What Remains (30 page)

“Are you with Jodi Peters?”

Rupert spun around. A young doctor stood in the doorway, dressed in purple scrubs, a startling pink stethoscope around her neck. Rupert blinked. For some reason, he’d expected a middle-aged man. “Yes. I’m his partner, Rupert O’Neil.”

“Good. I’m Dr. Stanton. I’ve been looking after Jodi since he came in. I’ve taken bloods, and given him something for the pain and some precautionary antibiotics. The stroke team are with him now. They’re running a few extra tests, and then he’ll be going up for a CT scan.”

“A brain scan?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have a stroke?”

Dr. Stanton ventured further into the room and sat down, gesturing for Rupert to do the same. “We don’t know at this stage. The slurred speech and one-sided paralysis are classic indicators of a stroke, but are also symptomatic of many other things—meningitis, haemorrhage, seizures—especially with a TBI as recent as Jodi’s.”

Recent
. Rupert felt sick again. With all that had happened since, the accident often seemed like it had occurred years ago, and the reality that Jodi had a lifetime of consequences to live with had always been tough to stomach. “When will you know?”

“Quickly. The stroke team works fast and we should have their assessment within the hour.”

An hour seemed an unbearable amount of time to wait, but there was little Rupert could do but thank the doctor. “What do
you
think?”

Dr. Stanton paused in the doorway. “I think we should wait for the test results. Nothing is certain until then.”

She left Rupert alone with his thoughts, and it wasn’t long before hopelessness overwhelmed him. This was bad . . . It had to be, because even if it wasn’t a stroke, it was bound to be something equally debilitating and horrid, because that was how shit worked for them now, how it worked for Jodi. His brain injury and everything that came with it was permanent, and no amount of fumbling blowjobs could change the fact that he’d been condemned to a life of pain and suffering.

How fucking stupid had they been to think—to believe—it could be any other way?

Too stupid for Rupert to contemplate. He put his head in his hands and didn’t move until Sophie appeared fifteen minutes later.

Rupert stared at her. “How did you know?”

“Pat and Ron downstairs saw the ambulance. I was in Pimlico when they called me.”

The elderly downstairs neighbours were a pair of busybodies who spent most of their time twitching curtains, but as Sophie dropped into the chair beside him and her familiar, comforting scent surrounded him, Rupert had never been more glad of their nosiness. “It could be a stroke, Soph. We might have lost him all over again.”

“You don’t know that. What have the doctors said?”

“Not much. They’re waiting on tests.”

“Tests for what?”

Rupert shrugged. “I don’t really know. Stroke, meningitis, a fucking brain bleed. Does it matter? He’s fucked.”

“Stop it.” Sophie gripped Rupert’s face and forced him to meet her gaze. “It’s okay to be scared, but you have to give him a chance. Don’t write him off.”

“I’m not writing him off. I’m just being realistic.”

“You’re thinking too fast.”

Whatever.
Rupert lost the will to argue. He dropped his head into his hands again and stayed that way, taking little comfort from Sophie’s gentle hand on his back, until footsteps roused him sometime later.

“Mr. O’Neil?”

Rupert jumped. It seemed like he’d been waiting a week for Dr. Stanton to return. “Do you know what it is? Did he have a stroke?”

Dr. Stanton held her hands up. “We’re still waiting on results. I came to see if you wanted to sit with him.”

It was a daft question. Rupert left Sophie in the waiting room and followed Dr. Stanton to the curtained bay where Jodi’s bed was. Jodi was curled on his side in much the same way Rupert had left him, except the oxygen mask had been swapped for nasal tubes, and a cannula had been inserted into the back of his hand.

Rupert bent over the bed rail. Jodi appeared asleep, but he wasn’t convinced. “All right down there, boyo?”

Jodi groaned and cracked an eye open. “Rupe?”

“I’m here. How’re you doing? Do you feel better?”

“I can move my tongue.”

Rupert smiled in spite of the dull terror putting up shelves in his insides. “That’s good. How’s the head?”

“Dunno.”

