Unexpected lessons in lo.., p.28
Unexpected Lessons in Love, page 28
Gem looked significantly more chipper than Rachel, who sat slumped by him on the floor, while the puppies in the playpens were more subdued than usual. Most of the puppies had been leaving for their new homes over the previous week, and now there were only two left: Dolly the collie and Marilyn the Staffie. Lady Sadie waddled in behind Jeannie, ignored her yapping daughter, and went straight over to Gem, flopping down next to his basket with her broad head on her paws. They breathed heavily, in unison.
Jeannie sat down by Rachel, and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Rachel.’
‘Thanks.’ Rachel laid her hand on Gem’s head. ‘He’s mortified about this fuss, I can tell. Not your style, is it, old man? Being the centre of attention. If he could speak, he’d be telling me to get on with packing up the dresses.’ She smiled; it was an effort. ‘Can you guess how much money we made last night?’
‘No, surprise me.’
‘Nearly four thousand pounds, just in ticket sales, bar, raffle and the auction. That’s our target in one go.’
‘Wow!’
‘The ukulele orchestra was a masterstroke – those parents and family turning up in support, as well as the brides, tipped the balance. They drank a lot. Everyone said the music gave the night something magical. I wouldn’t be surprised if Johnny’s orchestra gets some wedding bookings off the back of it.’
A glow spread through Jeannie; she’d made a tangible difference. To the dogs, to the rescue centre, to Liam in the back row who now sang the correct words to everything – and in tune too.
‘And your song! Oh!’ Rachel clapped a hand to her chest. ‘I had goosebumps. Everyone did. Don’t forget us when you’re on your world tour, will you?’
Jeannie made a non-committal noise. ‘You’ll get the pick of the merch.’
‘Thank you. I’ll hold you to that.’ Rachel heaved herself up off the floor. ‘We’ve got a lot to do this morning. Please keep me as busy as you can, or else I’m liable to go to pieces and Gem would not approve.’
Natalie had left a list of contact details for Rachel and Jeannie to work through: brides who’d expressed an interest in trying on the gowns from the catwalk show, or bringing bridesmaids in to look at the other dresses. The plan was to offer a proper bridal-shop service in a pop-up location in town: two of the volunteers were there, transforming an empty shoe shop into a luxurious boudoir of a boutique, recycling the flowers, drapes and bunting donated to the gala night.
‘Nat says if we can negotiate the lease for a reasonable amount, the pop-up could be a fresh revenue stream.’ Rachel looked up from the computer. ‘Fancy a job running a wedding shop?’
Jeannie assumed Rachel was joking, and answered with her eyebrows.
‘No, genuine question,’ she insisted. ‘There isn’t a bridal shop in Longhampton. And we could do with a year-round source of income, especially if George is going to cut his annual donation, as has been threatened. You could do it in lieu of rent for the cottage, if you want?’
Jeannie ignored the mention of the cottage for the time being. ‘George won’t cut you off.’ She paused. ‘Will he?’
Rachel’s gaze drifted over to Gem, who was sleeping again. ‘We can’t talk about it without fighting. I think he might, on principle. George has been planning his early retirement for as long as I’ve known him, and now it’s within touching distance. Me needing more money for this place isn’t going down well. And neither is me taking on more work to make up the difference.’
‘But he knows it’s important to you.’
Rachel didn’t answer at once. She ran a hand through her hair, ruffling the silver strands. ‘I don’t even know if it’s about the money any more. I think we’re at a bit of a crossroads in general.’
‘So talk about it.’
‘Some conversations are too important to start off wrong. So you don’t start them at all.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ said Jeannie, and Rachel smiled sadly.
Rachel wanted to stay close to Gem in the office, and so Jeannie volunteered to take the dogs out for the mid-morning paddock sessions. She hurled balls and frisbees and rehearsed the confident things she fully intended to say to Edith about her song, but without Edith there to talk over her and throw her off balance with unpredictable responses, it felt a bit too easy.
When Jeannie came back in an hour later, arms aching and ready for a cup of tea, she leaned round the office door to ask Rachel if she fancied a brew too, but the sight that greeted her stopped the words in her mouth.
