‘I won’t be able to play with Sophie today,’ Tiff whispered feebly. ‘Mum, will I be better tomorrow?’
‘Of course you will. Full of beans.’ Juliet’s tone was consoling.
Tiff summoned a ghost of a smile. ‘Might have been the beans I ate yesterday that made me ill.’
At nine o’clock Juliet rang the surgery. As soon as the doctor had finished his morning clinic, the receptionist assured her, he’d be over to take a look at Tiff.
At ten o’clock Nuala delivered a handmade Get Well card from Sophie, featuring a large and ferocious bug with pointed fangs and many legs. Inside it she’d written: ‘This is what you cort. Love, Sophie XXX.’
At ten thirty Tiff woke up and was sick again, this time retching into the bowl Juliet held under his chin. Trembling violently with the effort, he clung to her and moaned, ‘My head hurts, my head hurts.’
Then, when Juliet moved to switch on the bedside light he flinched and wailed, ‘Turn it off, it hurts my eyes, I want it dark ...’
It was at ten past eleven that what up until then had been an unlovely but ordinary enough day abruptly turned into a nightmare. All morning, at regular intervals, Juliet had been checking Tiff’s body for a rash. Each time, encountering nothing, she had felt vaguely foolish for even allowing the thought that Tiff might have meningitis to cross her mind.
Now her heart turned over and her hands began to shake as she took in the dark red spots on his stomach. Where had they come from? What did they mean? Did they have to mean what she thought they meant, or could there be other causes? The glass test .. .
Slowly, Juliet reached for the tumbler of water she’d been sipping from, tipped the contents clumsily into Tiff’s sick bowl and pressed the side of the glass against Tiff’s skin, his precious baby-boy skin ... Oh God, oh no, please don’t let this be happening.
"S cold,’ mumbled Tiff, flinching away from the coolness of the glass.
Still kneeling next to his bed, Juliet ran feverishly through the options. Maddy was out on her delivery round in Bath.
Nuala was downstairs running the shop. The doctor was still seeing patients in his surgery.
Stumbling to her feet, she headed across the darkened bedroom and flung open the window.
‘Jake, Jake.’
Within seconds she saw Jake heading up the road, shielding his eyes from the late-morning sun as he gazed up at her. One look at Juliet’s face told him all he needed to know.
‘OK,’ he called out. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the car.’
Too terrified to cry, Juliet watched Jake carry her son downstairs in his arms. When she was settled on the back seat of the car he carefully laid Tiff, by now floppy and pale, across her lap. Juliet cradled him, reassured him and sang to him while Jake drove like a demon into Bath. Finally reaching the Royal United Hospital, they screeched to a halt outside casualty.
Will he be all right?’ Juliet whispered fearfully as Jake lifted Tiff off her.
‘Come on, let’s get him inside.’ Glancing down at the ominous red rash spreading over Tiff’s thin legs, Jake added automatically, ‘He’ll be fine.’
It was nothing like turning up with a cut finger, thank God. No hanging around for hours on end playing spot-the-doctor. Within seconds of their arrival Tiff had been whisked away into a cubicle to be thoroughly examined by a young house officer. The paediatric consultant was bleeped and arrived minutes later. By the time Jake returned from moving the car to the car park, the consultant was on the phone arranging for Tiff to be admitted to ITU.
‘As soon as he’s settled down there, we’ll perform a lumbar puncture,’ the consultant told them as Jake gave Juliet’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘That’ll tell us what’s going on. But I have to say, it’s looking like meningococcal meningitis. We’re starting Tiff on IV antibiotics now. You’ll be asked to sign a consent form for the lumbar puncture.’ He glanced at Jake as he said this, and Jake shook his head.
‘I’m not Tiff’s dad. Just a friend.’
‘I see.’ The consultant, nodding briefly in acknowledgement, turned to Juliet. ‘You may want to let his father know." Gripped with terror, Juliet gasped, ‘How serious is this?’
‘If it’s bacterial meningitis,’ the consultant replied, his tone matter-of-fact, ‘it’s a serious illness.
We’re going to do our very best for Tiff.’
By the time Jake arrived back in Ashcombe, everyone in the village had heard the news.
‘Poor little boy, what a dreadful thing to happen.’ Estelle, who was in the Peach Tree buying croissants and greengage jam, had tears in her eyes as Jake emerged from the flat upstairs with an overnight bag for Juliet.
‘Right, I’ll head back to the hospital. You stay here with Maddy and Nuala,’ Jake told Sophie, who was sitting behind the counter looking utterly miserable. ‘I’ll ring you later, I promise.’
‘She’ll be fine with us.’ Maddy gave Sophie a hug.
Sophie nodded; she didn’t know what meningitis was, but she definitely didn’t like the sound of it.
‘Tell Tiff to get better and come home. Does he want some Smarties?’
Tiff was currently semi-comatose and connected up to a forest of machines and drips. Reaching over to kiss Sophie, Jake shook his head.
‘Not just now, darling. But he loved your card.’
‘Give them both our love,’ said Maddy, stroking Sophie’s unbraided candyfloss hair.
‘Can’t I go with Dad? I want to go,’ Sophie whispered.
‘I know sweetheart, but we can’t.’ As Jake left, Maddy realised she’d never seen him look so sombre.
‘Tiff’s my best friend.’ Sophie’s bottom lip began to wobble. ‘I don’t want him to die.’
In the ITU, Tiff occupied the bed in the far left-hand corner of the ward. Jake, holding his fragile hand and stroking his fingers, watched Juliet asleep in the chair next to him. Exhaustion had caught up with her; it was midnight and she’d fallen into a fitful doze twenty minutes earlier. As a plump nurse silently approached them, he slid his hand away from Tiff’s and rose to his feet.
‘Tiff’s father just phoned,’ whispered the nurse, causing Jake’s eyebrows to shoot up.
‘And?’
‘He wanted to know how Tiff was doing. I told him.’ Curious, Jake asked, ‘Did he say where he was calling from?’
The plump nurse shook her head. ‘No, just that he was on his way.’
Interesting, thought Jake. So he was about to meet Tiff’s mysterious father at last.
Still dozing in her hard chair two hours later, Juliet felt a hand on her arm.
‘Juliet? Tiff’s father’s arrived.’
‘What?’ Bewildered, Juliet stared up at the nurse. ‘But he can’t have. I didn’t call him.’
‘He’s here now, in the waiting room.’ The plump nurse glanced at Jake, who shrugged.
‘He’s not in this country,’ said Juliet.
‘Well, do you want to come and see who’s in the waiting room?’ Diplomatically the nurse added,
‘If it is Tiff’s dad, we do prefer only two visitors • for each patient at any one time.’ This was addressed to Jake, who guessed that it was ward policy to avoid potentially awkward encounters between parents and step-parents, which, was presumably what they thought he was.
‘Don’t worry.’ Standing up, Jake said, ‘I’ll go and find a coffee machine.’ Looking down at Juliet, hollow-eyed with concern for Tiff, he murmured, Will you be OK?’
Wordlessly, Juliet nodded.
As he left the unit, it occurred to Jake that the field had just narrowed dramatically. Juliet hadn’t told Tiff’s father. But somehow he’d heard about Tiff’s illness. While he was out of the country .. .