My Very '90s Romance, page 20
“Do you want these two to stay?” she said, indicating us.
“Yes, of course,” said Addison’s mother, and I felt like saying, “Ah ha ha ha!”—if of course it hadn’t been wildly inappropriate.
“Right, then.” She marched over and stood by Addison’s head.
“Mr. Farthing fell backward onto shallow rocky ground. He broke one leg in two places, but more worrying is that he appears to have sustained some level of head injury. A CT scan indicates that there may have been some bleeding in the brain”—Addison’s mum stiffened but motioned her to go on—“and he hasn’t yet regained consciousness. This means, really, we can’t tell when he’s going to wake up, or even if.”
Addison’s mum drew a very long breath.
“It could be hours, it could be days . . . or longer.”
“I understand.”
Beside me, Kate stifled a very small sob.
“Until he wakes up, we’ll be unable to assess the extent of his other injuries. And that’s it, I’m afraid. Please ask the nurse if you need anything. We’ll be moving him upstairs to a more suitable ward—naturally, we need all the space we can get down here.”
And with that she turned on her cheap, wide-fitting pump and disappeared.
We all stared at one another in silence.
“What does she mean, ‘other injuries’?” said Addison’s mother. Then she realized. “Oh my God . . . she meant brain damage, didn’t she?” Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
She sank down next to Addison on the bed, who of course didn’t stir, and cupped his head in her hand.
“I can’t— This can’t—”
Kate was at her side. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Farthing. . . . People come out of these things all the time. Haven’t you seen While You Were Sleeping? He’ll come around, and he’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. Look at him.”
We did. He seemed incredibly peaceful and very beautiful on the crisp white bed. “There’s nothing wrong with his enormous brain, is there?”
Mrs. Farthing shrugged. “You are very kind. But, please, could you leave us alone for a time?”
“Of course,” Kate said, and pushed me out of the cubicle. I was still numb, and stumbled backward into the male nurse, who saw my stricken face.
“Listen, don’t worry too much,” he said. “Loads of people come out of stuff like this absolutely fine, OK? Come in a lot—even though you think he’s unconscious, sometimes they respond to voices and music; it helps. And don’t worry about the demon doc.” He leaned in toward us. “She never gets any, you know.” We smiled wanly. “OK, they’ll probably move him to Baker Ward, which is a high-dependency unit—not quite ICU, but he’ll be cared for there. You can come and visit him at any time, so try and come as often as you can. Oh, and bring your blond friend too—he’d brighten up anyone’s day.”
And with a camp wave he disappeared behind a curtain.
Josh was sitting in reception looking very wobbly and pale. We rushed over to him.
“Are you OK?” I asked. “Did they take a lot of blood?”
Josh stared at us blankly. “Oh, that?” he said. “No, that was fine. But do you know what? That nurse just asked me out . . . and I said yes. I think I’m going to faint.”
I HADN’T THOUGHT I’d be able to sleep that night—indeed, I felt almost guilty even going to bed, just because I was in a position to decide when to go to bed and Addison wasn’t—but I was so worn out I fell asleep instantly.
When I woke up, however, that awful stone was back—you’ve just been chucked, and you have to explain this fact to all your friends without admitting you’ve been chucked or downright lying; or you’ve got to sit your driving test for the fourth time; or you got off with your best mate’s bloke, or . . . God, there were a lot of bad mornings in my past, but this was definitely the worst. I lay on my back gazing at the ceiling. He was going to be all right. He had to be. I would turn Florence Nightingale and nurse him ceaselessly round the clock, and when he came to he would be so grateful we would . . . ehm, get married or something, I didn’t know. Anyway, it would be deeply moving, and he would be fine, and everything would be all right. Yes. Fine. I leaped out of bed to start my ceaseless vigil, pausing only long enough to fuel up on Coco Pops. Of course, nothing ever quite goes to plan. Lying in bed, I heard Kate bang the saucepan up and down the hall.
“House meeting!” she yelled. “Everyone up!” I groaned and pushed myself under the covers. If this was about that bloody toothpaste of hers again, there was going to be serious trouble, I told Frank Sinatra the bear. I was in the middle of an enormous traumatic, dramatic crisis and thus deserved special treatment at all times.
“Holly? Get up, for fuck’s sake!” There came the sound of a saucepan being pounded against the door of my coffin. I swore mightily and padded into the kitchen.
Kate was sitting there with an enormous cafetière of coffee, which was cheering, and an expression on her face that was not. Josh emerged, eyes still full of sleep, with his hair sticking up in all directions.
“Gosh, I was having the oddest dream. . . .” He saw our faces. “Oh, bloody hell!” he said, and sat down.
“Right,” announced Kate. “We have a situation on our hands.”
“We know that,” I pointed out to her, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“I’m not sure that you do,” said Kate, holding up a sheaf of papers.
“What’s that?”
“This is the most up-to-date information on comas available on the Internet. And it’s not good news.”
Josh leaned across the table. “Let’s have a look.”
And we did have a look, but it was just lots and lots of meaningless charts and long words like “cerebral ventricular expansion” and “collateral sprouting.”