Rachel was hunched over the desk, weeping and writing at the same time.
Jeannie’s gaze swept automatically to the basket, but Gem’s milky eyes were wide open, watching his mistress.
‘Rachel? What’s up? Is it Gem?’
Rachel’s head jerked up. Even without the smudged mascara and wild hair, her expression was pure heartbreak. ‘Oh! Jeannie.’ She rubbed her face. ‘Sorry, I’m being ridiculous …’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Someone’s bought my dress.’ She took a shuddering sniff. ‘A man phoned up while you were out, and he’s just paid for it. Full amount. His fiancée saw it on our website this week and fell in love, so he’s bought it for her as a surprise.’
‘Oh.’ Jeannie didn’t know what to say – neither ‘That’s great!’ nor ‘That’s terrible!’ were right.
‘He’s even bought the hat.’ She looked down at the credit card receipt in front of her. ‘It’s a lot of money. I mean, wonderful news. Thank you, Adam Marsden. You generous man. You’ve paid for Grace’s liver scan and all the puppies’ inoculations, with enough left to pay some of George’s IOUs.’
‘No, Rachel, you have.’ Jeannie hesitated. Poor Rachel: she had enough to deal with, with Gem. The timing was unfair. If only she’d been in to take the call instead. ‘Look, if you’re having second thoughts about selling it, then don’t!’
‘No!’ She forced a watery smile. ‘I said I’d sell it, and George saw me sell it, and … I’ve sold it. I’m just more upset than I thought I’d be now it’s happened. Stupid, I know.’
Jeannie remembered George’s face at the catwalk show. He’d seemed crushed to her: crushed and angry – and a bit disappointed.
‘I’m writing a note to send with it.’ She brandished her pen. ‘I just want the lucky Tilly to know she’s not simply getting a dress. She’s getting a dress full of glamour and style and everything else I felt in my heart when I walked down the aisle wearing it. It’s a work of art, and it made awkward, flawed me into a work of art too, just for a day. I hope she’ll feel the same.’ Rachel paused, and rolled her eyes at herself. ‘I know, I’m writing a goodbye note to my dress. I’ve lost my mind.’
Jeannie couldn’t imagine what would be in that letter, but she knew there was absolutely no chance of the future Mrs Adam Marsden not hearing Rachel’s heart when it fell out of the tissue-wrapped cocoon of love she’d pack for her wedding dress.
The new week brought a fresh crop of specialists and nurses, all focused on moving Dan out of the hospital and back into the outside world. Since his breathing tube and other feeding tubes had been removed, the team calling into his room throughout the day had mutated again to the point where Jeannie was glad she could covertly refer to his now dog-eared notebook to remember who was who.
The newest addition to Dan’s care team was Rhys the neurophysiotherapist. Jeannie never had any trouble remembering Rhys: he was six foot five and used to working with rugby players and boxers who’d hit their heads once too often, as well as stroke patients. He had hands like shovels, a rugby-flattened nose and a touch like a butterfly landing on silk.
Although Dan was recovering strongly in some areas, he still had what Rhys described as ‘extensive hemiparesis’ down his left side.
‘It’s the same as if he’d had a stroke,’ he told them with the same matter-of-fact approach he applied to Dan’s daily stretching and pulling and gripping exercises. Jeannie had only seen one of these sessions; Andrea found the floppy uselessness of Dan’s previously strong arm so upsetting she couldn’t even watch Rhys at work, let alone help in the way she’d eagerly assisted with his bed baths and his shaves.
‘His brain’s not sending messages to the left side of his body yet, so we need to encourage it to reset itself,’ Rhys explained. ‘You’ve heard the doctors talking about plasticity, right? Dan’s got tons of brain cells – we just need to get them reorganising.’
‘But will it come back? The motor control?’ Jeannie cast a nervous look over her shoulder; the three of them were talking outside Dan’s room and his eyes were closed, but Jeannie was never quite sure whether Dan was really asleep or whether he was just faking it to make Andrea stop bombarding him with ‘helpful’ memory-jogging facts.
‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Rhys reassured her. ‘There’ll be a team in rehab to focus on every aspect of the recovery process, but the main thing is Dan. He needs to be patient and work with us.’
Andrea’s face had drained of colour at the first mention of the word hemiparesis and hadn’t recovered. ‘Rhys, please be honest. Danny’s a vet, a surgeon. It’s what he’s wanted to do since he was a boy. Are you saying he might not …’ She blanched but forced the words out, screwing up her face as if they tasted bitter in the mouth. ‘He might not recover enough control to operate again?’
Jeannie thought unhappily of what Owen had told her about Dan’s career dreams when he graduated. She’d known before that he was ambitious, but she hadn’t really understood how much work had driven his life until Owen explained.
I wasn’t listening, she thought. Or did Dan not tell me?
She tried to imagine how she’d feel if she lost control of her left arm, her fingertips. What if the lightness of touch never came back? What if she could hear music inside her and had no way of getting it out? It made her body ripple with panic and frustration.
‘I’m only the physio; I can’t predict what’s going to happen with Dan’s brain. And let’s not think in those terms just yet.’ Rhys had put a hand on Andrea’s arm. It looked huge, a friendly giant’s hand. ‘Let’s focus on getting him up and walking, eh? These are questions you can raise with Mr Allcott at the meeting.’
The Meeting on Friday. Jeannie and Andrea exchanged a look. They’d known about Dan’s discharge meeting for under an hour and already it had taken on ominous capital letters.
Mr Allcott had called a multi-disciplinary meeting of the various health professionals overseeing Dan’s care: himself, Rhys, an occupational therapist, a psychologist, a dietician and various nurses. Even though Jeannie couldn’t believe Dan was anywhere near ready to come home, going by the number of sensors connecting him to the monitors, his discharge seemed to be a reality. Referrals to the rehab unit were being processed, and the OT had left Jeannie a message to arrange a convenient time for a home visit, to assess any adjustments necessary for Dan to return.
Jeannie had stared at the message and hadn’t known what she was supposed to say. Andrea had – she’d been thrilled.
‘Oh, wonderful! Maybe I should come over too? See what we’re going to need in the way of spare beds and whatnot, for when I’m staying over.’ When Jeannie had protested weakly that she needn’t worry, Andrea had batted away her words with an affectionate swat: ‘Don’t be silly – it’d be my pleasure. It’d give you some time off to carry on helping out with your friends up the road, wouldn’t it? The dogs?’
Jeannie had nodded. There hadn’t been much else she could do. After all, technically it was Dan’s house, not hers. Everything that had seemed so comforting and stable just days ago was suddenly shifting under her feet.
‘Just think!’ Rhys went on with a cheerful wink. ‘Danny boy could be out of here by next week! Pretty incredible when you think about it, eh?’
‘My Danny boy’s always been incredible,’ Andrea agreed. She linked arms with Jeannie. ‘And so is my Jeannie.’
‘It’s down to you now,’ said Rhys. ‘And he’s in great hands with you two, I can tell.’
As soon as they went back into Dan’s room, Andrea was straight on to a topic Jeannie thought might finally have been parked for a while.
‘Now, who do you think I had a call from this morning?’ She glanced between Dan in the bed and Jeannie on the other side.
‘The Pope?’ asked Dan wearily. He’d regained some of his old good humour, albeit slightly darker than it had been. ‘Does he do phone consultations now?’
‘No, darling! Your wedding photographer, Charlotte. She called me to see how you were getting on. She was very pleased to hear what a good recovery you’re making, and she made me a very kind offer.’ Andrea raised an eyebrow, encouraging them to guess what that might be.
Jeannie smiled but had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself shouting, ‘Not now!’
‘She does hospital photo shoots?’ asked Dan. ‘Bit grim, Mum.’
‘Danny! No! She offered to let the deposit stand if you want to book a new date for the wedding.’ Andrea looked at Jeannie. ‘You know how popular Charlotte is, so I said we’d get back to her with a new date as soon as.’
Jeannie was struggling to formulate an appropriate response when Dan did it for her.
