Postcards at Christmas Page 6

  He opens his mouth to speak but then seems to think better of it. I suppose he’s not ready to go there yet – it’s been less than twenty-four hours since the accident – but I hope he feels he could talk to me about it when the time comes.

  We watch the people beetling about below us and I pass Lily her drinking cup, which she hurls across the mat, starting a little game of sorts. She giggles each time I give it her back.

  ‘By rights, it should have been me that the car hit,’ Mark says then, as if no time has passed since I last spoke.

  I turn to look at him, not quite sure where he’s going with this.

  ‘It was an accident,’ I say. ‘There are no rights.’ Then a horrible thought crosses my mind. ‘It was an accident, wasn’t it?’ I have visions of some terrible dare that went wrong but Mark is nodding.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he says. ‘But it was his turn to save my life.’

  Now I’m confused.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  He rubs his hand across his scalp in that way that men do. I can see that he’s trying to decide what to tell me.

  ‘We’ve been here before, Sim and me. With him in a coma and me waiting for him to wake up. Last time it was when we were at uni.’

  I’m intrigued. This isn’t a story I’ve heard before. ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘We were out for a drink,’ he says, ‘mucking about, you know how young men do. There was a canal in the middle of the town. Now it’s all done up with bars and swanky flats but back then it wasn’t much more than a stretch of stagnant water. There was this pipe running across it with bars and spikes sticking out to stop you climbing up. Anyway, we were walking home and Sim bet me that I couldn’t get across it.’

  I shake my head at him.

  ‘What is it with men and dares?’ I ask him and he shrugs.

  ‘We can’t help it. It’s hardwired into us. Anyway, I set off across the pipe. It wasn’t easy and I’d been in the pub all night so my balance was a bit iffy but I managed to get past the spikes by hanging out over the canal with my arse almost touching the water and I made it. So, now I’m on one side of the canal and Sim’s on the other. There was a bridge a couple of hundred yards upstream but Sim had to show that he could do it too. Instead of trying the way I’d done it, he went over the top of the spikes but he got the leg of his jeans caught and that made him overbalance. He fell head first into the water, smashing his skull on the pipe on the way down. He sank like a stone.’

  My hand shoots up to my mouth. My sudden movement makes Lily start and her little face crumples. Quickly, I hand her a piece of chopped apple to gnaw on and she seems happy. It’s so easy to be small.

  ‘So, what did you do?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘Well, what could I do? I went in after him. The water was bloody freezing and the visibility was crap. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face and I had no idea where he was. So, I had to keep surfacing and then diving back down. I was feeling my way along the bottom of the canal trying to find a bit of him to grab hold of.’

  I grimace, thinking of all the terrible diseases that are caught from stagnant water.

  ‘Honestly, it was a nightmare. The more I dived the more the silt in the bottom was disturbed and the water got so murky that there was no point even having my eyes open. Anyway, after what felt like forever, I finally touched some clothing. I had to assume it was him, so I pulled it up. I couldn’t touch the canal bottom with my feet, so I had to swim with him to the edge and then kind of roll him up and out.’

  ‘They taught us how to do that for our Gold Survival badge at school,’ I said.

  ‘Bit different in real life,’ he said grimly. ‘I was frozen and knackered and trying to keep my mouth shut so I didn’t swallow the water. Anyway, eventually I got him on to the bank. He was still breathing but I couldn’t wake him up. So, I called an ambulance. It took two days for him to come round. I thought he was a goner, I really did.’

  I can see the colour draining from his face. It’s as if someone has turned on a tap. For a moment, I think he might actually faint but then he gathers himself.

  ‘So, you see, it was his turn to save my life, not the other way round.’ He gives me a little smile, like this is all immaterial anyway because we are where we are.

  I don’t quite know what to say to him, so I don’t say anything. It must be hard enough to see your friend unconscious once . . . but twice?

  ‘Someone once told me,’ he continues, ‘that if you save a life then you’re responsible for it. It’s a Chinese thing apparently.’

