‘Laura,’ he says, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his, ‘this can’t go on. You are hurting people. Hurting Sarah. You’ve got to stop.’
Mum slides down the door, crumpling into a ball, shoulders shaking. She whispers, so softly I can hardly hear her, ‘I can’t …’
Dad raises his hands to grip his head. ‘This can’t go on,’ he says again. ‘I can’t live like this.’ Then he turns around and slams the living-room door behind him, walking away from both of us.
I pick myself up and go upstairs, leaving Mum in the hall. I go to my parents’ bedroom, where my face is red and distraught in the mirror. My eyes are big, glazed with tears. There is a bump already, swelling above my right eye, and five red marks ring my arm, topped with five scarlet half-moons where my mother’s nails dug into my flesh. Lodged in my throat, all sharp corners, is the knowledge that she doesn’t love me, that I have failed her again. I swallow it down so that it sits, a solid mass, in my stomach. I’m not sure what has happened between my parents, but I know it was my fault. I disobeyed Mum, and let her down. From now on, I’ll be good. I’ll be better than good. I’ll be perfect. And I’ll never disappoint her again.
EVEN THOUGH HOSPITALS
never close, it was after eight when I rang St Martin’s, where the police had told me Geoff had been taken. The largest hospital in the area, it had been a Victorian foundation, redeveloped in the best brutalist style during the 1960s. It occupied a vast site near a dual carriageway, with a substantial accident and emergency department and countless sprawling buildings housing specialist units. Geoff would have a chance there, however bad his injuries were. I sat at the kitchen table and watched the hands sweep around the face of the kitchen clock, wanting to call and yet somehow afraid to, in case there was bad news, in case he was gone. It wasn’t hypocrisy to hope that he lived. I’d never wanted Geoff to die, just to leave me alone.
Whatever the standard of the medical facilities, the switchboard at St Martin’s was far from state-of-the-art. By the time I got through to A&E, I was shaking. A woman with a swooping South African accent told me that yes, Geoff Turnbull was a patient and no, he wasn’t awake yet. She couldn’t tell me anything else about his condition at the moment.
‘Oh, please …’ I said, strung out on too much caffeine and tension.
‘I can’t because I’ve just come on shift, hey,’ she said, sounding irritated. ‘I’ve told you everything I know myself.’
‘OK,’ I said meekly. ‘Can I come and visit him?’
There was a tiny pause. ‘If you
like
,’ the voice said, sounding as if that was the most bizarre request she had ever heard. Her accent dragged out the ‘i’ of ‘like’, giving the word a full two syllables of incredulity.
If you la-ak
.
I thanked her and hung up, feeling stupidly relieved. As long as Geoff wasn’t dead, there was hope. And going to sit beside his bed, even if he didn’t wake up straightaway, would give me something to do. It might even make me feel less guilty.
St Martin’s was too far away for me to be able to walk there. Rather than getting a taxi or trying to work out the bus routes, I called Jules. It was quicker. Besides, she owed me. On a few occasions, I had picked her up from nights out that had gone wrong. The least she could do was return the favour.
I could tell at once that she wasn’t in a good mood as she pulled up outside the house. She didn’t smile as I hurried out to the car. No make-up. Matted hair pulled back in a ponytail. Hoodie and tracksuit bottoms. This was off-duty Jules, straight out of bed.
‘I really appreciate this,’ I said, getting into the passenger seat. She drove a Toyota that had seen better days. Boxes of tissues and loose CDs littered the back seat. The felt above her head was streaked with mascara from her habit of putting on her make-up while stopped at traffic lights; the brush always dragged on the ceiling
when
she lifted the wand away to separate out her lashes with a fingernail. It looked like she’d been squashing spiders up there.
‘You’d better appreciate it. I couldn’t believe it when I looked at the time.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, only half meaning it.
‘So what time is your appointment, anyway?’
‘Er – nine thirty.’ I had told her I had a hospital appointment and my car was in the garage. It had seemed easier than trying to explain why I was going to see Geoff when she knew how I felt about him. At the thought of the conversation that would have ensued, my stress levels had gone up another notch. A lie had seemed like the only viable option. Now that I was with her, though, I found myself wondering if I should confide in Jules. She was my friend, after all. The only trouble was that I couldn’t think where to start. I’d never trusted her enough to tell her the truth about my family – the things that had made me who I was – and now was not the time.