‘Tell her no,’ he said.
‘What?’ Andrea had started to fish in her bag for her diary. Her head snapped up.
Dan’s voice was brusque and tired. ‘Mum, I appreciate you want to think about happier things than my rehab, but don’t you think talking about wedding photographers is a bit inappropriate?’
‘But, darling … let’s just pick a date and then forget it.’
‘Mum! For God’s sake! Do you honestly think that’s what I’m thinking about right now? Wedding photographers?’
Andrea appealed to Jeannie for back-up, but Jeannie seized the chance to stop the madness.
‘There’s no rush,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s put our energy into finding Dan the best rehab facilities, getting him back on the road to recovery.’ She knew she was using the worst cheery clichés, but Andrea’s face had crumpled in crestfallen surprise.
Jeannie glanced over at Dan, and the exasperated but loving way he was gazing at his mother reminded her poignantly of their first dinner; how relieved he’d seemed when she and Andrea had laughed and got on so well.
‘She’s going to love being a mum-in-law,’ he’d confided happily on the drive home, and Jeannie had felt a bit sad that such a standard family night out had been a special occasion for the two Hickses.
‘Well. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark.’ Andrea struggled to compose her face and stood up. ‘I’m going to get a cup of tea.’
‘Andrea, no …’ Jeannie started, but she waved away her concern and clicked out of the room.
She and Dan sat in silence for a moment or two.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jeannie at the same time as Dan said, ‘Do you think I went a bit far?’
‘The doctors did say you might be ruder than normal.’
‘Bit of a free pass, eh?’
They managed a rueful smile. She wondered if Dan was getting any flashes of memory; if that exchange had reminded him of her, jiggling a connection loose, deep down.
‘So why is my mother so desperate to get us married off? Something I should know?’
He said it lightly, but there was a focus in Dan’s blue eyes that Jeannie hadn’t seen since he came round: he looked more determined to find his way back to the woman sitting by his bedside.
‘Not if you can’t remember me,’ she said. ‘Still nothing?’
He shook his head. ‘Some … feelings, rather than facts? Like dreams you try to remember, then they slide away before you can …’ He mimed jabbing them down.
‘Have you worked out what your last memory was?’ If Dan couldn’t remember her at all, he’d lost a whole year.
Dan shook his head. ‘I remember going to an international with Owen – that’s maybe the last big thing? I’m sorry. Our meeting should be seared on to my brain for ever. It’s not very romantic of me.’
‘But what about your short-term memory? Are things sticking in your head overnight?’ Jeannie paused. ‘Hey. This is the first morning you’ve remembered me.’
‘Oh yeah. So it is.’ Dan smiled, pleased. ‘It’s getting harder to separate what I’m remembering from what I’ve read in that notebook you’ve been filling in, and what the nurses say, what Owen says. I know from that that you’ve been kind, and you’ve spent a lot of time here. I know you’re a singer, that you’ve been playing songs to me. The nurses tell me every day that you’re a total sweetheart.’ The aggression had gone, as if it had never been there. Dan’s brain was resetting, she thought, constantly shifting, renewing, repairing. Inching forward towards the day of the wedding.
‘Can you remember taking the job in Longhampton?’ she asked. ‘The vet’s?’
Dan frowned. ‘I know I am a vet. Ask me about Cushing’s disease, hip dyplasia, I’m fine on that. It’s just …’ His expression was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. This must be terrible for you. Feeling you’ve been forgotten.’
‘It’s hard for everyone,’ said Jeannie.
‘I’ve been reading the daily notes …’ He shook his head with disbelief. ‘That all happened?’
‘That all happened. It’s been quite a few weeks.’ She paused, her voice catching. ‘We’re so glad you’re back, Dan.’
‘Me too. Thanks for helping me get here.’
‘It’s been a team effort. Me, Owen, your mum, your friends and family … You remember the messages we played? The cards we read out?’
‘Should I say yes?’
They sat looking at each other, and Jeannie felt an honest connection between them. It was almost a conversation they could have had before the accident. It felt strangely like the conversations they’d had when they first met, she thought with a pang of nostalgia.
