Call Handler: I’m going to transfer you to one of our on-site clinicians who will talk you through giving CPR. What’s your name, love?
Caller: Sue. Sue Young.
Call Handler: Sue? Blonde hair, lovely jumper with the spangledy heart on it? It’s me, Flo.
Caller: Sorry, I—
Call Handler: It’s Flo Wilson, sweetheart. I took over your desk at shift change.
Caller: Oh, sorry. Yes hello. The turnover there is so fast, I—Did I leave everything alright? The headset was acting up a bit earlier—
Call Handler: Sue, love. It sounds like you should’ve dialled 999. I think you might be suffering from a bit of shock. Was it a familiar voice you were after, Sue? [No response] Sue? Sue, do you know how to give CPR?
Caller: Yes.
Call Handler: Are you giving compressions now?
Caller: I – no – I [Rapid breathing]
Call Handler: Sue, darlin’. Stay calm. We need to focus on resuscitation. If you can, start giving him compressions. Do you remember the video we saw? [Sings] Staying alive … staying alive … I’m waving like a mad woman at the clinician. He’s just wrapping up another call and can see I need him urgently. [Strange noise from caller] Oh, struth. It sounds like you’re having a bit of a panic, there, love. Take a deep breath. We’ll do one together. That’s right. Keep taking those slow deep breaths while we wait for him to jog over. Why not think of that lovely coffee cake you brought in earlier? So beautiful, all of those delicate little flowers you made. I’m all store bought, me. Not a talented cooking bone in my body. That’s right. Deep breaths. Here we go, duck. He’s heading this way now. While he gets his headset on, why don’t you tell me what’s going on so we can get you some proper help right away?
Caller: It’s Gaz. My Gary, he –
Call Handler: Are you giving him compressions, Sue?
Caller: No.
Call Handler: Is there someone there who can?
Caller: No. It’s just the two of us. Always has been.
Call Handler: Is there any reason why you’re not giving him compressions, darlin’?
Caller: Well … He’s dead.
Chapter One
‘Let’s wrap these up, shall we? You might want them for your tea.’
Sue’s mother nodded in that perfunctory, no-nonsense manner she had perfected through the years. A quick nod, a press of the lips and a follow-up nod that settled the matter.
For the first time in her life, Sue wanted to slap the look right off of her mother’s face. A bit of a shocker considering she generally preferred it when decision making was taken out of her hands, as it had been for most of her life. Not those curtains, Sue, they’ll show the dust. A call centre? Oh Suey, you wouldn’t want to work there, what would people think? Marry that Young lad? Honestly. You’d best be shot of him. He’ll bring nothing but sorrow, Suey. Nothing but pain.
For the past three weeks her mother had been hard at it. Making decisions for her. Apparently that’s what happened when planning your husband’s funeral suddenly seemed too much and you moved back into your parents’ and had always been the lesser of two children, her older brother Dean having taken the role of favoured child quite some time ago.
You’ll sleep in Dean’s old room, but try not to change things about will you? I’ve turned yours into my sewing room because of the light. If the little ones are needing it for a sleepover, we might shift you to the pull out in the lounge.
You won’t want to watch that programme, duck, it’ll depress you.
You’ll not want too fancy a coffin seeing as it’ll be burnt straight away.
Yes, sometimes her mother’s bossiness was useful. Today it filled her with rage. She’d just been widowed. She didn’t want limp, pub wake sandwiches to take home for a midnight snack. She wanted her husband back.
Just as quickly as the instinct to lash out flared, it sputtered and disappeared. Who was she to make grand pronouncements on how someone should and shouldn’t behave? Her mother’s fussing always escalated when she was uncomfortable and having a son-in-law who’d ended his life was certainly pushing a lot of buttons. Sue, like her father, became more still, as if the prospect of having to select one solitary choice out of the thousands of options available rendered her inert. Like choosing what clothing Gary would like to wear in perpetuity. She’d let her mother pick in the end.
‘I’ll put the white bread ones aside for you, shall I?’ Bev was already plucking out the white triangles from amongst the brown triangles. ‘Your father doesn’t have the stomach for it. Dean never was one for sandwiches and Katie won’t let the children touch white of course, so …’
‘Oh, I—’ Sue stared at the triangles of leftover sandwiches her mother was already piling onto the fullest aluminium tray.
There were so many of them. Barely touched, really.
Sue looked at her mother.
Bev.
Neat, shock-white hair, tidy lipstick, bright blue eyes, not at all red-rimmed as hers were. She looked well in fact. Her skin was still tanned from the trip to Florida where she’d taken to her role as ‘nanny granny’ with Dean, Katie and the children like a milkmaid to a butter churn. Hardly a surprise. In fact, many folk were surprised to hear Dean had a sister at all. Once Sue had married Gary, Bev had lost hope that her daughter might, one day, blossom into something wonderful and promising, ultimately giving into the poorly disguised fact that Dean was and always would be her favourite, along with his ‘catch of a wife’ and their two children.
Today, Bev wore a simple black dress from Wallis that she’d bought when Sue’s Uncle Jake had passed about ten years back. It still fit. Mostly. In fact, very little had changed about Bev through the years, save the colour of her hair. Suffice it to say, she’d not
