Authors: Jill Mansell
Kiss (46 page)
Despite himself, Sam smiled. ‘You’re a hard bitch.’
She was almost on top of him now. ‘Oh no,’ she said, stifling irrepressible laughter. ‘I’m a hungry bitch. Forgive me for mentioning something so personal, Sam, but you’re the one who’s hard.’
Sam was downstairs in the kitchen when Izzy, emerging from the shower, remembered the phone. Having unplugged it last night in order to avoid any untimely interruptions, it occurred to her now that Joel McGill probably would have been trying to get through for the last hour. As soon as she reconnected the bedside phone, it started to ring.
‘No need to panic,’ said Izzy, balancing the receiver between chin and collarbone as she wriggled into primrose-yellow silk knickers and kicked last night’s dark blue jersey top in the general direction of the washing basket. ‘I’m awake, packed and ready to go.’
But it wasn’t Joel, phoning to bully her out of bed. It was Gina, sounding distinctly odd.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all night,’ she said, her tone jerky. In the background, Izzy could hear the clatter of pans and an unearthly wailing noise.
‘All night? Gina, where
are
you? It sounds like Whipsnade Zoo.’
are
you? It sounds like Whipsnade Zoo.’
There was a pause, then Gina’s voice cracked. ‘It’s worse than a zoo. Oh, Izzy, I need you here. I’m in St Luke’s Hospital and nobody will tell me what’s going on . . .’
‘But why are you there?’ Izzy sat down abruptly on the edge of the rumpled bed. ‘Gina, don’t cry. Has there been some kind of accident?’
‘No . . . no accident.’ Gina was crying in earnest now. ‘Oh God, Izzy . . . I’ve been trying to phone you all night! I tried to phone Sam, but he wasn’t answering, either. Will you come down and find out what’s happening . . . ?’
‘Of course I will,’ said Izzy automatically, her mind racing. ‘But, why are you
there
?’
there
?’
‘My eyes.’ Gina’s reply was barely audible now. ‘It’s my eyes. I think I’m going . . . blind . . .’
Chapter 48
Up until now Izzy Van Asch had been a model protégée, writing songs practically to order, singing when she was asked to sing, good-naturedly smiling and posing for hours on end during gruelling photographic sessions and interviewing like a dream. Her endless enthusiasm and down-to-earth sense of humour had won Joel McGill over completely, and although no one could call her the most punctual person in the world, she had never let either him - or herself - down.
Until now. Oh, until now. And how he wished he hadn’t answered the damn phone.
‘Look,’ he said, struggling to remain calm and wondering if Izzy had any idea how much damage she could be doing to her career. ‘Everything’s been arranged. For God’s sake, Izzy - you can’t do this to me! You can’t
not
go to Rome.’
not
go to Rome.’
But Izzy, it seemed, wasn’t open to persuasion. She was utterly determined.
‘I’m sorry, I know I’m mucking everything up,’ she replied, her tone even. ‘But I have no choice. Gina needs me and I can’t let her down.’
Joel, close to despair, said, ‘The Italians aren’t going to be amused.’
‘I know that.’The fourteen-day schedule of TV appearances, concerts and interviews was a hectic one. Izzy was only too well aware of the phenomenal amount of work that had gone into organizing it. She sighed, a deep and sorrowful sigh. ‘And I wish I didn’t have to do this. But you see, Joel, now that it’s happened . . . there’s no way in the world I
can
go to Rome.’
can
go to Rome.’
St Luke’s Hospital, with its intimidating red-brick exterior and endless corridors of pea-soup-green walls and beige linoleum flooring, was about the most depressing building Izzy had ever seen. The antiseptic smell of the place was all-pervading, the lifts positively antique; even the expressions on the faces of the medical staff they passed along the way seemed uncompromisingly grim.
But if she had found her initial impression disturbing, it was nothing compared with the shock of actually entering the ward to which Gina had been allocated. Now the stench became all too recognizably human. Izzy held her breath and gazed around in dismay at the pitiful sight of thirty or so women, none of whom were a day under eighty, either slumped in chairs or lying corpselike in regimented beds. Some were silent, while others mumbled unintelligibly to themselves. One, frenziedly clawing the air above her head, emitted a series of ear-splitting squawks as they passed by. The terrible smell intensified. Another ancient female with wild hair hurled a plastic beaker on to the floor and cackled with laughter as cold tea splattered Izzy’s highly polished, sage-green boots. Two young nurses, frantically busy at the far end of the ward with yet another recalcitrant patient, hadn’t even noticed their arrival. The place was pitifully understaffed and there wasn’t a doctor in sight.
