Connections (F1 story)

Chapter Nineteen: The knowing

My Mum was going to be okay, and that was the paramount news I could have hoped for- ever. I could hardly believe my eyes when I reached Cornwall (in the south-west of England) some twenty hours after taking off from China. I had slept part of the journey and lay awake worrying for the rest. An attempt was half-heartedly made to get some work done, but the on-board Wi-Fi wasn't exactly functioning as it should have been. Then again, my brain wasn't exactly complying either.

The familiar drive up to my parents' house was completely altered this time. The car that Bridget had kindly arranged for me dropped me off at the bottom of their house and I made my way up the gravel. It was morning- ten o'clock on the Tuesday by the time I rang the doorbell, standing rather apprehensively on the step. My Dad answered and I immediately engulfed him in the biggest hug that I could muster.

We had a cup of coffee together and I got given the lowdown- on Mum's condition as well as over two months worth of family gossip. As it turns out, out my cousin Sara had become engaged to her long term partner and they'd set a date for the marriage in six months' time. Soon, but I suppose that was because she was also pregnant. Her Mum didn't fancy the idea of her becoming a parent without having tied the knot. I hoped that the dates didn't clash with work for strictly between my Mum and I, a good old wedding always put me in a good mood (quite possibly due to the free food and amounts of complimentary booze).

Arriving at the hospital the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach intensified. Truth be told it hadn't gone away since hearing the news forty-eight hours ago, minus the time difference. Dad parked in the car park, disgusted at the pay and display prices.

I linked my Dad's arm as we trekked along the clean, white corridors. I hated these places so much, the smell, the atmosphere and the sounds. I shuddered.

We turned the corner and signed ourselves into the ward where my Mum had her own room. The nurse greeted us and spoke quietly to Dad whilst I prepared myself for the worst.

"Well?" I said once he had finished his conversation.

"You'll see for yourself." he responded. I wasn't quite able to read the expression on his face. Silently I prayed it was because of something good, not something bad.

I entered in front of my father, trying my best to somewhat smile. I gasped as I spotted the pale, gaunt figure of Mum. She looked so tiny propped up in the hospital bed; her left arm was holding her right in place. I'd been pre-warned that her limbs still weren't working- her right arm and right leg were currently still totally unresponsive.

I looked away briefly in order to stop myself from breaking down. Something was stopping me though, and that something was my dear mother looking at me. With her eyes wide, it was in that moment that I knew that she recognised me. I then knew that she was going to make it through.

---

Sadly, even though recovering a substantial amount in such a short space of time, Mum was no way near well enough to make it to the Spanish Grand Prix. It was a shame, but I knew that back home in the UK was the best place for her to continue her rehabilitation. And so with what felt like a billion pieces of paper scattered (neatly-ish) around me, it was back to work. Wednesday- race five- Circuit de Catalunya.

"Sorry I'm a tad late." The Australian, Daniel, apologised to me and pulled out a chair opposite to sit down.

"I wasn't aware that you were." I replied, gesticulating to the masses of paper surrounding me.

"That looks even more fun than analysing my data." He grinned, smugly.

"I for one am very pleased that I don't have that job." I let out a wry laugh.