Ibiza Summer (20 page)

he following day, I met Rex’s parents for the first time. They had rushed to the hospital, tired and
emotional, straight from the airport and were now in front of Ellie and me in the family waiting area. It was a desolate space with its crude, bare walls and rows of uncomfortable plastic chairs. A
coffee vending machine sat sinisterly in the corner, giving out a low, almost inaudible hum, mocking us.

‘He phoned me last week,’ Rex’s mum said, ‘and told me he had met someone. I knew you must be special because he never tells me about any girlfriends – and he was
right, you
are
beautiful.’ She smiled.

I held her hand. It was warming that Rex had mentioned me to her. Usually, I would have been chuffed. But I couldn’t allow myself to be, not in the circumstances.

Although the doctors had told us that Rex’s operation the previous day had gone well, he would need another to give him the best chance of a full recovery.

‘It’s quite a tricky procedure,’ the doctor had told his parents. ‘His bone has been shattered into tiny fragments and we need to try and rebuild the leg back together
again, piece by piece, like a jigsaw.’

And so Rex was whisked away again for more surgery, leaving Rex’s mum, dad, my sister and me waiting for what seemed like for ever for some news, slumped in the uncomfortable chairs,
surrounded by empty polystyrene coffee cups. It was torture, and we didn’t really say much because this was hardly the time for small talk.

After what felt like an eternity, a smiley-faced nurse came over and took Rex’s parents to one side and I watched them, deep in conversation, and tried to catch the expressions on his
parents’ concerned faces for any clue as to what she might be telling them. It turned out that Rex’s parents were allowed to go in and see him briefly, even though he was still
unconscious, and I became euphoric at the thought of seeing him, but the smiley nurse explained that it was family only, and it would be best if I came back tomorrow to see him, because it was
getting late. I had wanted to see him so much that I burst into tears again, and Rex’s mum put her arm around me and said that it had been a very long day for everyone, and we should all go
away and come back in the morning and, hopefully, God willing, Rex would be awake by then. I reluctantly agreed. I had no fight left in me.

The next day, I was allowed in to see Rex. But now that I had permission I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming fear. The man I deeply loved would be lying there
unconscious and lifeless. Would I be able to hide my anguish, or would I break down in front of everyone? I had to be a rock for him. I would hold him and be there to comfort him when - and I had
to think it would be when, not if - he came round.

The door creaked eerily as I opened it and I saw him, lying there in the cold, clinical hospital bed with his leg in traction, these great horrible pins sticking through a metal cage around his
leg as the machines whirred around him.

I was struck by how peaceful he looked. His usually glossy hair was slightly matted on his pillow and his rosebud lips were pink against his skin. Seeing him like that, with tubes stuck all over
his perfect body, machines pumping this and that around him and drips feeding him with God only knew what, I almost crumpled to the floor in the crying, sobbing, guilt-wracked mess that I was.

His lips felt warm and dry as I kissed him softly. I saw that one of my tears splashed down on to his cheek. I gently wiped it away. ‘I’m so sorry, Rex,’ I managed to say.
‘I never meant for any of this. I love you. Oh God, I love you so much. I’ll never forgive myself if you can’t walk again. Please, Rex, wake up . . . Can you hear me, Rex? Please
. . .’

I gently lay my head near his chest, careful not to put any pressure on his damaged body, and stayed there until eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, I fell asleep to the comforting
sound of his heartbeat on the monitor.

I had thought of so many things I wanted to say to him, to talk about our future and how I was going to move out to Ibiza. But above all I wanted to tell him the truth about my age, finally,
because I needed him to know everything about me. If, like I felt sure he had suggested that night, our future was to be shared, I knew it just didn’t matter any more, especially not now. The
accident had put everything into perspective for me. The potential fear of losing him had brought it crashing home and made it all so clear. My age was irrelevant in the face of such adversity. All
that mattered was that he was alive and that I loved him. And he loved me.

Something woke me with a start and at first I thought it was the whirring sound of the horrible machine that Rex was attached to, but when I looked up he was smiling at me and I could see his
eyes, those beautiful deep green eyes that made me want to do cartwheels, were staring straight at me.

‘Oh my God, Rex, you’re here – you’re awake!’ I started to cry, but this time they were tears of joy.

‘Jeez, what happened?’ he croaked, looking a little bewildered.

It felt so befitting that he would regain consciousness while I was there, and I wanted to believe that maybe it had something to do with me; that as much as it had all been my fault, I could be
the one to save him, my unyielding love for him strong enough to rouse him from his comatose state.

‘How do you feel?’ I asked, even though I was frightened of his response.

‘Iz,’ he said, the fear in his voice cutting through me like a hot knife through butter, ‘I can’t feel my leg,’

I took his hand in mine and smiled through my tears. ‘It’s OK, it’s just the drugs,’ I said soothingly to try and reassure him.

