5
Agnetha
Aggs took a long, leisurely shower in the new gloss white en suite bathroom, a conversion of the old cupboard next door to her bedroom that had been home to decades of accumulated junk owned by her grandparents and parents before her. Usually, she’d just blast her hair with the dryer, then pull it up into a messy bun, from which more and more tendrils would escape throughout the day. But not today. Today she was going to make an effort.
Liberating the box from the bottom of her wardrobe, she took out the huge blow-drying brush that the girls had bought her for Christmas. She’d never tried to use it before, but how hard could it be?
It took a few false starts and a tangle situation that required five minutes of picking trapped hairs out of the brush using the metal handle of her comb, but eventually she got the hang of it.
Hair done, not exactly a smooth salon finish, but passable, she reached for the make-up bag. Another first. She wore make-up so infrequently that she was fairly sure she’d bought that Avon plum lipstick in the nineties.
Five minutes to eleven. She hadn’t taken an hour to get ready since the girls were born. But then, lots of things were changing now. She picked up the phone and looked at the text again.
Happy birthday gorgeous. Have you told them yet?
She should reply but… not yet. Soon.
The butterflies in her stomach were in full force, just like they were on that day a few months ago, when she’d realised that her grief over the loss of her mum and dad wasn’t something she could deal with on her own. It had taken her weeks to pluck up the courage to go to her first meeting with the group that had helped her topple the first domino on the trail that had led her to here and now.
As soon as she’d walked in the door of the anonymous room that hosted The Wednesday Club in Glasgow Central Hospital, the delight on Yvie’s face had de-escalated her trepidation. ‘Agnetha, you came!’
‘I came,’ she’d said needlessly, just to check she could still get words out past the boulder that had yet to dislodge itself from her windpipe.
‘Come, come, sit,’ Yvie had beckoned, gesturing to one of the ten or so chairs around a long oak table in the centre of the room. Aggs had realised she’d been watching too many TV shows, where these groups met and sat in a circle of chairs, with no barriers between them and the other participants, an open void in the middle to pour their story into.
The room was probably like most others in the hospital – white walled, greyish-green rubbery floor and lighting panes inset into the ceiling. There were already six people at the table, their voices a low hum, a couple of them glancing up at her with smiles that sat somewhere between reassuring and sad.
That made sense.
A woman at the end of one side of the table had yelped as she pulled a blue mug from her mouth before exclaiming a pained, ‘Jesus, Yvie, you’d need lips made of asbestos to drink that tea. You’re going to be able to suction me to a window by the time I’ve finished it.’
Yvie had given her a cheeky smile. ‘Then keep going, Val – voluptuous lips are all the fashion these days.’
The woman – Val, Yvie had called her – had emitted the most deliciously warm laugh, the eyes that were outlined in mug matching pale blue twinkling as they left Yvie and landed on Aggs.
‘Come sit beside me, love. Especially if yer any good at first aid.’
Val had bumped along one seat to free up hers for Aggs. She took it gratefully, but before she could introduce herself, Yvie had pushed a mug in front of her and poured steaming tea from a large steel teapot.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Yvie had whispered, and Aggs could hear the sincerity in every word. Their eyes met for a second of mutual understanding, before Yvie switched up to a lighter, louder tone to address the group. ‘Right, you lovelies, we’ll get started in a few minutes. Let’s just give everyone time to get settled and give a minute for Val to get some ice on her gob.’
That had raised a roomful of smiles and an eye roll from Val, and Aggs had felt herself relax just a little. She caught a conspiratorial look passing between Yvie and Val and realised this banter was deliberate, a bit of levity to put everyone at ease, to lift the mood before the inevitable.
In the centre of the table there was a large box of tissues. Around it, there were a few red-ringed eyes. The man in his forties opposite her sat hunched over his mug, gaze downwards. Next to him, another guy, perhaps fifties, chatted animatedly to two elderly ladies at the end of the table.
Aggs didn’t get a chance to really observe any more, because Val’s platinum blonde bob turned to face her. It was a daunting sight. Not a hair of it moved independently and she was immediately transported back to her childhood, watching her mother spray half a can of Elnett on her perm before she left the house.
‘I’m Val.’
‘Agnetha,’ she’d responded. She could see Val’s brain working, the same effect her name had had on countless people she’d met over the years. Agnetha wasn’t a common moniker in Glasgow. In fact, in all of her forty-five years she’d never met another one. She’d got in first to put Val out of her misery. ‘My mother was a huge Abba fan,’ she’d explained, churning out the all too familiar explanation. ‘She named me after the blonde one.’
Val’s pencilled eyebrows had raised in obvious admiration. ‘Oh, that’s brilliant. Although, thank Christ she didn’t name you after one of their songs. Waterloo might have caused a bit of a stir in primary school.’
‘Right, I think that’s everyone here now,’ Yvie’s voice had interjected and Aggs was immediately grateful. She was fairly sure this wasn’t the place for hilarity and with her nervous anxiety already running high, Val’s comment was in danger of setting her off on a fit of mildly hysterical giggles that was likely to get her expelled on her first day. Yvie had sat down in the empty seat on the other side of Val. ‘Welcome, everyone,’ she’d said, pouring her own mug of tea while she spoke.
Over months of close contact with Yvie, Aggs had realised that she operated on the high-grade fuel of tea and chocolate Hobnobs, both of which she was always happy to share.
‘Thank you all for coming. We have a couple of new faces today,’ she’d said gently, ‘so I think we’ll just run round the table and make some introductions. You can tell us as much or as little as you’re comfortable sharing. No pressure. And if you don’t want to say anything at all, that’s fine too,’ she’d offered, with a caring glance at the hunched man, still staring downwards at the table in front of him.
‘I’ll kick things off. I’m Yvie and I started this bereavement group for a few reasons. As you all know, I’m a nurse here in the geriatric ward, so I wanted to create something to help the families of the patients I nursed towards the end of their lives.’ The knowing gazes that passed between Yvie and a few of the people round the table hinted that, like Aggs, that was how they’d first encountered the lovely Senior Charge Nurse, Yvie Danton, too.
‘But this is also personal for me. My dad passed away when I was eleven and last year I started having panic attacks. After a while, I realised it was because I’d never really dealt with the loss of my dad or talked it through. So here I am. And although this is for each one of you, it really helps me too. I called it The Wednesday Club to remind everyone what day to be here…’ There were smiles at that. ‘But also because I didn’t want you to feel the hurt of the word “bereavement” every time you talked about coming here.
‘You should know that there’s no judgement, no opinions, and we don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to grieve. It’s important that you feel this is a safe space