Not so good, though Rupert knew Jodi well enough to know whatever drugs were dripping through his IV must have at least taken the edge off the pain. “Hang in there. We’ll know what’s going on soon.”

“I’m okay . . . Don’t get worried. I love you.”

It was a little late for Rupert not to get worried. Worry had been his constant companion from the moment the police had ferried him to Jodi’s bedside all those months ago, but Jodi’s sentiment now—so different from the long weeks of nothing after the accident—went a long way. “I love you more. Can I do anything for you?”

“Warm me up? Bloody . . . freezing.”

Jodi was already huddled beneath two blankets. Rupert searched around the bed space, but could find no more, so he pulled the curtain back, looking for a nurse. Jodi caught his hand.

“Lie with me?”

“Lie with you?” Rupert let Jodi draw him closer. “You’re in hospital. We can’t do that here.”

Jodi opened both eyes, though one still drooped. “Please?”

Rupert had never been able to refuse Jodi, even when whatever he wanted was beyond what Rupert could give. But he could give him this. There was room enough for both of them on the bed, and who knew when they’d get to lie together again if Dr. Stanton returned with bad news.

It took some manoeuvring, but with Rupert’s help, Jodi was able to shuffle over so Rupert could lie down beside him. Then, he pressed himself into Rupert’s body and lay his head on his chest. Rupert tucked the blankets around him and held him close. It felt a little surreal. If he shut his eyes, he could almost pretend they were at home.

Almost
.

A while later, Dr. Stanton appeared with another doctor in tow—Dr. Nevis, Jodi’s neurologist.

Rupert’s heart sank. He started to get up, but Dr. Stanton shook her head. “Stay where you are. He’s fast asleep. Do you want me to get your friend from the waiting room?”

“Please.”

Dr. Stanton ghosted away and returned with Sophie before Rupert could blink. Sophie took her place at Jodi’s other side, reached over, and squeezed Rupert’s hand. Her smile was encouraging.
She’s fucking deluded.

“It’s good news,” Dr. Stanton said.

Rupert blinked. He’d heard her wrong, or maybe her definition of good was already warped by the short time she’d spent on the job.

Perhaps sensing his cynicism, Dr. Nevis took a step forward. “The stroke team have ruled out any stroke activity, and Jodi’s brain scans look clear. Nothing has changed since we scanned him last month. His blood results are clear, and everything else is coming back normal, or at least what we’d expect from someone at Jodi’s stage of TBI recovery. Taking his symptoms into account, I’d say the most likely diagnosis at this stage is a hemiplegic migraine. They’re quite common in people who’ve had a significant head injury.”

Significant
. Rupert hated that word. “What does ‘hemiplegic’ mean?”

“Hemiplegic means one-sided paralysis,” Dr. Stanton said. “Temporary numbness and weakness in one side of the body, blurred vision, and difficulty speaking. The accompanying headache is pretty brutal too. It’s one of the worse migraine variants.”

“But the good news is they’re not dangerous,” Dr. Nevis said. “Or progressive. We can manage them if they become a long-term side effect of the TBI.”

“But . . .” Rupert shook his head slightly.

The doctors waited, but Rupert didn’t know what he was trying to say. His every nerve had been braced for the worst possible news, hearing the opposite had stunned him mute.

Sophie squeezed his hand. “What happens now?”

“We’ll send him to a ward to be monitored,” Dr. Stanton said. “Certainly for the rest of the day and possibly overnight, depending on how he does.”

“Then what?” Rupert asked.

Dr. Stanton raised an eyebrow. “Then you take him home.”

“Home?” Jodi suddenly stirred. He opened his eyes and met Rupert’s with a sleepy gaze. “Can I go home?”

Rupert cupped Jodi’s face and stroked his scruffy cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Not just yet. They want to keep an eye on you for a little while.”

Jodi fought Rupert’s hold on him and sat up. Rupert tensed, ready to catch him if he swayed, but Jodi held firm. “I don’t want to stay here.”

Dr. Nevis took a step forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Pukey,” Jodi said. “Like you fed me full of that morphine shit again.”

“Headache?”

“A bit. Not like before though. This one feels like a hangover.”

