was sick and Cheryl had just let her carry on instead of asking her to go back to the doctor.

‘Those symptoms may have been side effects.’

‘Side effects?’ Cheryl couldn’t keep up. Milo wriggled off her lap and climbed into his buggy. She should’ve brought some toys for him, some books.

‘She was on new medication.’ Cheryl didn’t even know that, Nana never talked much about these things.

‘We’ve admitted your grandmother for assessment; we think this episode may have been a cerebral haemorrhage, a bleed in the brain. There are a number of tests we’re doing now to best assess her treatment, starting with a scan.’ Cheryl nodded, bleed, brain echoing in her head. She felt panic beating against her ribs.

‘Can I see her?’

‘I’ll check for you. I’m not sure whether she’s on the ward yet.’

Cheryl waited while the doctor rang someone up. Milo had taken his shoes and socks off. Cheryl put them in his change bag – she couldn’t face wrestling with him now.

‘They’ll ring back down,’ the doctor said. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’

Cheryl sat, the minutes scraping by. She gave Milo his raisins. Then, ‘You can go up now,’ the doctor said. ‘Medical Assessment Unit in the orange zone. Head left out of here and follow the signs.’ He made it sound easy but Cheryl took a wrong turn somewhere and had to retrace her steps. She thought of the lie she’d told Vinia – saying she was here when she’d been to the police station. Was this punishment for that lie? Nana sick, blood in her brain. But people got better, didn’t they? It was like a stroke: they did rehab and had to learn how to walk and talk again.

She had to use a buzzer to get on the ward. There were signs everywhere about germs and gel dispensers every few feet. Cheryl did her hands but Milo refused. At the desk Cheryl waited for the nurse, who was typing away. When she was done she stared at Cheryl, no smile. ‘Yes?’

‘Theodora Williamson,’ said Cheryl. She could see Nana’s name up on the whiteboard behind the desk.

‘Are you a relation?’

‘Yes, her granddaughter.’

The nurse nodded. ‘Room C, just there,’ she said. ‘And if you can keep the little boy quiet.’ Milo was singing softly to himself. Cheryl turned away, a flame of anger in her throat, her hands shaking.