The Longest Holiday (36 page)

‘Not that I know of. Her phone was run over by the car that hit her, I think. I doubt anyone has had the time or inclination to sort out a new one. It’s a bit weird,’ she says thoughtfully, ‘because nothing in her bag was damaged.’

I ponder this for a moment. ‘Was she talking to someone at the time?’ I ask with a frown.

Marty shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘What time was she hit?’ I ask. I want to know what her last minutes were like.

‘She’d just been out for brunch with Matthew,’ Marty says, oblivious to the fact that these words cause me pain. The idea of Laura going out with him … anywhere … I can’t blame her for doing that, of course I can’t, but did she still have feelings for him? ‘We’d all been to her dad’s birthday party the night before,’ she explains and I try to concentrate. ‘She was hit at around eleven thirty, apparently. She ran straight out into the path of an oncoming car as she tried to hail a cab on the other side of the road.’

‘Why didn’t Matthew give her a lift home?’ I ask, confused.

She also looks perplexed. ‘I don’t know, actually.’

‘It was Sunday, right?’ I check, feeling bad for not trying to piece this together before.

‘That’s right.’

‘Sunday morning,’ I muse aloud, then I get it. My face must fall because Marty asks me what’s wrong. ‘Eleven thirty,’ I say with increasing panic. ‘That’s …’ I count out the hours on my fingers as Marty watches me. Miami time is five hours behind, which means eleven thirty in the UK is … ‘six thirty in Miami.’

I pull out my phone and frantically scroll through my recent calls. The blood drains from my face.

‘What?’ Marty asks again.

‘I called her.’ My voice comes out in a whisper.

‘You called her?’ she asks with confusion.

‘I called her at that time. It was me.’ I feel like I’m going to be sick. ‘She took out her phone to answer my call. It must have been me ringing.’

‘Oh my God.’ Marty puts her hand over her mouth in shock.

‘It rang,’ I whisper. ‘And when I called back it went straight through to voicemail. In that minute, she must’ve been hit.’

‘Oh God,’ Marty repeats, and I feel like the room is spinning.

‘It’s my fault.’

‘No one is to blame,’ Marty says firmly, jolting out of her shock to reach over and clasp my hand.

I shake my head and take my hand away, feeling strange about any woman – other than Laura – touching me. ‘That’s not true.’

‘Leo!’ she says sharply, grabbing my hand again and squeezing it. ‘Stop it. No one is to blame,’ she reiterates. ‘You think we haven’t all wondered if there was something we could have done? You think Matthew isn’t kicking himself for taking her out for brunch?’

‘For making her catch a taxi home?’ I say bitterly.

‘Stop it. You have to let it all go. It was an accident. She was distracted crossing the road, but that could have happened at any time, to anyone. It’s not your fault,’ she says again.

I don’t think I could live with myself if it was.

Mr Smythson calls me the next morning and says it will be difficult for me to visit that day. I’m angry, and I let him know. I can’t help it. He says it’s out of his hands, but that I’d be wise not to rock the boat. Matthew can have my visitation rights revoked if he chooses to. After that comment I shut up.

I catch the bus into town, pass hours wandering the streets and sitting by the river watching people stand on the back of long, narrow boats and use poles to push it along. Marty is staying at Laura’s parents’ house along with Matthew, so I won’t be seeing her tonight. I’m so on edge I could tear my hair out. Late that afternoon I go to the hospital. I have to be near her, even if I can’t be with her. I’m guessing that the others will have gone home during the afternoon ward round, but I’m nervous opening the door to the Visitors’ Room. Thankfully it’s empty. I’ll wait here until the round is finished and then ask if I can see her. Then the door opens and Matthew walks in.

He stops in his tracks. Laura’s mother is behind him, looking worried and anxious.

‘Matthew,’ she says calmly, putting a hand on his arm to pull him away. He doesn’t move, and I’m damned if I’m going to break eye contact first.

‘Who said you could come here?’ he asks coldly.

‘No one,’ I reply. ‘I thought you’d have left.’

‘We’re leaving now,’ he tells me.

‘Come on, Matthew,’ Laura’s mother – Lottie – says gently.

‘No,’ he says, stepping into the room. ‘How dare you?’ he asks me, his face white with shock and underlying fury.

I don’t want to cause a scene – certainly not here – and I know that he holds the key to Laura’s room, if not her heart anymore, so I speak calmly.