“Hmm, yes, I see,” said Josh.
“What?” I said.
He shrugged. “She’s going to tell us anyway,” he said to me in an aside. “So you might as well pretend you already know.”
“Ah. Yes, Kate, I see too.”
“Do you think this is funny?”
“No.”
“I’ve been up all night, you know. I haven’t slept. This is the second night in a row I haven’t slept because of trouble you two have gotten us in.”
“I say, that’s hardly fair,” said Josh. “Trouble Holly has gotten us in.”
I tutted, but only out of habit.
“So leave my coffee alone and make yourself some of your usual instant sludge and let me show you our plan of attack.”
“Kate, what are you talking about?” I asked.
“Right,” she said, and brought out an enormous magnetic whiteboard and stuck it to the fridge. “This is our plan of attack.”
Kate had written “Day One” in big letters on the whiteboard on the fridge door.
“Here’s the deal,” she said. “Basically, if Addison’s going to get out of this thing, he’s going to have to do it pretty quickly. Any more than a week, and he’s probably going to have brain damage. Any more than a month, and he’s probably not going to make it.”
“What?” We both gasped at the same time.
“He’s going to be OK,” I said. “He is.”
“Calm down, Holl. That just means you’re officially in denial,” said Kate. “We’ll deal with that too. Now, the following things have been shown to have some probable effect on wakening people from comas: One, an aggressive course of physical treatment, and two, committed attempts at rehabilitation from family and friends. OK? Now, this has certain ramifications for us, but the most important is that time is absolutely of the essence. We have several things to do, and we need to do them quickly.”
“What kinds of things?”
“These kinds of things,” said Kate, wielding an impressively stolen-looking whiteboard pen.
“Talking, number one.”
“I can do that,” I said.
“For several hours a day, in rotation.”
“Still not a problem.”
“Holly, it’s OK; I’ve got a schedule.”
“I hate schedules,” I said sullenly.
“Two, music. Josh, we’ll be relying on you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Relying on Josh? What, you’re going to raise Addison with The Pirates of Penzance?”
“Lots of people rate The Pirates of Penzance,” said Josh.
“Yes, if they want to put people into comas.”
“Hey,” said Josh. “I don’t see you volunteering to do your famous pissed karaoke version of ‘Back for Good.’”
“Yes, you do,” said Kate. “There, in the yellow. Three: touching and massage.”
“Ooh, I’m there.”
“He’ll need constant stimulation and feeling; it can aid recovery.”
“Not a problem.”
Kate turned over the whiteboard, and the back was divided up into hundreds of small sections with our names written in them in different colors to itemize the particular task we’d be undertaking.
“OK then,” she announced. “Here it is.”
My first shift was, in fact, that morning. Actually, I seemed to have all the daytime hours, apart from lunchtime shifts. I mean, not that Kate thought my job was unimportant or anything. Still, it was my fault. And more, I realized: I really did want to see him. I wanted to see him open his eyes. And it might happen any minute!
I remembered myself long enough to phone in to work. And, of course, things started going wrong almost immediately.
“I can’t come in. I’m sick.”
“How sick are you? Are you phoning from the hospital?” said Mrs. Bigelow.
“No,” I said wearily. “But I really can’t come in.”
“When was the last time you vomited?”
“New Year.”
“Fine. Then you’re going to have to come in, because there’s no sign of Chali, and I can’t have two chronically unreliable staff.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’ll see you here, or you needn’t bother coming in at all. Ever again.”
I considered taking her to an industrial tribunal, but I depressedly picked up my bicycle instead. I could steal the biggest bouquet in the shop and take it to the hospital after work. Kate was livid about me messing up her schedule before we’d even got started, but realizing she didn’t have a choice in the matter, she grumpily started rubbing it out with a duster and humming over it.
“MY GOD, I can’t wait to come in to work now to hear the latest installment of your life,” said Chali, who’d turned up by the time I got there. “It’s like Brookside.”
“No, it’s like The World at War,” I said grimly.
“What are you going to do? Will they send you to prison?”
“I don’t think so. Unless they can make kissing a crime.”
“Ooh, that sounds like a good title for a song.”
“Yes, in 1985. And thank you for your sensitivity.”
“Well, what are you going to do? Now you’ve thrown him off a wall, I mean.”
I fixed my sights on the middle distance in an attempt to appear noble.
“I’m going to nurse him back to health,” I said. “I am never going to leave his side. When ascribed by Kate.”
“Does she know you’re missing the first day? He might have woken up this morning.”
“I know that. I hope he hasn’t— I mean, no, I hope he has, but, you know, once I get out of here I am never going to leave his side. I have to talk to him, comfort him, and massage him.”
“Massage him?”
“Uh-huh. Physical contact is very important.”
“What, so you’re going to, like, pull him off while he’s unconscious?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Of course not. Piss off.”
“I’m sorry. I thought maybe—”
“No, you didn’t. Chali, it was over the line.”
“The catheter line . . .”
I sighed. “Look, is being completely sick your only way of dealing with this?”
“Ehm, yes, I think it is.”
