Death Actually Page 14

  Maggie stood on the far side of the room until Elka looked up, her face breaking into a huge smile of welcome. She flipped her laptop closed and pulled out her ear buds before gingerly holding up her arms for a hug. Maggie unbundled her presents and hugged her friend carefully back, not wanting to squeeze anything too tightly. There was reassurance for both of them in their embrace.

  Maggie let go and stepped back to take a closer look. “You look fine,” she said. “No pain?”

  “That’s a morphine pump,” Elka said, pointing to the syringe. “It’s my friend and it stops all the pain. It is my very good and bestest friend, apart from you. It makes me feel very happy, and I can press this little button when I need to feel happier. I do have this, though.” She pointed to a plastic bag of yellow murky fluid hanging from the side of her bed, connected to a tube snaking its way out from under the bed covers. “It’s out tomorrow, all being well. They’ve told me I can go home the day after, once they’re sure I can pee without any problems and the pain has settled. You don’t mind spending an extra day here do you, Maggie? I know we were supposed to go back tomorrow, but they’ve only just told me the damn thing has to stay in for another twenty-four hours. Will the others cover you for an extra day?”

  “They’ll be fine. They owe me, anyway, because I haven’t taken time off for ages. The main thing is you’re OK. I’ll come and watch movies with you and spend time ‘laxing’, as the kids would say, with one of my favourite people.” She looked around the room. “Where do you think I could find something to put these flowers in, before they die in this heat?”

  Elka pointed to a cupboard under a handbasin. Maggie found a vase, filled it with water and arranged the flowers before putting it on the window sill. The smell of Early Cheer permeated the room, bringing with it the promise of better weather to come. She added the magazines to the pile on the bedside table.

  She was settling into a chair when she saw Elka’s face droop and gradually turn grey. Elka squirmed in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, but without success. Her eyes shut, she reached for the red button attached to the pump and pressed it twice. The syringe emptied its contents into the IV tubing.

  It took no more than half a minute for the colour to return to Elka’s face, and for her muscles to lose their tension. For the first time since her lump had been diagnosed, Elka had actually looked sick. She reached for Maggie’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Maggie stayed holding her hand until Elka feel into a deep sleep. Digging in her handbag for some paper and a pen, she left a note on the bedside table: Sleep well. Back first thing in the morning. Text me if you need anything.

  Winter in the southern city can be as dour and cold as the Scots who settled the area in the middle of the nineteenth century. Today was no exception, as Maggie left the hospital and considered her options. For the past twenty years she’d left Queenstown only when absolutely necessary, and unless she was on a training course, never without Kate and Nick for company. She was used to being on call twenty-four hours a day, and the freedom she felt now was invigorating.

  While there was a constant stream of tourists visiting the Lakes District, both winter and summer, the actual population of the town and surrounding hinterland was quite small. It didn’t take long for everyone in Queenstown to get to know everything about their fellow citizens, and it wasn’t possible to do anything out of the ordinary without word spreading as quickly as the ensuing and inescapable judgements.

  Having two nights alone in a city, anonymous and unmonitored, made Maggie feel like a teenager again. Her spirit soared with relief and barely contained excitement. She was free, healthy and single and she intended to make the most of these freedom days. She had a credit card which was actually in credit, and her tax wasn’t due for two months. She would forget about death, work, and that man. Life was bigger than the debacle of the other night.

  Instead of a moderately priced motel in North Dunedin, she decided to book herself into the new hotel in town, where she could order room service and breakfast in bed, should she want it – but only after sleeping for as long as she liked. The thought of being able to stretch out in a huge bed made with smooth, freshly laundered sheets she hadn’t washed and ironed herself almost made her purr with anticipation. Shopping was also high on the agenda, as was visiting some of the local art galleries and the newly renovated Otago Settlers Museum. Of course, she needed to be with Elka too, but Elka needed to rest and recover, which meant Maggie was free. Free to be Maggie Potter, grown-up.

