The Postcard: Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read. Fern Britton
of being manhandled onto a stretcher and carried down the stairs. She could at least keep her eyes closed and no one was asking any more silly questions. The ambulance was comfortable but still the bloody Sandra woman wouldn’t let her sleep.
‘Open your eyes for me, would you, Penny?’
Bugger off, thought Penny.
‘Come on now, Penny, open your eyes for me, please.’ The woman started patting the back of Penny’s hand again.
‘What now?’ asked Penny, angrily opening her eyes.
‘That’s it, well done,’ said Sandra who immediately shone the brightest of lights into her eyes. She instantly shut them again.
When she woke next, she was in a hospital bed feeling groggy. There was a canula in the back of her left hand attached to a drip. The room was quiet apart from the beep of what she assumed was a heart machine recording her pulse. She wasn’t dead, then.
Simon was sitting in a plastic-covered armchair at the foot of the bed. He looked grey.
‘Hello,’ he said with a tired smile. He got up and came to the bed, bending down to kiss her forehead then her hand. He started to cry. ‘Oh, Pen. Why did you do it?’
‘What time is it?’ she asked him. Her throat was dry and her head ached.
‘Almost six.’
‘In the morning?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have I been here all night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you been here all night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you …’
Outside, the corridor was already rustling into life. She heard a rattle of teacups as a trolley pushed closer to her room. It stopped at a door along from hers and she heard the squeak of soles on the rubber floor, a cheery voice. ‘Morning, Mrs Wilson. You ready for a cup of tea, my dear?’
‘Why did you do it?’ asked Simon again.
She turned her head away from him and felt the pillow cool on her cheek. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Are things so bad that you wanted to leave Jenna and me?’
‘I just wanted to stop for a bit. I wanted everything to stop, just for a minute, and leave me be. I didn’t want to die, necessarily, just … stop … Stop.’
‘Did you think about me?’
She thought and answered truthfully. ‘No.’
He reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before blowing his nose. ‘Don’t you love us any more?’
She closed her eyes. ‘It’s not that. I just wanted to … I don’t know … just have a bit of peace. I was, am, so tired.’ She looked at him, tearfully. ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’
‘I’m not angry,’ he said a little angrily, ‘but I can’t bear the thought that you – that we – nearly lost you.’
The door pushed open and a smiling nurse came in. ‘Good to see you awake, Mrs Canter. Mr Canter has been watching you all night.’
‘I know he has.’
The nurse, whose name badge said Sister Mairi McLeod, busied herself with taking Penny’s blood pressure, temperature and pulse. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked.
‘OK,’ said Penny.
‘Got a headache, I expect?’
Penny attempted humour. ‘Yes. Which is odd considering I took so many pills. You would have thought I’d have slept it off!’
Sister Mairi frowned. ‘You took enough to kill yourself. It wasn’t funny for the team in A & E who had to get them out of you.’
Penny was chastened. ‘Sorry.’ She glanced over at Simon, who was examining his hands. ‘When can I go home?’ Penny asked
‘After Dr Nickelson, the consultant psychiatrist, has assessed you.’
Psychiatrist? ‘I’m fine,’ said Penny, panicking a little. ‘I just needed some sleep and now I want to go home to my daughter, she’s only a baby. I don’t need a psychiatrist.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m not mad.’
Sister Mairi clicked the end of her Biro and began to write on the file of notes that hooked onto the end of the bed. Without looking up she said, ‘Let Dr Nickelson decide what’s what. Once he’s had a look at you, you’ll know when you can go home. I’m going to check your bloods again now. Hopefully you won’t have done any long-term damage. You’ve been lucky.’
Penny wasn’t sure she agreed.
At some point during the following minutes and hours Simon had gone in search of breakfast and a cup of tea and had returned with a copy of the Telegraph and the latest Vogue. He gave the magazine to Penny, who waved it away, and then settled in the plastic armchair to do the crossword. He made no attempt at conversation, which Penny appreciated; although she noticed that he was just staring blankly at the lines of text without reading. She didn’t want to face any of his sad-eyed questioning. She closed her eyes and spent the time drifting in and out of a pleasant slumber.
Just before lunch – she knew it was lunchtime because the smell of mince and onions was drifting through her door – a young man in a check shirt and corduroy trousers came smilingly into the room.
‘Hello, I’m Dr Nickelson. Consultant psychiatrist.’
Simon leapt to his feet and pumped hands with him. ‘Jolly good of you to come,’ he said, delighted, or so Penny thought, that at last there was a male in the room. Someone he could understand.
Dr Nickelson turned and smiled at Penny. ‘Mrs Canter.’ He shook her hand too and dragged a smaller chair up to the bedside. He had a file in one hand, which he opened and quickly scanned, reminding himself of the facts.
Penny lay silent.
‘May I call you Penny?’ he asked pleasantly.
She nodded.
He settled himself. ‘So. Let’s start with the hardest question. Why?’
Penny took a deep breath. ‘I have a young baby.’
‘How old?’
‘Just turned one. And she’s such a good girl but I get so tired. I just …’ Her voice broke. ‘I just wanted a good night’s sleep.’
‘Hm.’ He looked at her notes again. ‘With a large quantity of pills.’
She nodded. She could feel tears gripping her throat. She tried to swallow them down.
‘Have you had suicidal thoughts before?’
She paused, forcing the dreaded tears not to come. ‘I didn’t want to die – I just wanted the world to stop for a bit. So that I could get some rest.’
He smiled again and she saw the understanding in his eyes. ‘I think we all want that sometimes. You’re not mad.’
The tears raced up her throat and into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she croaked.
‘So, apart from managing a young baby, have there been any other difficulties recently?’
She wiped a trickle of snot from her nose. ‘Not really.’
Simon uncrossed his legs and leant forward, passing her a tissue. ‘That’s not true, Penny,’ he said. ‘What about work? And your mother?’
Dr Nickelson kept his eyes on Penny and waited.
She turned her eyes from Simon to Dr Nickelson and all of a sudden