The Call Of The City – Episode 16
The Call Of The City by Katharine Swartz
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- 1. The Call Of The City – Episode 16
“Tomorrow?”
Meg looked surprised and not all that pleased.
Grace could guess why; it would be more challenging for her to manage Andrew’s care at home without any hospital help.
“Has he just left?” she asked. “Perhaps I’ll have a word.”
Grace settled herself in the chair besides her father’s bed as Meg went in search of the consultant.
“How do you feel, Dad? You seem . . . peppier.”
“I feel it,” Andrew answered. “If only a bit. It’s good to think I might be home again.
“I feel I’ve been in this hospital bed for ever.”
“Doctors never do make good patients, do they?”
“No.” He sighed ruefully. “Now that I’ve got you here without your mum, Grace, how is she coping? I’m worried about her.”
“She’s all right,” Grace answered quickly.
She didn’t want him to have any more worry, but she could tell he wasn’t satisfied by her reassurance.
“This is hard on her, I know. Especially because of her own history.”
“What do you mean?”
Andrew hesitated, then with a glance to the door to check if Meg was returning, he answered carefully.
“Your mum took care of her parents when they were ill. Her mother had cancer and died quite quickly, and then her father had a stroke soon after.
“It was very difficult for her. She was only a little older than you at the time.”
“A little older than me?”
Grace had always known her grandparents had died long before she was born, but she hadn’t realised it had been when her mother was quite so young.
“What about Juliet?”
“Juliet was two years younger. She left for New York when she was twenty.”
Juliet had more or less told her this in New York, but Grace hadn’t realised she’d left her mother to do all the caring at home.
Was that the cause of their estrangement, or had it already been in place when Juliet had gone?
“I didn’t realise it happened like that,” she murmured. “Mum never talks about it.”
“She doesn’t like to, not even to me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, but I wanted you to understand if she seems fragile right now.
“There’s more going on than you realise.”
Grace patted his hand.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m here to help. Mum won’t have to cope alone with your cantankerousness.”
He smiled at that.
“Thank you. I knew we could depend on you.”
A few minutes later, Meg returned, looking careworn but resolved.
“I spoke to the consultant and yes, he’s intending to discharge you tomorrow.” She tried to smile. “Which is wonderful news.”
“You do want me home, don’t you?” Andrew asked, half joking.
Meg managed a laugh.
“Of course. There are some logistics to work out, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”
But she didn’t look at Andrew as she said it, busying herself with plumping his pillows instead.
Meg reached for her forgotten teacup and took a sip of lukewarm tea, her gaze on the list on the table in front of her.
It was eight o’clock in the morning, and the house was quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind that rattled the window-panes.
Andrew was coming home in just a few hours. The prospect made her stomach clench with fear.
Of course she wanted him home, but the thought of having to cope with his needs on her own struck an all-too-familiar note of terror in her heart.
She’d felt it when the doctor had discharged her father to their home, with a few terse instructions about how to manage his overwhelming care.
Of course, this was different. Andrew was in far better shape than her father had been, and there were plenty of resources, even on the stretched NHS, to aid her: home help, support groups, even the internet with its endless information.
Still, Meg couldn’t keep that fear at bay. What if she couldn’t cope? What if something happened to Andrew under her care?
She glanced down at her list again.
Order a hospital bed.
She’d done that, and she and Grace had made space in the dining-room for it. It would be weeks before Andrew could manage stairs on a regular basis.
Phone the surgery.
She’d done that, too, letting Andrew’s colleagues know his situation and that he was not allowed back to work for at least 12 weeks.
Look into physiotherapy.
That was something for tomorrow. Already she felt too tired to think about it all, never mind get it done.
“Mum?” Grace appeared in the doorway.
“Hello, darling.”
“Are you ready to go? Dad wanted to be discharged as soon as possible this morning.”
“Right.” Meg swallowed another mouthful of tea before taking the cup to the sink. “We should get a move on, I suppose.”