Page 114 of Washed Up

Instead, she found Lily in the kitchen, pacing backwards and forwards in front of the range. She didn’t even manage to smile at Dylan. A third terrible sign.

‘Mum?’ said Frankie. ‘What happened?’

Lily threw her arms around Frankie in an extremely un-Lily-like manner, a little sob escaping from her lips as she held on to her daughter.

‘Mum?’ said Frankie again, the word alien on her tongue.

‘Oh, Frankie, it’s my fault. I got out of bed and he looked so peaceful I thought he was sleeping and so I left him to it.’

Frankie’s knees wobbled beneath her. ‘My God. He’s not…?’

‘No. No he’s alive,’ said her mum, shaking her head frantically. ‘But when I went back, he wasn’t breathing. He was so grey, Franks, like he’d been painted, even his lips. I’ve never seen anything so awful.’

Frankie encouraged her mother into a kitchen chair and sat down beside her, still clutching her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dylan and Sally hovering in the corner, Sally twisting her skirt between her hands, Dylan rubbing at the back of his neck.

‘Mum, if he wasn’t breathing…’

‘I did that CPR thing. I didn’t really know what to do, but I remembered something about an old Bee Gees song–’

‘“Staying Alive”,’ said Dylan, then bit his lip.

‘That’s the one,’ said Lily, with a little strangled kind of laugh. ‘All I could think of was to keep doing that, keep pressing on his chest, but oh, Frankie, I couldn’t even bear to look at him, it was like looking at a doll or something, he was… not your dad, you know?’

Her every word was ripping at Frankie’s heart but she tried to nod, tried to look understanding, tried to hold herself together. ‘And then?’ she prompted.

Lily looked at her as if she’d already forgotten what she was saying.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Sally, to nobody in particular. Dylan gave her a nod and dropped onto a kitchen chair across the table, reaching for Frankie’s hand. Her mother caught the movement but didn’t comment. Didn’t even seem to compute what it might mean. Didn’t seem to be able to compute anything.

‘I’ll get some biscuits, too,’ said Sally, busying herself around the kitchen.

‘And then what happened, Mum?’ said Frankie, gently.

‘You never call me that,’ said Lily absently.

Frankie put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Do go on,’ she prompted again.

Lily stared at her for a long moment.

‘With Dad? What happened next?’

‘Oh. Yes, well, I was doing a pathetic job of that with one hand and trying to call Dr Mac with the other and crying my eyes out all over your poor father, you know, and then–’

‘Yes?’ said Frankie, over the whistling of the kettle on the range.

‘And then he opened his eyes,’ she said, and Frankie let out a sigh of relief. ‘Cheeky sod blinked at me as if he didn’t know what I was doing or why I was hurting him. Can’t blame him, I suppose. You have to really go some, you know. I might have cracked a rib for all I know.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ breathed Frankie.

‘I know. I did say a few prayers,’ said Lily, rubbing her face with her hands.

‘Mum, you did so well,’ said Frankie.

Lily had the grace to colour a little. ‘I just did what anyone would do, but oh my goodness, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it.’

‘And now?’ pressed Frankie.

‘He was breathing but saying his chest hurt, that’s the thing, he’s been having a heart attack or something, I think. I can’t help wondering, though…’