‘That car of yours is a heap of shit,’ Jules said, grinding her gears and swearing. ‘You need a new one.’
I needed the spare keys, but Aunt Lucy hadn’t posted them yet. She had promised me they would be with me by Monday. In the meantime, I presumed my car was still parked near the Shepherds’ house. I didn’t feel like going to check.
‘Are you nervous?’ Jules was looking at me with real if belated concern. I realised that I’d been chewing my lip.
‘Not really – it’s just a check-up for my back.’
‘I had no idea you had back trouble. It’s usually the tall ones, you know? I did notice you were limping a bit when you came out of your house just now. How long has it been bothering you?’
‘A while,’ I said vaguely, looking out the window. We weren’t far from the hospital now. Traffic was heavy; people out and about on a bright Saturday morning, heading for the shops. Jules joined the end of a queue of cars and checked the clock on the dashboard.
‘Loads of time.’
‘Er, yes.’
I didn’t say anything else and Jules flicked the radio on, crooning along to a pop song I didn’t know. ‘Oh, because you lied to me … Don’t try to deny me …’
Eventually we inched forward far enough so she could edge out of the line of cars and into the dedicated turning lane for the hospital. We swung through the gates and ground to a halt facing a signboard with directions to about twenty departments.
‘Which way?’
I looked blankly at the signs, reading desperately. Accident and Emergency was to the left.
‘Left, please.’
The car didn’t move. ‘Are you sure?’ Jules was frowning. ‘I’d have thought it would be out-patient care.’
The sign for out-patient care featured an arrow that hooked round like a question mark and looked as if it would take us a long way from where I needed to go.
‘Um, no. The specialist I’m seeing has rooms near A&E,’
I
said awkwardly. ‘In fact, that’s where I’m supposed to go.’
‘Really? That’s so weird. Usually they keep them totally separate, don’t they?’
I nodded, hoping she would stop asking questions and just drive me there.
She looked at me and sighed. ‘OK, for you, I’m going to give up the rest of the morning.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll come in with you. You look like hell, Sarah. I don’t know if it’s nerves or what, but you look like you didn’t sleep at all, and you’re so quiet.’ She patted me on the knee. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t mind. I’ll just park the car and we can go in together.’
‘No!’ I said, starting to panic. ‘Please, Jules. I just want to go by myself.’
‘Sorry for suggesting it. I thought it would help.’ She pulled up at the drop-off point before the ambulance bay, her face thunderous. ‘I suppose you’ll be OK to get home yourself after your
consultation
.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ I chose to ignore the stress she’d placed on the final word; I had guessed that she didn’t believe me. She was a better friend than I deserved. But what mattered at that moment was finding out how Geoff was, and finding out what had happened. I grabbed my bag and opened the door. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘I don’t know what all this is about, Sarah,’ Jules replied, staring straight ahead of her, ‘but I’m not impressed. Whatever it is, get it out of your system before we get back to work, OK?’
I didn’t answer her, but I paused on my way in to the hospital to watch her as she drove away, hoping that she’d wave, hoping that she’d be willing to forgive me. And Jules being Jules, she gave me a smile as she went.
Inside, I queued behind would-be patients who were besieging the receptionist with a bewildering assortment of problems, all of which seemed to require sitting down on an orange plastic chair to await attention. Through double doors lay the promised land where medical treatment was dispensed, but although hospital staff were coming and going like worker bees on a sunny day, none of the people in the waiting room ever seemed to be taken through. The chairs were filling up. I felt an overwhelming lack of enthusiasm for sitting there and hoped I wouldn’t be made to wait. It was a bigger casualty department than the one at the small-scale medical centre where I usually ended up with Mum, but no more efficient, by the looks of things.
The receptionist brightened behind her protective glass when I finally made it to the desk. Unlike most of the others in the queue, I wasn’t covered in blood or raving incomprehensibly. I even had a straightforward request – I just wanted to see Geoff. Nonetheless, she was launching into her well-worn spiel about taking a seat on the plastic chairs to my left when a doctor in wrinkled blue scrubs dashed through the double doors and interrupted her.
‘Karen, did you manage to get hold of Geoff Turnbull’s next-of-kin?’
‘I haven’t had a chance,’ she said coolly, waving a hand at the queue. ‘I’m a little bit busy.’