  ‘I thought it was the other way round,’ I say. ‘You saved his life and now he owes you.’

  Mark picks up a mini pork pie, examines and then takes a bite out of it decisively.

  ‘Well, whichever it is, it’s not working out that well for me,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘Either I’ve failed in my duty to look after the life I’ve saved or the person that is supposed to be looking out for me is very careless!’

  His mouth turns down in a ‘what can you do?’ kind of expression that morphs into a crooked smile but, despite his attempts to keep the mood light, it’s obvious that he’s really worried.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be okay,’ I say to try to comfort him but he just raises an eyebrow at me.

  ‘You’re a nurse. You can’t go round making false promises like that.’

  He’s right, of course. ‘I know. I’m just trying to make you feel better. And I’m off-duty. How about another pie instead?’

  I hand him the packet and he helps himself.

  ‘So how about you and Cara,’ he asks. ‘You’ve been friends forever. You must have got into some scrapes.’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ I laugh. ‘We were good girls and it was always hard for Cara to step out of line. Her dad kept her on a pretty short leash. There was this one time that we decided to run away. We packed our bags and raided our Post Office accounts and everything but just as we were getting on the train to Leeds, Cara’s brother turned up and talked her out of it. They were really close – still are, I suppose. I wasn’t that bothered. I didn’t really have anything to run away from but I think Ca regretted not going afterwards. She was always searching for something. Until she met Simeon, that is.’

  Then my phone buzzes and I leap on it. There’s a new text from Cara.

  He’s awake, it says.

  14

  CARA

  His eyes flicker first but I miss it because I have my head in the crook of his arm and my own eyes closed. I am matching my breathing with his, deep and regular. It is comfortingly familiar and if I forget where we are I can almost pretend that we’re at home in bed. If it weren’t for the relentless beeping of the equipment, that is. So, when his eyelids first show signs of life, I don’t see it.

  ‘There we go,’ says Dan over the top of me. ‘That’s it, Simeon. Let’s have you awake now.’

  Instantly alert, I sit up and stare at Simeon. It’s true. His eyelids are flickering. I squeeze his hand tightly in mine, as if I can somehow transfer my waking energy to him. And then he’s there, his blue eyes blinking and uncertain but most definitely open.

  ‘Simeon,’ I say. ‘Oh, thank God. I’ve been so scared . . .’

  But Dan moves in, gently shifting me out of the way so that he can get closer to his patient.

  ‘Hey, Simeon, mate,’ he says. ‘My name’s Dan. Do you know where you are?’

  Simeon’s eyes flick around the room, taking in the tubes that attach him to the equipment and I see concern in them but he doesn’t speak.

  ‘Okay, Simeon,’ says Dan, ‘That’s fine. Don’t worry.’

  He picks up Simeon’s hand and pinches the tip of his finger between his nails. Simeon responds by pulling away his arm. It’s not a big movement but apparently it’s enough.

  ‘Sorry, Simeon,’ Dan says. ‘Inflicting pain is all part of the service round here.’

  Simeon’s eyes close again and he seems to have slipped away
from us again. Dan is making notes on the chart.

  ‘So?’ I ask anxiously. ‘How’s he doing? Tell me what you think.’

  Dan moves his head from side to side, like he’s weighing it all up.

  ‘Well, we’re definitely moving in the right direction,’ he says. ‘But I need to go and report to the doctor. You stay with him and keep talking to him. If he wakes up again and is at all disorientated or distressed, then ring the buzzer.’

  I nod and take Simeon’s hand back into mine.

  ‘I’ve been so worried,’ I say as Dan sweeps out of the room. ‘I’ve missed you so much. I love you, Sim. Thank God you’re back. And now you can start getting better.’