‘It’s not my intention to hurt you. But I had to be here.’

‘You don’t even love her,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘You couldn’t even tell her that.’

I look away from him. What am I supposed to say?

‘I knew it, I knew you didn’t.’ I can tell he’s close to tears and I don’t want to watch a grown man cry, especially not him.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I murmur.

‘Come on, love,’ Lottie tries again. ‘Let’s go downstairs to the food court. I still think we should go home.’

She gently pulls him away from the room, from me, and then I’m left alone feeling jealous and irritable. I know it’s stupid, but I want Lottie to care about me the way she cares about him. I’m not the one who got another girl pregnant when I was with her daughter.

There’s a new nurse on night duty and she won’t let me into the room. I’m not on the list so there’s nothing she can do. I spend the night in the Visitors’ Room. I’ve realised that the kitchenette in the corner has cupboards the colour of the shutters back home, the colour of Laura’s eyes. There’s a small TV and a radio, too, but I can’t bring myself to switch them on. I sit upright on the couch because it’s too short to lie down on. I’m still there the next morning when Matthew returns.

‘Have you been here all night?’ he asks, looking a bit shell-shocked to see me. This time Barry is with him.

I nod and put my head back into my hands, where it was before he came in.

They don’t stay in the Visitors’ Room long, moving to her room as soon as they’re allowed. I know I have to be patient but I do believe he’ll let me see her.

He joins me in the Visitors’ Room while they do the usual morning ward round.

‘Can I get you boys a tea or a coffee from the coffee shop downstairs?’ Barry asks jovially.

Matthew speaks first. ‘Thanks, Barry. A latte would be good.’

I shake my head and politely decline. He gives me a concerned look and leaves us to it. Matthew doesn’t say anything for a good few minutes.

‘I don’t get it.’ He shakes his head at me. ‘Why would you come if you didn’t love her? You must care about her a lot.’

‘I do.’ I meet his gaze.

He sighs with frustration, trying to figure me out. Good luck with that, pal.

‘Marty said you’ve been renovating.’

What, so now he’s going to make small talk?

‘That’s right,’ I reply, leaning back on the couch, before adding: ‘It was Laura’s idea.’

He looks confused.

‘She had some crazy idea to turn the house into a guest house,’ I elaborate.

He looks horrified – he stares at me like I’ve just punched him in the face – and then he gets up and walks out of the room. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that.

Barry reappears and looks around, confused. ‘Have they let him go in?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘He walked out.’

‘Oh.’ He sighs with resignation. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you a latte?’ He tries to pass Matthew’s cup over. ‘No point in it going cold.’

‘No, thanks,’ I say, not wanting to take anything from him, particularly not something that was meant for his son-in-law.

‘I don’t suppose I blame you.’ He settles himself down on a chair near me and puts the spare cup on the table between us.

We fall into a reasonably amiable silence.

‘So how’s your hotel?’ he asks.

More small talk. ‘Fine,’ I reply.

‘Bed can’t be that good if you wouldn’t even sleep in it last night,’ he comments.

I half laugh. ‘Damn sight more comfortable than these chairs,’ I reply.

‘They didn’t let you see her?’ he asks, looking at me.

‘No. I’m not on the list.’

‘I’ll try to sort that out,’ he promises, slurping at his drink.

Jeez, I’m thirsty. Hungry, too.

‘Maybe I’ll pick up a coffee, after all,’ I tell him, getting to my feet. My legs ache – everything does.

He’s gone by the time I return, visiting Laura, I guess. I wonder if Matthew is there, too. Eventually I cave and pick up a magazine. I’m flicking through my third when Matthew returns.

‘You can see her,’ he says in a pained voice.

I’m taken aback, but I don’t miss this opportunity.

‘Thank you,’ I breathe, hurrying past him.

Laura’s dad is standing at her bedside. He leans down and kisses her forehead. ‘Bye, bye, sweetie,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

I feel like an outsider looking in. He turns and sees me, fleetingly startled, but he quickly recovers.

‘I’m taking Matthew to the train station,’ he says. ‘You have as long as you like.’

‘Thank you,’ I tell him, and I mean it.

I stay in the Visitors’ Room again that night, going to see her first thing in the morning. I’m so tired that I rest my head on the mattress next to her hand – her good hand, the one that isn’t locked up in a cast.

