Hello Stranger

by West, Jade

  I took three days out that week to get myself in check for the ward, making sure I looked like the regular Dr Hall before I set off for the train that morning. My seat felt empty without jitterbug opposite, but I was prepared for that. My novel was closed, redundant on my lap, but that didn’t matter. The solidarity in the pages was enough to keep me steady.

  I kept my steps brisk on the way into the hospital. I said my hellos to the reception staff and headed on up to Franklin Ward like everything was as normal as normal could be, waving at Richard as I passed him. It was Romi who looked like she’d seen a ghost when I brushed past her in the corridor on my way through to the consultation room. She darted away with a clipboard clutched to her chest, flashing me glances over her shoulder, and I knew exactly where she was headed.

  She was headed straight for Chloe.

  I was barely settled in my seat when the nervous little rap sounded at the doorway. I cleared my throat before I called the come in, being sure to keep my gaze cold and calm as my little jitterbug stepped inside.

  She dropped herself straight into the chair opposite, leaning in across the desk with her eyes open wide. Only this time her fingers weren’t twiddling. This time she wasn’t a jitterbug at all.

  “I came to your house on Tuesday night,” she said. “I was calling you right through the evening. You heard me, right? You must’ve heard me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I replied. “I’ve been quite caught up with arrangements for Mum’s funeral.” And I felt sick to my gut for my bullshit.

  “Right,” she said.

  “Right,” I said back.

  Her eyes were fierce and loving both at once. Beautiful. Just like always, she was beautiful.

  “I’ve been worried about you.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. I’m doing ok.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “Right,” I said back.

  And it was more bullshit.

  The whole sorry thing was bullshit, stabbing me way fucking deeper than she’d ever know.

  “Is this it, is it?” she asked. “This is really how you want it to be?”

  I picked up a pen, and this time it was me who twiddled. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Chloe. If you mean professionalism, then yes, that’s how I want it to be.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “Right,” I said back, and despised myself for my sorry fucking life.

  “I love you,” she told me. “I can say it a million times, and I will keep on saying it. Because I love you.”

  “That’s nice to know,” I said, and she scowled at me.

  “Why are you being like this?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that. Not one I could ever share. Not since I loved her so fucking much.

  “Look, Chloe,” I began. “I really appreciate all you’ve given me. Both me and Mum. But it’s over now. We have Franklin Ward to focus on, and you have so much to be learning, so much to be enjoying.”

  She shot me a look of fire as she got up from her seat.

  “I mean it,” she said. “I love you, Logan.”

  If only I could have said it right back to her.

  I used the lunchtime break to head across to Gavton Ward. Dr Mitchell was expecting me and led me into his room, digging his papers out from his cabinet before taking his seat.

  “Don’t give me any bullshit,” I told him. “Just give me the news.”

  He gave me the news.

  I understood every scrap of it.

  I understood exactly what it meant.

  I was the weatherman, fully aware what storm was coming, before any of the clouds reached the shore.

  It was ok.

  This time, it was really ok.

  I focused on Franklin Ward and nothing else. I choked down my pain every night, and stared at the insulin, and fought back the tears at Mum’s letter, and I focused on Franklin Ward. Always tried to focus on Franklin Ward.

  Days passed by and Chloe appeared in my doorway every morning. Every morning she’d sit in the chair opposite me and give me the same words before she got up and went about her day.

  “I love you, Logan. I can say it a million times, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep on loving you.”

  Every day I did my best to ignore her.

  Every day I did my best to let her go.

  The staff on the ward were different after my few days’ leave, shooting me sympathetic glances every time I passed by. I knew they knew my mum was dead. I knew they were feeling for me, and sad for my pain, but I didn’t want it. I didn’t want anyone feeling any pain for me. I didn’t want anyone feeling anything for me.

  So, I kept them at arm’s length, just like the old days, before Chloe sprang into my world. I didn’t speak, and didn’t share, just focused on Franklin Ward. Always on Franklin Ward.

  My evenings were filled with practicalities, keeping me busy at home.

  My days were filled with being a doctor, helping people in their weakest moments, even while I was battling mine.