‘It’s OK,’ said Sam, although it clearly wasn’t. Tightening his grip on Izzy’s arm, concerned for a moment that she might actually pass out, he continued in reassuring tones, ‘Look, there’s Gina. Second from the end, on the left.’
It was a measure of Gina’s deep distress, Izzy felt, that she was no longer even able to cry.
‘You’re here,’ she whispered almost in disbelief when she turned her head and saw them. ‘Oh God, you’re both here . . .’
‘Of course we’re here,’ said Izzy, in a voice that sounded as if it didn’t belong to her. Appalled by Gina’s listlessness as much as by her dreadful pallor, she reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘And you mustn’t worry any more, because we’re going to get this sorted out. But Gina, what
happened
to you?’
happened
to you?’
Gina knew only too well what had happened to her, but for a long moment she couldn’t speak. Gazing helplessly up at Sam, she raised her left arm - her good arm - and curled it around his neck as he bent to kiss her.
‘I tried to phone you,’ she croaked, her throat constricted and dry. ‘Oh Sam, I kept trying and trying, but you were never there . . .’
The portable telephone-box-on-wheels was still there, pushed against the wall. Izzy said quickly, ‘I managed to get hold of him just after you rang me. I unplugged my phone last night because I wanted to get some sleep . . . oh Gina, I’m so sorry.’
Realizing that Izzy was on the verge of tears, Sam took over. Pulling up an orange plastic chair, he said firmly, ‘Now, tell us everything. From the beginning. Don’t miss anything out.’
He was so strong, so in-control. Now that Sam was here, thought Gina, it was almost possible to believe that everything would be all right.
‘Yesterday eve-evening, I was late home from the office,’ she began, licking parched lips and reaching once more for the security of his hand. ‘Doug’s away in Manchester for a couple of days, so there was a lot of extra work. Anyway, I got back at around eight o’clock, and fell asleep on the sofa. When I woke up a couple of hours later I thought I was dying - my head felt as if it was about to burst, I couldn’t see out of my right eye and I knew I was going to be sick. So I tried to stand up - to get to the bathroom - but it was as if the whole of my right side wasn’t there. I just fell on to the floor.’ She paused, then added wearily, ‘And was sick anyway.’
To her horror, Izzy realised that the hand she had been holding - Gina’s right hand - was indeed as floppy and lifeless as a doll’s. ‘Then what?’ she asked, her voice hushed. ‘What did you do after that?’
‘Dragged myself across the floor to the phone.’ Gina closed her eyes briefly. ‘I must have looked an idiot. And Jericho was no help, leaping around and thinking it was all some brilliant new game. Anyway, I managed to dial 999 and an ambulance brought me here. They’ve been poking and prodding me . . . I’ve got to have tests done today . . . but they won’t tell me what’s
wrong
with me . . .’
wrong
with me . . .’
‘That’s because they haven’t carried out the tests yet,’ Sam admonished her gently. The smile he gave Gina was reassuring but Izzy sensed how concerned he really was.
And Gina, it seemed, wasn’t falling for it either.
‘Come off it, Sam,’ she said wearily. ‘You met my mother how many times?You know how she died.’
‘How did she die?’ demanded Izzy, when a doctor had finally appeared on the scene. Drawing the curtains around Gina’s bed with a flourish, he had banished Izzy and Sam to the cheerless waiting room while he carried out yet another examination. Now, all thought of last night’s shared intimacies banished from her mind, she sat rigidly opposite him and searched his face for clues.
Sam hesitated, then said brusquely, ‘She had a brain tumour. It was all pretty traumatic. Gina looked after her at home, almost until the end.’
Izzy, stunned by his words, felt her heart begin to race. ‘A brain tumour? But what does that have to do with Gina? She can’t possibly have a tumour. She’s too . . . young!’