  The cold in the southern port city was damp and bone chilling, without any of the invigorating dry cold of the mountains, but she had brought her warmest clothes in anticipation. Leaving her bag in the hotel, Maggie walked to the Octagon in the middle of town and stopped for a double espresso in the warmth of the modern bustling café next to the city’s art gallery. She flicked through the latest magazines, which were full of photos of Tim James on location at the head of the lake.

  Posters in the art gallery foyer advertised an exhibition of early New Zealand paintings, which she decided would be worth seeing. Besides, it was late afternoon and the sun had dropped behind the hills, taking what little warmth there had been outside with it. It was too cold and too late to go shopping – she would do that tomorrow.

  “The gallery is closing soon,” advised the gallery attendant. “I’d start at the top and work your way down.”

  Maggie put on the headphones to listen to the audioguide and took the lift to the third floor. She was soon lost in the world of early New Zealand landscapes, some depicting Lake Wakatipu and surrounding valleys. Deeply engrossed in a view of Mt Cosmos and the river below it, she stepped back and collided with another visitor to the gallery. They turned to face each other, fiddling with the mute buttons on their audio guides.

  “Ben!” said Maggie.

  “Maggie!” said Ben.

  “And then,” said Maggie sheepishly to Elka the next day, “well … you know.”

  Elka rolled her eyes and just managed to stifle a groan. The likelihood that this had been a chance meeting was a million to one. It was incredible that Maggie didn’t see what was staring her in the face.

  Maggie paused, evidently trying to find better words to explain exactly what she meant. “That sounds so silly. I mean, something changed. Maybe.”

  Elka had never heard Maggie speak like this about anyone. She was standing over by the window looking the worse for wear, her breath smelling of alcohol poorly disguised with mints.

  “So?” asked Elka.

  “So?” repeated Maggie, her voice twisting with embarrassment. “I don’t know. It was wonderful but strange. I haven’t felt this way for years, if ever.” Her voice quivered. “I can’t talk about it. Really, I can’t. Would you like me to get you coffee? There’s a café downstairs.”

  “I don’t think I could bear the smell, but thanks.”

  “Sorry, here I am going on about me and you’re the patient. You look better today and the bag’s gone.”

  “Don’t need it, I can walk to the loo now,” said Elka. “And I slept after you left – all night. First time in months. Tell me, why is Ben in Dunedin? Seems strange he didn’t say he was going to be here when we were talking at the restaurant.”

  “It was a last-minute decision,” he said. “There’s a GP conference on and one of his partners said he’d cover for him. He’s going to pop up and see you later too, and he hopes he can have a word with your surgeon. Quite a coincidence that I should bump into him, wasn’t it?”

  “Was it?” asked Elka, but the irony was lost on Maggie.

  “The gallery was closing when he bumped into me, so we had to leave together and as we were walking past the café, he asked me if I’d like a glass of wine. He said he was meeting friends and asked if I’d I like to join them, considering I was in Dunedin, and alone.” Maggie paused. “So I said yes.”

  “Of course you did. Were they nice?”

  “Who?”

  “Hi
s friends.”

  “Yes, they were lovely. All doctors. From different parts of the country, here for the conference. It was quite a reunion. One’s a pathologist in Christchurch and had been involved with identifying the people who died in the earthquake, which sounded horribly stressful. And,” she said, laughing at the memory, “Ben told him I was an undertaker, but then corrected himself to say ‘funeral director’. Something I have been trying to make him understand for ages. He must have been listening after all.”

  Elka smiled, not wanting to interrupt her.

  “We had quite a bit to drink, so it seemed easier to stay there for dinner. Excellent food. You would have enjoyed it. One of the other doctors, a woman GP from Wellington, cornered me in the loo and asked how long we’d been going out, which was a bit embarrassing until I told her we barely knew each other. She said none of them had liked his wife because she was a bitch. She said he wouldn’t listen when they’d tried to warn him about her, so they were pleased when they broke up two years ago. After what she did the other night–”

  “Don’t worry, Kate told me. She did well to get them out by the sound of it.”