The doctor ran his fingers through his very untidy hair and sighed. ‘We’re going to need to let them know if we have to operate.’
It was a gift. ‘I may be able to help.’
‘Who are you?’ The doctor stared down at me. He had a long, pointed nose. I felt like a beetle being inspected by a hungry bird.
‘I’m a colleague of Geoff’s. I mean – I’m a friend. I could get the number for his parents from the school where we work. If you wanted it.’
The doctor, who had very big bags under his eyes, waved his hand at Karen. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s her job, if she’d only get around to doing it.’
He earned a venomous look from the receptionist for that but it didn’t seem to bother him. ‘Give her the number for the school, though,’ he said, grinning a little. ‘Make it easy for her.’
I scribbled it down on a bit of card the receptionist slid out from under her screen. ‘It will go straight through to the school secretary at home if you select that option,’ I explained. One of Janet’s grievances was that she had to take emergency calls at weekends. This certainly counted as an emergency in my view.
‘Thank you.’ Karen smiled sweetly when I pushed the paper back under the screen. Then her face snapped back to a scowl that was aimed at the doctor.
He turned back to me.
‘Are you here to see Mr Turnbull?’
‘Er, yes – if I can.’
The doctor nodded and strode to the double doors,
holding
one open without looking around, expecting me to follow him. I ran to join him.
‘Got to go to intensive care. I’m Dr Holford, by the way.’
‘Sarah Finch,’ I said, slightly out of breath. He was tall and lanky and moved fast; it was taking a lot of effort to keep up with him. Corridors led off corridors as we hurried through the accident and emergency department. Arrows on the ground pointed the way to radiology, then haematology. Dr Holford seemed to be taking his own special short cut to intensive care. I would never find my way out. I was starting to regret not bringing Jules. Or a ball of string.
‘He’s not in great shape. We’re keeping an eye on him for the next twenty-four hours. If the swelling in his brain doesn’t go down, we’ll have to operate.’ Dr Holford had an abrupt way of speaking, rattling out the words in short bursts, as if they built up inside him and then blasted out. ‘And you’re his girlfriend, did you say?’
I hesitated, afraid that if I didn’t have a close enough relationship with Geoff, I wouldn’t be allowed to see him. ‘Er – very close,’ I settled on eventually.
‘It’s iffy. I’m not going to lie to you. The next few hours are critical. He’s not going to be sitting up in bed, ready to talk to you.’
I tried to imagine how I would feel if I was emotionally involved with Geoff, if he was my boyfriend, if I was in love with him. Would Dr Holford’s brusque manner reassure me? Would I be irritated by it? Would I be in tears?
Dr Holford stopped at a door marked ICU. There was a graphic of a mobile phone with a line through it on the wall by the door and I dug in my bag for mine while the young doctor punched in the code to open the door. As we stepped through the doorway, the noise level seemed to drop immediately. The lights were muted here, unlike the harsh strip lighting that made the rest of the hospital so bleak. Six bays led off a central nurses’ station, where two nurses sat, writing on charts. At the sight of Dr Holford, both beamed.
‘How are you holding up?’ one asked him.
‘Not good.’ Then, to me, he explained, ‘Double shift. I’m nearly at the end of it. Twenty-five minutes’ sleep in the last twenty-two hours.’
That explained the red eyes and the end-of-tether manner. I nodded and smiled wanly as I lost interest in Dr Holford, because across the room I had seen a man I recognised, sitting on a chair outside one of the bays, reading a newspaper. The last time I’d seen him was at the church, at Jenny’s memorial service. He had been standing beside Blake. A big man with a heavy build and a boxer’s nose, he looked desperately uncomfortable, perched as he was on a small chair, with one leg flung out in front of him. Dr Holford stepped over it delicately, looking more and more like a stork.
‘This is your guy in here,’ he said, ushering me in. I sidled past the policeman without speaking to him, cringing for fear that he might stop me or ask me what I was doing. I didn’t make eye contact with him, though I was aware that his gaze followed me into the room. I walked up to
the
foot of the bed, still expecting to be told to stop and explain myself at any moment. Dr Holford was checking the machines that stood burping to themselves on either side of the bed, and I was free to look at Geoff unobserved. I was glad of a moment or two to compose myself, because what I saw was frightful.