“OK. But can you keep it for your gunge crew and not inflict it on me?”
“Yes, you’re right. We’re a flower shop, not a vegetable shop.”
I put my head in my hands. “Oh, just fuck off and leave me alone.”
She tugged at my elbow. “Why don’t you go early?” she said. “I’ll cash up.”
“You’re not allowed to cash up.”
“I promise I won’t filch a thing. Just for you. And the weird guy in the hospital.”
“Addison’s not weird.”
“He’s been asleep for twenty-four hours! That’s pretty weird!”
“Chali!” I hit her with a daffodil, but it was her way of being kind, so I filled up the basket of my bicycle with gardenias and little blue forget-me-nots and paddled along the horrible busy road to the hospital at four o’clock.
Addison’s mother was still there, looking white and strained. She clearly hadn’t slept. Baker Ward had none of the frantic anxiety of accident and emergency; it was quiet and somber. Machines beeped and hummed, and unconscious people lay around. These were mostly older people, whose big bellies bulged under the sheets, but there were a few younger ones—all men. I wondered why. Maybe they just had the habit of falling off things.
I resolved to ask Josh’s cute young nurse friend if I saw him.
“Hello,” I said quietly to Addison’s mum. I was more composed today, determined to cling to my dignity, show that, whatever may have happened, I was completely committed to her son and would prove myself worthy of his love. When he woke up. Which he would.
“Hello,” she said. “You’re Holly, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Call me Magda.”
“Magda. Yes, all right.”
I felt completely stupid and at a loose end, especially after my waterworks of the previous day. It wasn’t easy to come on as noble and dignified so soon after that. We looked at each other.
“Ehm . . . Magda. Can I get you anything? Aren’t you absolutely exhausted?”
“No . . . but would you mind sitting with him for a bit? I’ve been here since six this morning, and I need to stretch my legs and get something to eat. Do you mind? I’ll only be down the hall.”
“Of course not. Stay as long as you like.”
She stood up, her hand still on Addison’s pale one. The family resemblance was very strong.
“He hasn’t moved all day,” she said. “I think it’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” She smiled wryly. “I’m used to one-sided conversations with my son.”
“I’m sure he knows you’re here,” I said lamely, and took her place.
The bruises around Addison’s eyes had faded, and he looked less ghastly and more asleep. I wanted to tickle him to wake him up.
“The nurse is over there,” said Magda, indicating the desk. “But I wouldn’t recommend talking to the doctor. She’s not very helpful.”
“I know,” I said. “Right. Thanks.”
And she was gone, and the two of us were alone.
I cleared my throat nervously. I was due to be talking today.
“Well!” I said, feeling completely idiotic. “Hello, Addison. It’s Holly here!”
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t stir.
“And I just want you to know how very sorry I am about what happened down at the riverside. But we’re going to have to put all that behind us and concentrate on getting you well again; then the next time we kiss it can be . . . down a coal mine or something. If you want to kiss me again. Which you probably won’t. And of course you’d be quite within your rights to feel that way.”
Oh, no. This was all going a bit downbeat. I tried desperately to think of some good news.
“So, anyway, Chali sends her love. You’ve never met, but I’m sure you’d get on. Well, OK, so not get on, as such, at all, but you know, she’s a person I know and you’re a person I know and, well, she sent her love. Though not as such.”
This was proving harder than it looked. I remembered back to old documentaries about people in comas. Wasn’t I supposed to put stereo headphones on him and play lots of Cliff Richard records? But hadn’t I hurt the poor guy enough?
“Ehm . . . oooh, and the big news of the day is that Josh has been invited out by a bloke. And he said yes! Which, as you know, comes only one day after him sleeping with a woman. So that’s pretty exciting for us—we might be able to categorize Josh once and for all. But he’s a bit scared and stockpiling lots of Vaseline products—”
“Is that true?” said a dark, spiky head sticking through the curtains. It was the male nurse.
“You can’t be listening to people talking to coma victims!” I said, annoyed. “Anyway, I thought you worked downstairs.”
“I do,” he said. “I came to check on your friend here.”
“Uh-huh?” I said suspiciously.
“And see if he had any visitors.”
“He does,” I said. “Me.”
“So I see. Hi . . . I’m Stephen.”
“Hello, Stephen. I’m Holly.”
“Yes, I know all about you,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, feeling that horribly disconcerted way you do when you drink too much tequila at a party and speak to someone for ages and he comes up and says hello the next day and you can’t remember who he is. “Well . . . ,” I said.
“But never mind about that. Tell me more about that yummy flatmate of yours.”
He was the first person I’d met in the last twenty-four hours who didn’t think I was evil, so I was perhaps more willing to confide in him than I might otherwise have been.
“Josh is very sweet and a bit undecided.”
“Really?” He pouted. “I prefer it if they’re straight.”
“Well, you know, he probably is. He slept with a girl just this week.”
“Huh.”
“But he did agree to go out with you, didn’t he?”
Stephen smiled shyly.
“Don’t take him anywhere scary,” I warned. “He’s very innocent. Don’t take him anywhere he has to put on a harness or dance around in his underpants.”
