One Minute Later: Behind every secret is a story, the emotionally gripping new book from the bestselling author. Susan Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ glad her mother was there, but she couldn’t bear to see her clutching at straws that were little more than thin air. Nor did she want to see her fear and worry, nor how shattered and gaunt she looked as one setback was overcome, only to be replaced by another. This was obviously affecting her deeply, but there were times when Vivi had needed to wallow in her terrible, wrenching emotions alone. Surely running a marathon for such a deserving cause was a good thing, not something to be punished for, so why had it turned into this? It was small comfort – maybe no comfort at all – to be told that it would have happened sooner or later anyway. Her heart had been weakening for a long time without her knowing it, and now it was a virtually useless vessel of such pathetic performance that it could fail at any time. It was a pump that had run out of thrust, a muscle that was atrophying like a flower past its bloom.

      This time next year, or maybe even before that, there would very likely be an empty space where she was now, just Mark in the back seat of the car, an empty chair at their table, a bedroom that would no longer be used, someone they wouldn’t have to consider when they bought gifts and made plans. All that would exist of her would be the memories her friends and family shared, or maybe she’d be a ghost, moving amongst them unseen, unheard and unable to reach out and touch them.

      ‘It’s quite natural for you to be feeling blue and frightened right now,’ the psychologist had told her before she’d left hospital. ‘It’s a lot to take in, but you’ll find it becomes easier as you gain strength and your coping mechanism comes to the rescue.’

      ‘What if none of it shows up?’ she’d asked. ‘No strength, no coping mechanism, no hope even?’

      The psychologist hadn’t seemed to doubt that it would all kick in at some point, and probably sooner than she expected. He’d then talked about the counselling that would be available any time Vivienne required it.

      Reading reports from other heart patients, Vivi knew that the counselling promise wasn’t one to rely on. There had been too many cuts to the NHS budget to guarantee anything, least of all treatment for mental health when the costs of her physical needs were running into many tens of thousands of pounds.

      Why didn’t they save the money and let her go now? What was the point of trying to keep her alive when they already knew they were going to lose the battle?

      Vivi’s eyes moved to her mother’s blonde head. The little parting that had appeared at the crown made her seem vulnerable, as though she was the one who needed to be taken care of. What the worry of it all was doing to her mother kept agitating Vivi, upsetting her a lot, making her feel guilty and frustrated, even angry and resentful at times. She didn’t want to concern herself with it, but as soon as Gina was out of sight Vivi’s overwhelming relief at seeing her go was quickly smothered by an almost panicked, childlike need of her.

      ‘What are you thinking about?’ she sometimes wanted to ask, but afraid of the answer she stayed silent. She wondered how much pressure the turmoil of her own emotions was putting on her heart, if the quick flare-ups of bitterness and anger, followed by painful, anxious surges of love and guilt, were damaging it further. Maybe it would be better if she and her mother weren’t together, and yet she couldn’t bear to think of how much it would hurt Gina if she tried to shut her out. Worse would be attempting to manage without her – of course she couldn’t – and all tied up in this terrible, tormenting tangle of feelings was the undeniable gratitude that she had a mother who cared. It wouldn’t be true for everyone in her position; they might not have a wonderful stepfather either, or a brother who was doing his young man’s best to navigate the thorny and explosive territory that existed between his mother and sister.

      Wanting him to know how much she appreciated him being here today, Vivi reached for his hand and curled her fingers around his. His grip tightened, but she kept her gaze fixed on the passing hotels and town houses with their hanging flower baskets and wide-open windows, too tired to turn her head to look at him. Later, when she was feeling stronger and they were alone, she’d tell him that he didn’t have to stay, that he shouldn’t stay. His exams might be over, but the plans he’d made to travel through Italy with friends for the summer must go ahead. Just because she couldn’t live a normal life any more was no reason for him to put his on hold. In fact, knowing he was out there making the best of everything the world had to offer would do far more for her than thinking of him wasting away at home.

       Wasting away at home.

      ‘Michelle should be waiting for us,’ Gina said over her shoulder. ‘She wanted to get a few things in and make sure everything was all right with the house before we got there.’

      For the first time in her life Vivi felt no pleasure at the thought of seeing her oldest and probably dearest friend; she wasn’t capable of feeling very much about anything right now. It was hard to imagine any kind of hope or enthusiasm swooping in to rescue her from the cloying, debilitating pessimism that was stifling her.

      Rachel, the specialist cardiac nurse, had said, ‘We’re adding antidepressants to your medication …’

      ‘No, please, not more pills …’

      Rachel’s hand went up. ‘It’ll be much harder for you to regain energy if you’re feeling depressed. In fact it could be impossible, and that’s not what we want. When it comes time for the transplant you’ll need to be in as good shape as possible or it can’t happen.’ When it comes time for the transplant. It was good of Rachel to talk about it as if it were a foregone conclusion, when they both knew it wasn’t. It was far more likely that a suitable donor wouldn’t be found.

      At this moment Vivi doubted she’d ever feel strong or happy again. She seemed even weaker than she had at the start of it all, but she realized that the sedation to implant an ICD probably still hadn’t fully worn off. It was a nifty little device – that was how the cardiologist had described it – that now sat just below her collarbone and was connected to her heart by a couple of wires that had been threaded through a vein to their destination. Its purpose was to monitor and record all arrhythmic activity in her pitiful heart, and to deliver a good electrical thump to get things going again should they come to a stop.

      Ingenious, even miraculous, considering that it also allowed the dedicated cardiac team to monitor her remotely. This meant they could check on her at any time of the day or night – apparently it was going to happen each night – via an Internet connection plugged into the phone line next to her bed, and she wouldn’t even know it was happening. They’d be assessing everything from her heart rate, to her blood pressure; to the effect her medications were having on the struggling performance. She’d asked if they could programme it to make her a cup of tea in the morning, and they’d all dutifully laughed.

      Anyway, it was quite possible she wouldn’t be aware of the device once she got used to the discomfort in her shoulder, but if a major incident occurred she’d definitely know it.

      What a sobering, nightmarish thought that was; she could be in the throes of an emergency CPR at any minute, all carried out by the little gadget inside her. Still, it was better than the alternative of letting the heart try to fend for itself, when it clearly couldn’t. She’d been warned that the shock of the device going off was likely to hurt – a lot – but only for seconds. Like a donkey kick to the chest, she’d both read and heard. It might also sap her strength and leave her incapacitated for a while, but there again she might be able to continue as though it hadn’t happened at all. She guessed she’d find out soon enough; she just hoped that the many emotional conflicts tearing around her depleted vital muscle right now wouldn’t trigger an emergency all on their own.

      It took no more than fifteen minutes to drive along the coast road past the marina, Ed and Kev’s donkey sanctuary, then a wide and wild stretch of wasteland apparently about to be developed. СКАЧАТЬ