Dr. Nevis asked Jodi a few more questions and conducted an examination, then he exchanged a glance with Dr. Stanton, who nodded. “We can monitor you down here for an hour or so, and if you feel up to it, discharge you this afternoon under the condition that you come straight back if anything changes. That’s my best offer. Do we have a deal?”

Of course he had a deal. The doctors ghosted away. Rupert reclaimed his place at Jodi’s side and gently punched his arm. “I don’t know what the bloody hell just happened.”

“It’s good news,” Sophie said. “I’ve heard of those migraines. A girl at work had them. They’re bloody horrible, but it’s better than a stroke, eh?”

Jodi looked bemused. “Who had a stroke?”

“We thought you had,” Rupert said. “But it was a migraine. You remember what Dr. Nevis told you when he examined you a minute ago?”

“Hemiplegic migraine.” Jodi shuddered. “God, it hurt so much I thought my head was going to explode. I’m sorry, Rupe. I could see how scared you were, but I couldn’t get my tongue to work.”

Rupert laughed, exhaustion and relief merging together into a hysteria he could barely contain. Jodi shot him a quizzical glance, then shoved his hands in his pyjama pockets. “Where the fuck is my phone?”

“I’ve got it. Why?”

Rupert handed it over. Jodi took it and pressed a few buttons. “Because I’m setting the timer. An hour, he said. I’m not staying a bloody minute longer.”

“You have to stay until they’re sure you’re all right,” Sophie said. “Don’t be a dick.”

Jodi rolled his eyes, then rubbed his head. “I’m not being a dick. I just want to go home. This place is bad for Rupert. Look at him. He’s aged a hundred years in the last ten minutes.”

“Hey!” Rupert glared. “Don’t take the piss out of me. We thought you’d had a fucking stroke.”

“Well, I didn’t. I know it’s shit, Rupe, but this is what my life is like now. We can’t change that, but we don’t have to let it define us. I don’t want to spend every day waiting to die. I just want to go home . . . with you and look at the photo album I found in the office. Can we do that? Please?”

How could Rupert refuse? Since the accident, pessimism had become his baseline, invading his soul like the old Jodi had never chased it away all those years ago, but this new Jodi—fuck, this
was
Jodi, and Rupert loved him as much as he always had. Perhaps more.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, the future looked as bright as it had ever been.

“I’m okay, Rupe, honestly. You don’t have to follow me around.” Jodi wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom with Rupert trailing behind him.

“I’m not following you around.”

“No? So why sit on the bog the whole time I’m in the shower, then?”

Rupert shrugged. “Because you’re naked?”

“Nice try.” Jodi turned away and tried to maintain his irritation as he flipped through his stack of colour-sorted T-shirts. Despite the hospital’s assurances that his brief stay with them had been nothing more than a blip, Rupert had been his shadow ever since they’d come home. “I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“I know.”

And so it went on. It was 2 p.m. when Jodi finally ran out of patience. He went out into the hall and found Rupert’s shoes, then took them back to the living room and threw them at Rupert’s chest. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

They left the flat. Rupert started to turn right. Jodi tugged his arm. “Let’s go this way.”

Rupert frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Rupert didn’t seem to have an answer, so they turned left, away from the Tube station and toward the open-air market. Jodi sniffed the air. “Can we get some of that falafel shit from the Israeli dude?”

“Hmm?”

“Falafel,” Jodi said. “I don’t want to sound too much like a hipster in a quinoa shop, ’cause I know you hate that shit, but I kinda feel like hummus.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lunch.” Jodi glanced at Rupert. He’d had a thing for Middle Eastern food since their Moroccan dinner, and judging by the number of spicy flatbreads Rupert had brought home since, he had too. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Jodi.”

Rupert’s tone stopped Jodi in his tracks. “What?”

Silence.

Jodi frowned. He hated it when people did this—left big gaps in conversations and expected him to catch up. When would they learn? He wasn’t asking for an easy life, only for people to just tell him when he missed something really fucking important. “Rupe, please. I’m not going to guess, because I don’t know how.”