  “Anyway, we talked, ate, and drank lovely wine until ten, when the staff wanted to close up. Ben tried to pay for me but I wouldn’t let him, and this caused a bit of a fuss, but I got my way. Bruce, a surgeon from Ashburton, suggested we all go to Poqueno, a whisky bar just around the corner in Moray Place. I was quite merry by this time, as you can imagine, and so whisky on top of all the wine didn’t seem like a good idea. They insisted, and one of them told Ben I was the best thing that had happened to him in years, which was VERY embarrassing. It was a fantastic bar with a huge fireplace, and there was a three-piece jazz band playing the most wonderful music. I haven’t laughed so much in years, Elka.” Seeing the look on her friend’s face, she added, “Except when I’m with you, of course.”

  “It’s fine, Maggie. It sounds great. Let me know when you want to come back and I’ll organise another operation.” She sniffed huffily for effect.

  “Ben made me try a whisky called Glenmorangie, which was good but very strong. It was really late when the others left, but we stayed a wee bit longer because – and get this Elka – we’re both staying at the same hotel. I’m not sure his friends believed us when we said we were just friends, because they said something to him which I didn’t hear and he blushed. Next minute the staff were making Go Home noises. We were talking so much, neither of us had noticed that not only had the band stopped playing and packed up, but everyone else had gone and we were the last ones there.”

  Maggie came over and sat on the edge of Elka’s bed. “He is so interesting, Elka. There aren’t many places he hasn’t been. He’s a GP but he’s trained in Denver in emergency medicine. Good skiing on his days off.”

  “Maggie. I need to get to the bathroom. Quickly.”

  “Sorry sorry sorry, Elka, here’s me wittering on and you lying there in agony.”

  Maggie helped Elka slide off the side of the bed, and taking one arm supported her slow shuffle to the bathroom.

  “I need you to help me more. Sorry.”

  Maggie lifted Elka’s nightie and held her as she gingerly lowered herself onto the loo. They waited, but nothing happened.

  “I’m bursting, Maggie. I know I have to go because it’s so sore. Turn on the tap.”

  Maggie turned on both taps, letting the water run noisily into the basin and down the plughole. Nothing. Elka was turning grey with pain. The walk had been too much for her and she was gripping the handrail so hard her knuckles were white.

  “I used to make pssss psss noises when I was potty training the children – maybe that will set you off,” said Maggie, turning the taps down to slow drips. Crouching down beside her, Maggie stroked Elka’s free hand, soothing her, and started making the promised sounds. All was quiet, and then there was a tinkling sound in the bowl, just a little at first, then a stream hitting the porcelain followed by a deep satisfying sigh from Elka. Their eyes met and they burst out laughing. Maggie watched the colour come back into Elka’s face and some of the missing sparkle return to her eyes.

  “Result!” yelled Elka triumphantly, her fist weakly punching the air.

  “You are going to get better, aren’t you?” asked Maggie. “You will be all right? I couldn’t bear it if anything bad happened to you.”

  Elka held out her arm and Maggie eased her upright.

  “I’m going to be fine. The surgeon told me this morning that the cyst-lumpy thing they removed looked benign, but she needs another week for the histology to come back and then she’ll know.”

  “What’s histology?”

  “They check it out under a microscope and work out what it is and then what that means. Already I feel so much better, just knowing it’s gone. She said I could go home tomorrow as long as I peed today, and now, as we know, I have. Thank goodness you have toilet-training experience or I could have been here for weeks.”

  Once back in bed and sitting comfortably, Elka leaned over to Maggie and prompted her for the rest of her story with a knowing grin. “You’d left the bar, you were on the way back to the hotel and you were both a little drunk. Tell Aunty Elka everything – and I mean everything! What happened next?”

