One Minute Later: Behind every secret is a story, the emotionally gripping new book from the bestselling author. Susan Lewis
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. Just after that they reached the narrow spur of Bay Lane that would be easy to miss for anyone who didn’t know it was there, for the main road curved sharply away from the shore at that point to continue on to the lower reaches of Westleigh Heights. The Heights, as the area was more commonly known, was where Michelle’s family had always lived. It was also where Vivi and Mark had lived during the time their mother had been married to Gil. After the break-up they’d returned to their grandmother’s house on Bay Lane.
Most of the properties on the lane, now used as holiday homes, were set back behind high wooden gates and protective laurel bushes. Number eight wasn’t much different, except the gates were always open and the hedges were low enough to see across the lane to the dunes and estuary beyond. Gil pulled into the drive and came to a stop in front of the double-fronted Edwardian house where an Audi convertible was already parked. Gina’s VW Beetle was presumably tucked away in the garage, and Vivi felt her spirits sink even lower as she remembered that she was no longer allowed to drive.
However, one look at Michelle’s wonderful, freckly face as she came out of the house was a tonic she hadn’t expected. The joy of seeing her, of realizing she was going to be there for her, was helping, if only for a few moments, to lift her from the misery she was in.
After hugging carefully and tearfully, Vivi gazed into Michelle’s tender blue eyes and saw straight away that the bond they’d always shared was still there. They didn’t need words to express it, they could both feel it and that was enough. There would be time later for talking, for trying to come to terms with what was happening and how they were going to cope. For now Vivi allowed Michelle to take her into the house, so glad she was there that it took her a moment to register the familiar scent of the place. It transported her back over many years, confusing her with emotions as all kinds of memories flashed up, and nostalgia closed in on her like the tide lapping the shore outside. The hallway was long and only just wide enough for the two friends to walk side by side past the old telephone table and coat hooks towards the foot of the carpeted stairs. They stopped at the threshold of the room NanaBella had always called her best room. It occupied the whole of the right side of the house with views out to the beach through the bay window at the front, and French doors to the garden at the back. The door to the left led to the kitchen-diner and family room for everyday use. NanaBella had entertained Gil in the best room when he was dating Gina, wanting to impress him and make him feel welcome as though he was someone very special, which he was.
Apparently her mother had asked Michelle to get the room ready for Vivi, and it was clear from the pillow arrangement, scented candles and new Smart TV beside the old-fashioned tiled fireplace that Michelle had done her best, but it wasn’t what Vivi wanted.
‘I’m not an invalid,’ she growled, when she saw that the small double bed from the guest room had been set up in place of NanaBella’s rosewood dining table. ‘I can get up the stairs.’ It might take her a while to achieve it, but she was determined to try.
‘No one’s saying you can’t,’ her mother replied evenly. ‘I just thought it would be nice for you to have your own