  But as I say this I realise that it’s far from certain that this is going to happen. I’m not sure what I was expecting when he woke up. I hadn’t really looked beyond that, all my attention being focused on him coming out of the coma, but it starts to dawn on me exactly how long a journey we have ahead of us. I haven’t let myself consider the myriad of disaster scenarios that might be awaiting us but now I gingerly let them enter my consciousness. What if he never speaks again, or doesn’t know who I am? What if he spends the rest of his life in an institution? And then, selfishly, I wonder where that will leave me and Lily? I push these thoughts away. They are unworthy and unhelpful and yet . . .

  I feel a tiny pressure on my hand and I look up. His eyes are still closed but I can see the muscles in his forearm tensing. The pressure comes again, harder this time. I squeeze back.

  ‘I’m here, baby,’ I say. ‘I’m right here.’

  And then he opens his eyes again and this time there is a smile. He doesn’t speak, he can barely move but something in his expression tells me that he knows exactly who I am.

  ‘It’s me, Cara. I’m here.’

  Again, the tiny smile, a mere flickering of his lips and then his eyes close again. But it’s enough. We will be all right. I banish the thoughts of a moment ago. He needs me and I’ll be there. We will get through this together. I have no idea how but we will.

  15

  Simeon doesn’t wake again that day. I doze in the chair in his room, but I’m never really asleep as the nurses come in every thirty minutes to check on him. Each time they appear my nerves go into overdrive. I long for good news, something positive to replace the gnawing sense of dread that I now have in the pit of my stomach, but there doesn’t appear to be any change in his condition, or nothing that they are prepared to share with me.

  Beth texts me with regular updates about Lily. She’s fine and the new tooth is through. I can’t believe that I missed this huge milestone in our daughter’s life and I ache at not being able to see her. I’m totally torn between her and Simeon. Both of them need me but how can I be in two places at once? But despite this, I’m reluctant to let Beth bring her into the hospital. I worry that seeing her daddy in bits like this might scar her in a way that we don’t understand, that it would be storing up some trauma for her later. I have no idea if this is a real danger but my instincts are screaming at me to protect her from the worst of it for as long as possible. Even though hearing her little voice might be good for Simeon, help him to piece things together, I’m reluctant to make it happen.

  The doctor says that anything familiar might be helpful in getting Simeon to come round. Beth managed to get a message to his parents on their cruise but it’ll be at least another day before they can get to an airport. The only other person I can think of is Mark.

  Mark. I’ve tried to eradicate him from my memory banks because the mere thought of him makes me so angry that I’m almost shaking, and giving off that kind of vibe can’t be good for Sim. He’s still skulking around apparently. Beth has put him up at hers, which is good because I can’t bear the idea of him being in our house, sleeping in our spare bed. I tell her to send him back to London but she refuses.

  ‘I think you’re being a bit hard on him,’ she says to me in one of our many phone conversations. ‘He’s so worried about Simeon . . .’

  ‘I’ll bet he bloody is,’ I mutter under my breath. She ignores me.

  ‘He really wants to come to the hospital again but he doesn’t want to do anything that will upset you.’

  ‘Well, he should have thought of that before he took my husband out drinking and then let him ride home,’ I say.

  Beth’s voice is gentle but her tone is firm.

  ‘You’re being unfair,’ she says. ‘Simeon’s not a child. He can make his own decisions. It’s not like Mark forced him to get on that bike.’

  ‘Didn’t he?’ I ask spikily, but I suppose in my heart I know she’s right. I can’t quite let it go, though. ‘But if Mark hadn’t encouraged him to go to the pub . . .’ I trail off. I know I’m being unreasonable. ‘I suppose he could come. It would give me a chance to see Lily for a bit.’

  ‘How about I bring them both tomorrow? It will need to be morning because Mark’s train is in the afternoon.’

  I sense that there’s something else she wants to say.

  ‘And then I’m back at work on Tuesday,’ she adds, ‘and so . . .’

  Bless Beth. She’s been brilliant but I need to make some proper arrangements for Lily.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’ll ask Angie. I’m sure she can help. And hopefully Sim will be much better by then. He might even be home.’

  But as I hear the words, they sound hollow. I can’t imagine him ever being well enough to leave here but I’m trying not to think about that.