  “Nothing happened,” said Maggie. “We shook hands, and that was it. He was a perfect gentleman. We took the lift and he got off at the third floor and said goodnight, and I carried on alone to my room on the fifth floor.”

  Elka was disappointed. “All that build up and nothing? No kiss?”

  “No kiss. We’re just friends.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “OK. He is nice – nicer than I thought, but that’s all. Really. You look tired after your big walk. I’ll come back this afternoon. Do you need anything? A Rolls Royce? A diamond necklace? Tim James, even – it was on the news this morning that he’s been putting it about in Auckland at some charity ball. I’m sure I could arrange a welcome home date with him. We know he likes your cooking.”

  “I don’t do movie stars, but I will take the diamond necklace and the Rolls Royce sounds good. But if you can’t find them in my size, don’t worry. You being here is enough.” She squeezed Maggie’s hand. “By the way, Kate said Nick wants to remind you to see Lizzie when you get back. She keeps asking for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Don’t do it, Potter,” a husky voice whispered from the other side of the clothes rack in the middle of the shop.

  Maggie jumped.

  The voice whispered again. “You’ve been warned! Don’t do it.”

  Standing on tiptoes she peered over the top of the clothes, but couldn’t see anyone. Walking around the end of the rack she saw Ben, chortling away, delighted with himself.

  “I couldn’t resist,” he said. “I saw you walk in and felt duty bound to stop you from buying another item of black clothing to complement your already extensively dark wardrobe. You need to kick the black habit, Potter.”

  “Habit? It’s a choice.”

  “Are you sure? As a medical professional I diagnose a pathological deficit in imagination and I’m here to prescribe the cure – colour. This is not the nineteenth century. Undertakers do not have to wear black all the time, certainly not every second of every day. I meant funeral directors, sorry. Do it for your kids, Maggie, show them you have a life outside work. Show them you were a woman once.”

  “Once? That’s a bit off, and just when I was starting to li–”

  “You were starting to like me,” he interrupted.

  “That’s not what I was going to say at all. And my kids are fine with how I dress.”

  “Then why do they make comments about it?”

  “They’re just being funny – it’s a family joke. And it’s none of your business.”

  “I’ve never seen you in anything but black. I’ve told you it suits you, but you’re not wedded to the job, surely. Relax for once.”

  Ben’s voice faded i
nto silence. Maggie turned and looked at herself in one of the long mirrors. She saw him standing behind her, trying not to smile.

  “OK, if you’re such an expert, what would you suggest?” she asked, hoping to put him on the spot.

  Ben scanned the shop. It seemed there was nothing he liked, so he thanked the disinterested shop assistant and guided Maggie out the door with the lightest touch on the small of her back.

  “This shop – come in here,” said Ben, opening the door of another boutique just a few doors down.

  The contrast couldn’t have been greater. There were sisal rugs on painted floors; large mirrors and good lighting. Racks of clothes in dusky pinks and creams, along with exotically patterned silks and soft crepes, were watched over by a smiling, attractive young woman who welcomed them warmly.

  Maggie instantly recoiled. None of these clothes would be suitable for work, and if she spilled so much as one drop of tea or coffee on them, they’d be ruined. Besides, she lived in Queenstown, where most people wore merino clothing, ski jackets and boots for warmth. Where would she wear any of these clothes, enticing though they were?

  “Just look,” he urged, seeing the expression on her face. “It can’t hurt to look. What else were you going to do this afternoon?”

  “I was going to visit another art gallery and then check on Elka. I do have plans. I can’t spend all day in shops looking at clothes I can’t afford and would never wear, because where on earth would I wear them? And if I did wear them, I’d be afraid they’d get ruined. I don’t move in your social circles, and I don’t have your money.”

  Maggie regretted her outburst as soon as it had escaped her lips. She hoped the shop assistant hadn’t heard. Tears sprang to her eyes as she realised she’d probably offended him, and after his kindness yesterday and even today, that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Maggie looked up, half expecting to see him walking out the door, but he was still there.