I must have fallen asleep, because all of a sudden I jolt awake. My hand is in her hand and I felt some movement, I’m sure I did.

‘Laura?’ I ask uncertainly, hopefully. The familiar bleeping is my only response. I squeeze her hand, willing her to do it again, to show me it wasn’t just a dream. ‘Laura?’ I say again. ‘It’s me, Leo. I’m here.’

It happens again. I jump out of my seat and press the buzzer to call the nurse, my heart pounding with adrenalin. A young woman in familiar green scrubs comes in.

‘She squeezed my hand!’

‘Okay, okay,’ she says calmly, checking over Laura’s monitors.

‘But she did!’ I’ve never heard my voice sound this high before.

‘It’s probably just a reflex,’ she tells me. She means to sound kind, but I think she’s an idiot.

It wasn’t just a reflex. She’s coming back to me, I know she is.

My hotel room is almost a complete waste of money after that because I refuse to leave her side. The only time I budge is when the staff kick me out or her parents come in together, because there are only two people allowed at her bedside at any one time. But I don’t move from the Visitors’ Room, however claustrophobic it is. Matthew also makes a reappearance, driving up from London the evening after the hand-squeezing incident, although he seems less convinced than Laura’s parents are that it meant anything. Maybe he just doesn’t want to believe it because I’m the one who felt the movement, but he stays for a day, anyway.

‘It probably was just a reflex,’ he says sullenly to Laura’s dad, who’s waiting in the Visitors’ Room with me. Matthew has been in the room with Laura’s mother.

‘It wasn’t,’ I mutter under my breath as they go out of the door.

Laura’s mother hangs back. ‘Will you be okay, Leo?’ she asks. ‘They say that it can take a long time to wake from a coma.’

‘I’m not leaving,’ I reply. She gives me a tight smile and goes.

It happens again that night, and I’m almost out of my mind with delight.

‘That was not just a reflex,’ I inform the attending nurse excitedly. ‘That was real. She squeezed my hand. I was talking to her about Key West and she squeezed my hand.’

‘Okay,’ she concedes with a false smile.

Nothing else happens for three days.

Matthew decides to work that weekend to make up for lost time, so I don’t have to attempt to avoid him. It’s a relief. It seems to be a relief for Laura’s parents, too; they are always less tense when he’s absent. I guess it must be hard for them, balancing us both, not really knowing what is the right thing to do. I wonder how much Laura told them about me before the accident.

I’ve spoken to Carmen and Jorge a few times. I missed a call from Carmen earlier so I go downstairs to call her back. I stand outside under a metal canopy, looking out at the concrete jungle that makes up this hospital. It’s very cold and wet today. It’s September, so I guess it’s only going to get worse from here on in. I shiver as I dial her number. There’s no cell phone reception in the food court, but I’m so cold I won’t last long out here. I’ve never had to buy a winter coat in my life, but I won’t have a choice if I’m here for much longer. Maybe a thrift store will have a cheap one.

To my astonishment, Carmen tells me that she and Jorge have finished the bathrooms.

‘You what?’

‘They’re done. I’ve started painting the inside of the house, too.’

I’m so touched, I can hardly speak. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘You never know what to say, Leonardo.’

Her comment makes me smile. ‘Wow. Seriously, Carmen, that’s great.’

Pause. ‘I know.’ Another pause, when neither of us speaks. ‘Hey, Leo?’ She sounds uncomfortable.

‘Yeah?’

‘I keep meaning to explain …’ Her voice trails off.

‘What is it?’ I press.

‘You know what I said? About choosing the wrong brother?’

I know exactly what she’s talking about. It weirded me out when she said that. ‘Yeah?’ I ask uneasily.

‘I don’t mean … I didn’t mean … You and I … Urgh. I was just trying to say that you’re a survivor. So keep doing what you’re doing, okay? Keep surviving. Look after yourself.’

‘Okay, Carmen,’ I say quietly, relieved.

A short pause and then she’s back to the Carmen I know, cutting straight through the crap. ‘So what now, little bro? When are you coming home? You can’t stay there forever, you know.’

‘No, I know. I don’t know.’ I scratch my stubble. It’s itchy. I’ve only managed to shave, at best, every other day since I’ve been here. My clothes are starting to stink as well. I really need to find a Laundromat before I make myself even more unwelcome than I already am. ‘I can’t afford the hotel for much longer, but I’m not leaving her. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’