I went and got his parents, because I knew that they would be as happy and overjoyed to see him awake as I was, and that he was going to be OK. I stood at the door as his mum rushed over and
held him, cradling his body like a baby, and his dad said that he was so relieved to see him – and everyone was crying, Rex included, so I shut the door and left them to have a private moment
together as a family because, for once, I knew it was the right thing to do.

he apartment looked different somehow. The vibrant laughter and playfulness it had witnessed in the past weeks
showed no traces of ever having been there. Now it just felt solemn and desolate, and even the warmth of the sunlight shining through the open patio doors couldn’t mask the melancholy that
seemed to hang in the air all around us.

No one said anything for a while. We just sat in silence in the soft chairs in the living area of the apartment and it was so quiet you could almost hear everyone’s thoughts.

Finally, Narinda said, ‘Who wants tea?’

And I smiled sardonically, because it was just such an English thing to say – the man you love lying half dead in a hospital bed? Panic ye not! Have a cup of tea and all will be well! It
was like something from a perverse comedy sketch.

‘I suppose we should call Mum?’ I said as soon as the others left the room, thoughtfully giving Ellie and me some time alone.

Ellie looked up at me and took my hand. Her face was a little puffy from all the recent crying we’d been doing, but it was still perfect in my opinion, even with the absence of
make-up.

‘I’ve made a decision,’ she said. Her voice was gentle but considered. ‘I don’t think we should tell her.’

I was shocked. I had just assumed she would want to tell her. After all, it was a pretty big deal.

‘You could’ve been on that bike, Iz. I don’t think Mum could cope if she thought you could’ve been killed in an accident.’

‘Do you really think it’s best to lie?’ I asked. ‘You know how Mum has a way of seeing through us.’

‘Well, your acting skills must be Oscar standard by now, so maybe she won’t guess that something’s up,’ she said, and I noticed that a small smile was creeping across her
face – and it felt so good to see, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

I walked to the hospital the next day, bringing with me cheese and grapes and lassi, just as he had done for me that first day we had spent together on the beach. I had found a
little bookshop on the way and had gone inside just to have a look and although most of the books were written in Spanish, I found this one little children’s book in English entitled
The
Cow and the Dog.
It was a story about a cow that had fallen in love with a dog, and everyone had laughed and said ‘Cows can’t be in love with dogs because one says “Moo”
and the other says “Woof”.’ But the cow felt sure that she was in love with the dog, and eventually it turned out that the dog loved the cow too, and so they stayed together
– a cow and a dog, against the odds. It was just the most beautiful story I think I’d ever read and I wrote,
To my darling Rex, you are the dog to my cow. I will love you forever.
Moo! Love Iz x
on the inside cover.

When I arrived at the hospital, Rex’s parents were sitting with him.

‘Hello Izzy, darling,’ Daphne said. ‘Isn’t it marvellous that he’s sitting up?’

I beamed at her. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s fantastic.’

‘Come on, Bertie,’ she said, looking at her husband.

‘Sorry, what was that dear?’ he replied.

‘We’ll leave you two to have a catch up,’ Daphne said to Rex and me, smiling as she shooed her husband out of the room.

‘You look so much better,’ I said leaning in to kiss him after they’d gone. ‘You look like you again.’

‘I’m feeling OK,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m getting flashbacks of the accident.’ He looked distressed. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly.

‘The doctor says I’ve probably got post-traumatic stress or something, and that’s why I can’t quite remember everything. But I’m sure you were upset – there
was something you wanted to see me about.’

I knew that now was the time for me to tell the truth. I was apprehensive, yet strangely euphoric at the thought of finally confessing, and adrenaline raced round my system furiously. I drew a
deep breath to steady my nerves.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You see, I have something to tell you – not that I’m sure it will matter now,’ I added, nonchalantly. ‘Promise me you won’t laugh
– or worse, say that you hate me?’

‘Izzy,’ he said, trying to look at me seriously, ‘I could never hate you.’

‘Well, I thought so much about what you’d said about a home not being a home unless you have the person you love with you, and I realised that I can’t, don’t want to be
without you. I know that Ibiza is your home and where your heart is, so – well, I’ve decided that this is where my heart will be too and that I’m going to stay. Come here. To
live. With you.’

He stared at me for a few seconds and I was sure I saw tears in his eyes.

‘You’d do that for me?’ he said. ‘Leave your friends and family and your studies to be here, with me?’

‘Yes. I
want
to, I so want to.’ I smiled at him and he leaned forward slowly as if to kiss me, but I could see that moving caused him a lot of pain, so I leaned in and kissed
him softly on the lips.

‘I don’t know what to say. I mean, I get to keep you! That’s almost worth getting run down and nearly killed for!’

‘Don’t joke,’ I said, but I couldn’t help smiling too.