‘Yes, well.’ He didn’t bother to contradict her on that score; even Izzy had to recognise the absurdity of such a statement. ‘We
don’t
know what it is, yet. Until we do, the most important thing is to keep Gina’s spirits up as much as possible.’
don’t
know what it is, yet. Until we do, the most important thing is to keep Gina’s spirits up as much as possible.’
‘In this hell-hole?’ As she gestured helplessly in the direction of the doorway, a fresh chorus of squawks greeted their ears. ‘What was it you had in mind, Sam? A quick song-and-dance routine?’
‘Miss Van Asch, I appreciate the fact that conditions here aren’t ideal, but when Mrs Lawrence was admitted last night, no beds were available on the neurological ward. I can assure you, however, that your friend is receiving the best possible care and attention.’
The doctor was overworked, the hospital underfunded. It wasn’t his fault, thought Izzy, but that still didn’t make it all right.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ignoring the fact that Sam was giving her one of his what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’redoing stares, ‘but the best
possible
care isn’t good enough. What Gina needs is the best care, full stop. And she certainly isn’t getting it on this ward.’
possible
care isn’t good enough. What Gina needs is the best care, full stop. And she certainly isn’t getting it on this ward.’
‘I can assure you,’ said the doctor stiffly, ‘that as soon as a neuro bed does become free, Mrs Lawrence will be moved. In the mean time, however, we have no alternative but to keep her here.’
He was trying to intimidate her. Izzy stood her ground. ‘We
do
have an alternative,’ she insisted. ‘Look, Gina needs treatment, I know that. But she should be comfortable as well. She needs peace and quiet . . . and good food . . . and nurses who aren’t permanently rushed off their feet . . .’
do
have an alternative,’ she insisted. ‘Look, Gina needs treatment, I know that. But she should be comfortable as well. She needs peace and quiet . . . and good food . . . and nurses who aren’t permanently rushed off their feet . . .’
‘I asked her whether she had private medical insurance,’ intercepted the doctor, glancing at his watch. ‘She doesn’t.’
‘I know, but I want her moved to a private hospital anyway,’ said Izzy flatly. ‘I’ll pay.’
He cast her a look of doubt. ‘We don’t know yet what the problem is with Mrs Lawrence. It could be extremely expensive.’
Izzy was glad. At long last she had found something worthwhile to spend her money on. ‘I don’t care about the expense,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter how much it costs. I’ll pay.’
Chapter 49
When Gina had first learned that she was being transferred to Cullen Park Hospital in Westminster, she almost wept with gratitude. Not only was it famous for the unrivalled luxuries with which it cosseted its largely star-studded clientele, but also for its exceptional standards of medical care. The Cullen was a good hospital, equipped with all the very latest high-tech machinery. Wealthy patients from all over the world flew in to be treated there. Gina, who had only ever read about it in the newspapers before now, knew that if anyone could cure her, it would be the incomparable medical staff at the Cullen.
If
anyone could cure her. That, of course, was the stumbling block. Because it didn’t matter how brilliant the staff might be, or how space-age the technology; some illnesses were still incurable. And after two of the longest, most terrifying days of her entire life, nobody was giving her any clues either way. Nobody, it seemed, was prepared to tell her anything which might indicate whether she could expect to live or die. Everybody, on the other hand, smiled a great deal and chatted brightly about any subject under the sun. As long as it wasn’t related to her illness . . .
anyone could cure her. That, of course, was the stumbling block. Because it didn’t matter how brilliant the staff might be, or how space-age the technology; some illnesses were still incurable. And after two of the longest, most terrifying days of her entire life, nobody was giving her any clues either way. Nobody, it seemed, was prepared to tell her anything which might indicate whether she could expect to live or die. Everybody, on the other hand, smiled a great deal and chatted brightly about any subject under the sun. As long as it wasn’t related to her illness . . .
It was, naturally enough, the subject which occupied Gina’s every waking thought. Her mother had been fifty-two when her own brain tumour had first manifested itself. The sudden onset of migrainous headaches - blinding pain and vomiting - had been treated with extra-strong painkillers and hearty reassurance from the family doctor, who had talked about the menopause and told her she needed to start taking things easier at her age.
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