Now her life was lived permanently on the rack. She tried some mutual friends, but they knew little more than she did herself. The only information came from Olympia, who gave an interview to a tabloid newspaper called,
Finally Kelly struck lucky with a fellow journalist, who told her Jake had called him and asked for some books to be brought to the London hospital where he would arrive at the end of the week. He was out of danger now, and was being sent home to complete his recovery.
Kelly knew the hospital, which was only a few miles from where she lived. It was unnerving to have Jake so close and yet know nothing about him. She tried telephoning but found that all calls were being diverted to the television company’s press office.
Well, it was none of her business anyway. They’d said goodbye, and that was it. Kelly told herself that very firmly, and was still telling herself as she set out, one afternoon, for the hospital.
As she entered its doors she was expecting a rough passage, but her luck was in. The young woman on the desk beamed at the sight of her.
‘Don’t tell me, let me guess,’ she said. ‘Jake Lindley. You’re his wife. I saw you on the telly last year. You were sitting next to him when he collected that award for “TV newsman of the year”. It is you, isn’t it? I mean, your hair’s different, but-’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Kelly said. ‘But we’re divorced now.’
‘I know. I read it in the paper. I don’t like that other one. She swans in here like Lady Muck, laying down the law.’ She became conspiratorial. ‘Third floor. Room 303.’
‘Thank you,’ Kelly said fervently, and sped off before anyone could stop her.
On the third floor she almost lost her nerve. Olympia would be there, comforting and beautiful at the bedside. Jake’s ex-wife would be an unwelcome intruder. Then she set her jaw. If her presence embarrassed Jake she would leave, but she wasn’t going without seeing him. She reached Room 303, took a deep breath, and quietly opened the door.
At first glance the room was a riot of cheerfulness. There were cards everywhere, some with funny pictures, some depicting flowers. There were real flowers too, of all kinds, with a large bouquet of red roses claiming centre stage. No prize for guessing who’d sent those, Kelly thought.
But after the first moment her impression of gaiety died, partly because the room was eerily quiet. A man lay on the pillows, staring blankly ahead. There were no books on the bed, or anywhere near him. No radio or television broke the silence, and he seemed engulfed in a weariness so profound that it had blotted out the world. No way was this Jake, who was never happy unless active.
Then he turned his head, and Kelly drew in her breath. It was Jake, yet not Jake. Suddenly she remembered the last time she’d seen his face on a pillow, gazing up at her naked body, his eyes alight with appreciation, devilment and shock. Now he had the dreary greyish pallor of someone who’d come too close to death. His cheeks were sunk, his eyes lifeless, and he looked as if he was on the edge of despair.
She waited for the smile of recognition, but the sight of her produced no gleam, and for a dreadful moment she was afraid his mind had been affected. But then he said very quietly, ‘Is it you?’
She hurried forward to the side of the bed, leaning over him. ‘Yes, it’s me. Jake, do you know me?’
At that he gave a faint smile. ‘Don’t worry. It was my stomach they caught, not my head. I’m no crazier now than I always was. It’s good to see you, Kelly. I was sure you’d come.’
The simple statement shocked her. She should have been here long ago.
She pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, taking his hand in hers, horrified at how thin it felt.
‘I’d have been here sooner but you’re a hard man to reach these days. I only got this far because the receptionist downstairs saw us together on TV. Will Olympia walk in on us, trailing photographers?’
He gave a slight grin. ‘You read that piece? Hilarious, wasn’t it? I don’t blame her for grabbing a little publicity. She’s on her way to the top.’
And Jake admired people who did that, she remembered. ‘High-octane lives’, he’d called them, summing up a world of glamour, excitement and above all, achievement. Kelly knew that she could never be called high-octane. She doubted that she was even two-star.
‘She won’t be here today,’ Jake went on. ‘She’s away on a management course.’
Obviously producing wasn’t going to be good enough for Olympia Statton. She was aiming for executive status, head of a news-gathering empire, with Jake Lindley as her anchor man.
‘I expect you’re dying to get back to work,’ she said.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘You were always the world’s worst patient, getting out of bed long before you should.’
‘They encourage me to get out of bed for a while each day. The problem is walking. They got me one of those supports old people use. I said “No way, I can walk by myself.” But when I tried I wobbled and had to be saved by a nurse who was half my size. And Dr Ainsley, who’s a great surgeon but has the bedside manner of a piranha said, “I told you so. Now stop acting the giddy fool!” So I did.’
‘You don’t mean you’ve found someone who can talk some sense into you?’ she said with a tender smile.
‘Didn’t have any choice. My legs were giving way under me. It cured me of rushing things.’
The despondency in his voice made her ask sympathetically, ‘Feeling out of it?’
‘A bit. Olympia calls me on the phone, just to keep me in touch with what’s going on-’
‘Jake, you don’t have to explain to me,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Your private life is your own.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said after a moment, and withdrew his hand from hers, leaving her with the sad sensation of having snubbed a man who couldn’t take it. And again the thought ran through her head. This is Jake?
‘You’re not short of well-wishers,’ she said, indicating the cards.
‘No, the guys at the studio send me rude cards almost every day. Trouble is, some of them are really funny and I’m not allowed to laugh. And I get cards from the public. I try to write back but-’ He shrugged.
She noticed the pile of unopened mail by his bed. One letter lay half in and half out of the envelope, as though he’d starting opening it and lost interest.
He made a sudden resolute movement, pushing back the bedclothes. ‘Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you some tea and cakes in the cafe.’
‘Are you supposed to do that?’
‘Sure. Gentle exercise-whatever that means-is good for me. I’ve been up already today, but I got tired and went back to bed.’
Her unease increased. How often had they argued because he’d refused to admit he was ill? She would have enjoyed nursing him, but her attempts had irked him! ‘Molly-coddling’, he’d called it. Now he sat, wryly acquiescent, as she helped him on with his dressing gown, and actually asked her to fit his slippers on his feet, as leaning down was difficult for him.
She looked around for his walker, but could see only a wheelchair. ‘This?’
‘Stuff that!’ he said, showing a flash of the old Jake. ‘I can walk now.’
He slipped his arm through hers and they set off. How thin he was! He’d never carried any spare flesh, but now she could feel the bones of his arm against her. Not just thin, she thought with horror. Frail.
He talked cheerfully about Dr Ainsley, making him sound all kinds of a dragon. But despite his brave air she could feel him flagging. The cafe was some distance away, and he was obviously glad when they reached it and he could sit down while she went to the self-service counter.
‘What are you allowed to eat?’ she asked.
‘Not much. For a long time I was fed through tubes. Now I’m allowed baby food, mostly liquid. You could get me a banana milk shake now, and maybe a strawberry one later.’
‘Just banana and strawberry milk shake?’ she echoed, aghast, remembering his cavalier way with a whisky and soda.
‘No, I’m allowed chocolate milk shake as well, and even ice cream if I’m feeling adventurous. Life is full of variety around here.’ He grinned, looking more like his normal self.
