Passive aggressive

Passive aggressive – a short story by Tony Bell (1460 words)

Ruth left without warning. Her determination carrying her into the street so fast she forgot to close the door. Once she hit the pavement she glanced back for a second, thought about shutting the door, flagged a taxi, and got in. The whole journey from kitchen to black cab had taken thirty seconds. Time was of the essence. Security of property and possessions was not. If she was burgled, and she’d scuppered the insurance claim, that didn’t matter. In the scheme of things. She had to be there now, sooner than now, and all other considerations were secondary.

“I need to get to St George’s Hospital Tooting, my daughter’s had an accident, so sorry, but can we break all the rules and get there as quickly as possible”

Ruth checked her pockets for her wallet, better to pay him en route, that would save valuable seconds. She noticed her palms were moist, droplets of water forming, and it wasn’t raining, it was the driest June since the millennium. This wasn’t rain, it was sweat. She wiped her hands with a tissue she found in her handbag. She could smell the onions she’d been chopping for the mushroom risotto, Polly’s favourite, a treat for getting through her piano exam, unscathed. Ruth shivered. Unscathed. The woman from the hospital had mentioned concussion, lacerations, a suspected broken arm. Ruth was furious with herself for making her daughter play the piano, when her daughter preferred more active hobbies, like football, climbing, cycling. She cursed herself a second time. Why hadn’t she banned Polly from cycling on the main road? The accident had happened on the A23, the direct route from Merton to Central London – what the bloody hell was Polly doing on that road at four in the afternoon? Ruth was certain she was a terrible mother. Ruth was certain she was a terrible person. Polly’s father had left just before her twelfth birthday and here she was twelve, wonderfully individual, unconscious, and alone.

Forty five minutes was pretty good going. But still forty five minutes too long. By the time Ruth reached Accident and Emergency Polly had been taken to the X-Ray clinic and there was nothing to do but sit and wait. Adrenalin was making that impossible so she stood and read a poster about NHS cuts.

“Are you the mother?”  A nurse was asking her questions. Ruth nodded. She was sure the next question would be how could you let this happen? And she didn’t have the answer to that one. She’d been trying to find it all the way from Camden to Tooting.

“Is there anyone else we should contact?” The nurse was a severe looking twenty something, with swept back hair in a ponytail and too much foundation. Ruth touched her face self-consciously. She hadn’t done her make-up since this morning and tears had smudged the mascara into grey patches which made her look out of control.

“Is there anyone else we should contact?”

“I heard you the first time”

 Ruth was edgier, more defensive than she wanted to be. She was usually quite the opposite. Passive aggressive that’s what Michael had called her, many times, before he found someone more active, less aggressive, at an HSBC team building conference and joined forces with Caroline from the Woking branch. They set up a brand new two person team after the conference, though Ruth wasn’t sure that was the aim of the “building” bit of it. The nurse was losing her cool.

“I’m sorry Mrs, er, Ramsden, but do you know of anyone else we need to contact?”

“Michael”

“I’m sorry?”

“Michael, you need to contact Michael”

“And Michael is ….. who, exactly?”

“Good question”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s her father”

“Oh I see, great, do you want to call him ?”

“Not particularly”

“Oh….”      Ruth noticed the nurse pushing a stray hair back into place

“Would you like us to contact him?”

“Yes please” Why wasn’t she doing it then? Why was she so close, it was making her claustrophobic.

“Can you give me the number then?”

“What?”

“The number, can you give me the number?”

Ruth scrolled through her contact list, she always resented this, she resented having to contact him, she resented not being able to obliterate him from her life. She resented being reminded of the weeks of suspicion culminating in an undignified drive to Woking at three on a Sunday morning to wake her husband from a naked slumber with a woman fifteen years her junior. The whole split had been awful and she really didn’t want to remember, but here she was reading out his number to a nurse not much older than her husband’s new lover.

“How long will she be?” The Nurse had moved to the desk to give the receptionist the number.

“I said how long before I can see my daughter”

“Shouldn’t be too long, would you like a hot chocolate?”

“Yes please” Anything, anything to take her mind off her messed up life. Ruth made a mental note to book another appointment with the therapist when this dreadful business was over.

“Where is she? Where’s Polly?” Michael looked younger, there was a spring in his step. Ruth chose to ignore the tone of accusation. “She’s having an X-Ray, she won’t be long”

“What the hell happened Ruth? What was she doing cycling in London?  It’s a deathtrap”

Ruth didn’t answer, she’d learnt to batten down the hatches when he was in this mood. Her therapist had taught her not to let him destroy her self-esteem.

“Are you listening to me? Are you?”  Fatally Ruth looked up.

“Was she wearing a helmet? Lights? Protective, visible clothing? Do you know anything about your daughter Ruth?” The mascara was getting another watering. Ruth lowered her head so he couldn’t see and cursed herself for letting him get through her defences.

“You can’t let your own issues affect your parenting. You’ve got to get yourself together before something terrible happens”

“Something terrible has happened Michael, your daughter is in hospital, and don’t you dare put all this on me. Who started it Michael? Who left their daughter in the first place? I’ve been there for her Michael, have you? Have you? Have……”

Ruth crumpled inside and out. She’d lost the will to continue the argument, her forty two years a huge, suffocating weight. Yes Michael had started it, but she had to admit that now she was unable to cope, he had broken her, she roared like a wounded animal

“Why isn’t my daughter out of the theatre?”

“She is Mrs Renshaw, she’s waiting for you now, Ward 10 if you’d both like to come and see her”

Ruth looked up. There was something different about the Nurse, had she taken her make-up off, she spotted little splodges of grey under her eyes that matched her own. It made her look vulnerable, more human.

“I’m sorry I don’t know your name?”

“I’m Rachel, Mrs Renshaw, Nurse Rachel, and can I say you have a wonderful daughter. She’s been so brave”

“Is she alright, please tell me she’s alright”

“She’s fine Mrs Renshaw, nothing broken, no concussion, just a headache, saved by her helmet I reckon”

Michael looked away. He’d loosened his tie. Still he wouldn’t look at Ruth.

“But come and see for yourself” The nurse opened the door.

“Your mum and dad are here Polly”

Ruth was struck by how tiny her daughter looked in the bed. Her head was peeping out of the pristine white sheet and light green blanket. She looked like the Princess in The Princess and the Pea. They’d read that together, all three of them, in the days before their perfect family had been shattered.

“Mum, Dad, this is a surprise. Both my parents in the same room, that’s a first in 2010. I should have bicycle crashes more often.”

Michael’s shoulders were shaking.

“And holding hands too. Stop it, you’ll make me cry and that’ll set my ribs off again”

Ruth felt Michael’s hand wrap hers. She’d forgotten what that felt like. A weight released from her legs, her body. She closed hershaking fingers around his. Michael took hold of Polly’s hand with the one that he had free and for a moment the family was linked, mother to father, father to daughter. No-one spoke.  Michael mouthed “I’m so sorry”, she squeezed his hand again. She wanted to say “You think you can pretend nothing ever happened but you can’t because I can never forgive you Michael, never, and this isn’t for you, this is for my daughter”, but she didn’t. She smiled. Polly laughed and then winced. She thinks the family is back, Ruth thought, she thinks we’re back.