Page 57 of The Shape of Your Heart
And if I don’t take it on – I sigh – I’m not sure Callie will want any more to do with me.
21
CALLIE
As I drive to my parents’ house, the rain is unrelenting, the countryside sodden, a reminder of what Cornish winters can be like.
When I turn into their drive, there’s an unfamiliar car parked outside. As I go into the kitchen, the dogs don’t move from their slumber beside the aga but apart from a half-drunk cup of tea, there’s no sign of my parents. Going out into the hallway, I call out.
‘Mum? Dad? Are you there?’
My mother appears at the top of the stairs. ‘Callie?’ She looks surprised to see me. Coming downstairs, she kisses me on the cheek. ‘Your father’s in bed. He hasn’t been feeling so good. The doctor’s with him.’
A feeling of fear grips me. ‘Is it his heart again?’
My mother hesitates. ‘The doctor thinks it might be related. He’s been feeling breathless. He’s had some oxygen delivered.’
My heart starts to race. So this clearly hasn’t just happened. ‘Mum, you should have told me. When did this start?’
‘Yesterday. And I know I should have called.’ She pauses. ‘You know what he’s like, though. He doesn’t like any fuss.’
But as I stare at her, I recognise the classic signs of denial, of wanting an unpalatable truth to be anything other than what it is, because I’ve been there myself. ‘Shouldn’t he be back in hospital?’ I say quietly.
‘Possibly.’ Her voice wavers.
Just then, an unfamiliar man comes down the stairs. When my parents have been registered with Doctor Reynolds for years, I’m guessing he’s the out-of-hours GP.
‘How is he?’ I say immediately.
He looks at me. ‘You are?’
‘This is Callie, our youngest,’ my mother introduces me.
The doctor nods. ‘He’s comfortable. I’ve tried to persuade him he’d be better off in hospital, but he refuses to go.’
‘In that case, I’ll talk to him.’ Leaving the doctor with my mother, I go upstairs, knocking quietly on the door of my parents’ bedroom, before pushing it open. ‘Dad?’
‘Hello, love.’ He tries to sound bright.
But as I take in the lack of colour in his face, alarm bells start going off. Reaching the bed, I kiss him on the cheek. ‘What are you up to, Dad? The doctor says you should be in hospital.’
‘I know. But I don’t want to go.’ He looks stubborn. ‘I was there for days last time.’
‘You needed to be,’ I remind him. ‘Dad, please, do what the doctor says.’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
A feeling of frustration takes me over. I understand why he’d rather stay at home, but this is serious. He needs to be properly checked out.
‘Listen, Dad, if this is about your heart, you have to go in. You’re worrying me.’ My eyes well up. ‘You’re worrying Mum too. This is serious. I don’t want to lose anyone else.’ Tears start to trickle down my cheeks.
Lying there, he’s silent for a moment. Then reaching for my hand, he grips it weakly. ‘OK.’
* * *
When I call Alice to let her know, she’s relieved.
‘Thank goodness you’re there. They’ll run some tests and see what’s going on. I’ll call them later and get the lowdown.’