  Easter Monday dawns . . . early. Every day starts early in hospital. The lady with the tea trolley pops her head round the door and asks me if I’d like anything. I’m sure she only comes in here for the families, bless her. It’s not like the patients will be drinking her wares any time soon. I accept a cup of milky tea. I seem to be existing solely on that and KitKats from the vending machine.

  Not long after that, Simeon wakes for a second time. My heart is racing as I see his eyelids flicker and then open wide. This time he seems less lost. When the nurse, no longer Dan but the one who was here when we first arrived, does the Glasgow Coma Scale tests on him he seems to score quite a bit better. He knows he’s in hospital for a start, although he still has no idea why, and he swears when the pain is inflicted to the end of his finger, although to be honest it’s more the impression of a swear word than an intelligible one.

  I find that I’m hanging back as the nurse runs through the tests. I’m scared. I reason that if I don’t speak to him then he has no chance of not remembering who I am and I can continue to assume that he will know me as soon as he sees my face. But once that spell is broken, I can’t go back. In that moment, I will know the full extent of what lies ahead for us; for me.

  ‘And do you know who this is?’ I hear the nurse say. It sounds mildly patronising but maybe that’s going to be par for the course for a while. I step forward and try to smile but my mouth is so dry that my lips stick to my teeth.

  ‘Hi, baby,’ I say as I get close enough for him to see me.

  ‘Cara,’ he says, and my knees buckle beneath me.

  He knows me.

  He knows who I am, and suddenly it doesn’t matter how slow his recovery is. If we are together then we will come through this. God, I sound like one of those terrible women’s magazines but it’s true nonetheless. This I can cope with, the physical damage. It feels like I can get a grip on it somehow, can see how we will move through it. If I were to lose who he is, or was, then that would be too difficult. I’ve been through that once already with Dad. I’m not sure I can do it again. But it’s all right. He knows me. He knows who I am. His brain is safe.

  I am right by his side now. I touch his cheek with my fingers and they graze against his stubble, dark and longer than usual as he hasn’t shaved for three days now. He reaches out his left hand to touch me and then grimaces. It must hurt his ribs or his collarbone to raise his arm like that. He looks at the plaster cast on his wrist, confused as if he doesn’t quite recognise it as hi
s own.

  ‘Try not to move,’ the nurse says. ‘Now that you’re awake we need to get your shoulder strapped up. You can have some painkillers too once we’ve finished all the tests.’

  ‘What happened?’ he asks. His voice doesn’t sound right. It’s slurred, as if he’s at the end of a big night out.

  ‘You came off your bike,’ I say. There is clearly far more to it than that but I don’t want to traumatise him, so I don’t mention the car.

  He frowns, trying to make sense of what I’ve said, but he shakes his head.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ he says, his words all blurring into one another like water in a stream.

  ‘It’s quite normal for the brain to blank out an accident,’ says the nurse. ‘It’s the shock. Do you remember anything from earlier that day?’

  Simeon bites his lip as he thinks but then he shakes his head, a minute action against the white pillow.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says the nurse. ‘You may find that you start to remember bits and pieces over the next few days. Do you know which year this is?’

  Simeon thinks. Then he looks at me, his eyes wide in panic.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what year it is.’ He starts to get distressed then and the equipment beeps as his heart rate rises. ‘Ca,’ he says, ‘I don’t know what year it is.’ He snatches for my hand with his good one and squeezes it so tightly that my bones crunch against one another. I resist the urge to pull it out of his grasp.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say gently. ‘Your head took one hell of a bump. It’s going to take a bit of time for it to recover.’

  ‘What happened to me?’ he asks again.

  ‘You were in an accident,’ I say again. ‘You came off your bike. But it’s going to be okay.’

  I try to sound reassuring but I’m not sure that I succeed.

  ‘And you’re here,’ he says and he smiles at me.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m here.’

  He seems to relax into the pillow and the beeping returns to the normal steady pattern that I’ve become accustomed to.