‘Fine,’ Louise said, still spluttering.
‘Hey, Donna,’ Surtsey said.
Donna smiled. ‘Hi.’
Surtsey hadn’t really been friends with Donna at school, she was only vaguely aware of her presence in the year below, saw her in corridors, playgrounds or the lunchtime queue at the sandwich place, then later nestled in a different corner of the Dalriada with her own friends. But since Louise came to St Columba’s they’d got to know each other better, brought together in the worst circumstances.
‘Maybe I need to lie down,’ Louise said.
‘Let me get your wheelchair,’ Surtsey said.
‘Donna can do it,’ Louise said, ‘it’s her job.’
Surtsey watched as Donna positioned the chair, wrapped her arms around Louise and lifted her in. She turned Louise from the view and began pushing her away.
‘I’ll see you tonight, Mum,’ Surtsey said.
Louise tried to smile, her head drooping with the effort. ‘Love you, Sur.’
‘Love you.’
As they passed Surtsey she lifted an eyebrow to Donna, who shook her head. Surtsey always tried to get a word with Donna about her mum when she visited, something more than the official record of her deterioration. Donna pushed Louise past then turned back to Surtsey. She tapped her watch and held up five fingers. Surtsey nodded.
7
They grabbed lattes from the green Citroen van at the bottom of Bellfield Street then sat on the wall outside the old swimming baths.
Surtsey nodded at Donna’s cup. ‘Should you be having that after the graveyard shift?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Donna said, taking a sip. ‘I like working nights, actually. It doesn’t suit everyone, but it gives me time to think.’
Donna was taller than Surtsey and a bit curvier. She was pretty in a homely way, and seemed wiser than other folk their age. Maybe it was perspective from working with the terminally ill. Sitting here in the morning sunlight, their legs dangling over the sand, Surtsey felt like she was a big sister, someone to look out for her at a time when Surtsey had to look after everyone else.
‘How’s Mum doing?’ Surtsey said.
Donna looked at her. ‘Not great.’
Surtsey turned away, the look in Donna’s eyes too much.
‘I just want her to be comfortable,’ Surtsey said.
‘She is, trust me.’
Surtsey shook her head. ‘I feel so guilty, I should be looking after her.’
She felt Donna’s hand on hers.
‘Louise was right back there, I get paid to look after her,’ Donna said. ‘She’s in the best hands, even if I say so myself.’
Surtsey felt tears coming, tried to blink them away. She slipped her hand away from Donna’s and took a sip of coffee. She was deliberately not looking west to the Inch, her face turned upwards to the sun in the other direction.
She knew Donna was studying her, could feel her gaze without looking.
‘You don’t look like you had a very good night,’ Donna said.
‘No.’
‘Out on the town?’
‘Hardly.’ Surtsey didn’t say anything else.
‘It’s none of my business,’ Donna said.
Surtsey was silent for a long time. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’
The hash was still burning through her synapses.
More silence for a while. A cormorant scudded along the surface of the water then landed on a groyne and faced the sun with its wings open like a meditating Buddhist.
‘How’s your love life?’ Surtsey said eventually.
Donna laughed. ‘What love life?’
‘There must be guys interested, you’re a good-looking girl.’
‘Who works odd shifts and deals with the dying.’ Donna looked mortified for a moment. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s OK.’ Surtsey smiled at her. ‘So you don’t get a chance to get kinky with your nurse’s uniform?’
Donna touched the material of her scrubs and laughed warmly. ‘You’ve seen my uniform, right?’
Joggers and cyclists throbbed up and down the prom, parents taking their kids to Towerbank along the road, their red uniforms little flashes of future promise. Surtsey watched them and felt like an imposter. She felt like she’d been living someone else’s life since last night. How could she square that with sitting here drinking latte and chatting on a beautiful summer morning, the shush of waves and the noise of kids, dogs snuffling around their feet and gulls pecking at the bins along the way, old folk doddering down the steps from the baths.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ Donna said. ‘About Louise.’
‘Let me guess, she’s going to die.’
‘Surtsey.’
‘Sorry.’
Donna hesitated, her thumb flicking at the polystyrene lid of her coffee. ‘She asked about pain medication.’
‘She’s on a lot of morphine already, right?’
‘I don’t mean that,’ Donna said. ‘I mean additional medication.’
‘So what?’
‘Large amounts of it.’
It took Surtsey a second. ‘Oh. Shit.’
‘Sorry.’
Surtsey looked out to sea. Flat and shimmering this morning, untroubled.
‘You didn’t give her any?’
‘God, no,’ Donna said. ‘Technically I’m supposed to report it to my supervisor.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘No.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Maybe you could have a word with her?’
Surtsey sighed. ‘Christ.’ She saw tears in Donna’s eyes. ‘Hey, don’t be stupid.’
‘I feel so bad having to tell you,’ Donna said, ‘but I thought you should know.’
Surtsey touched Donna’s wrist, a leather friendship bracelet there. ‘You did the right thing.’
Silence for a moment, Surtsey’s hand still on Donna’s bracelet. She thought about her mum, was she really trying to get enough pills together to end it herself? How the hell was she supposed to bring something like that up in casual conversation? And why hadn’t she spoken to Surtsey about it first?
‘You’re a good daughter,’ Donna said eventually.
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘You are.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Surtsey noticed the time on her watch. ‘Shit. I really better get over to KB.’
She didn’t move for a moment, just breathed, then swivelled and hopped off the wall.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ Donna said.
‘Something like that.’
8
All the way on the 42 bus Surtsey tried to get her heart to beat like normal. She breathed carefully as they trundled past Peffermill and Cameron Toll, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Or was it