  People were calling me at home, on my phone as well as on Mum’s, giving their condolences and crying their tears, and so sad, so sad, but I didn’t want them. I didn’t want anything but to say the very last farewell to my mother and commit her to ashes at Redwood Crematorium.

  Days on end I waited. Days on end the arrangements took time to come together. Until finally, thank fuck, the ceremony began to take shape.

  I gave people the details, dishing out the information to Mum’s friends like it was just some standard appointment at the hospital, then I alerted the hospital coordinators of the funeral date. Another tick of the practicalities box. They assured me that Rachel Edwards would be available for my shift. Good. Excellent. Everything in place for the service.

  All except my jitterbug.

  Even as the funeral drew near, I said nothing to any of my ward team, no acknowledgement of me committing Mum to the fire. No acknowledgement of being a man grieving in a ward filled with grief.

  Until the night before.

  There was a tiny little break in my armour the night before.

  Chloe was in reception when I left Franklin Ward that night, propped up at the desk as she checked through her medication forms, and this time, for the first time in days, I reached out for her, taking hold of her arm as she met my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “Honestly, Chloe, I’m sorry.”

  Her shrug lit up my heart, the same usual manner from the same gorgeous little creature.

  “So, don’t be sorry,” she said. “Don’t be sorry anymore and stop pushing me away, will you?”

  I only wished I could.

  “Goodnight, jitterbug,” I said, and this time, for the first time in forever, I stepped out of the ward before she did.

  48

  Chloe

  The weekend had been a crap one, trying to get through the days without Logan. I spent time with Mum, Dad and Beano, but my heart was in pieces. Still, I was determined. Every day in Franklin Ward I put myself on the line.

  I was getting pretty used to the routine, heading down the corridor to Logan’s consultancy room every morning. It was a ritual I was confident in, rapping at his door then pacing my way inside, plopping myself down into the chair opposite him and telling him how much I loved him.

  I wasn’t expecting it when I swung the door open that morning and walked straight in on Dr Edwards sitting there in Logan’s seat. My face must have paled, jaw dropping to the floor as she stared over at me.

  “Can I help you, Chloe?” she asked, but there was no way she could help me. Not unless she could click her fingers with a Ta-da! and give me my Logan back.

  My words came tumbling.

  “Lo – I mean, Dr Hall,” I paused. “Is he not in today?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe so. I’ve been asked to cover him on the ward.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and made a hasty dash back out of there, almost bashing into Wendy Briars outside the door.

>   “Whoa, tiger,” she laughed. “You never stop zooming around at lightning speed, do you?”

  The grin on her face was huge, until she caught sight of the horror on mine.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Are you ok, Chloe?”

  I was shaking my head before she’d finished speaking.

  “I don’t think Logan is in, and I need to see him, and I can’t, I don’t know where he is.”

  I knew she knew more than I did. I saw it in her eyes.

  “I, um… I believe he has called in an annual leave day,” she told me. “I believe it’s for a family event.”

  The horror on my face must have been a masterpiece, because it dawned on me. It dawned on me in a second.

  The funeral.

  He was at his mum’s funeral.

  And I couldn’t… I couldn’t believe it… because I should be there… I should be there alongside him.

  “Chloe?” Wendy pushed. “Chloe, are you ok?”

  I was shaking my head again, panic rising.

  There’s no way I shouldn’t be at Jackie’s goodbye. Just no way. No, no way. The tears pricked at my eyes just thinking about it, the woman I admired so much having a send-off without me being there to pay my respects.

  Logan didn’t tell me.

  It rattled around my heart, just the thought of it.

  He was at his mum’s funeral and he didn’t even tell me it was happening.

  “I have to go,” I told her. “Please, Wendy. I have to go. I have to find him.”

  She looked up and down the corridor as I dithered on my feet, a racehorse about to gallop. She could read me. I’m sure she could read me. After all, she was a friend of mine too.

  I was so, so grateful she was.

  “I’ll find someone to cover your shift,” she said. “Get going. Just get going.”

  I managed a bluster of thanks, thanks, thanks, and then I was off, shooting through to the staffroom and throwing on my sweater over my uniform. It was still before 10 a.m., but I didn’t have time to wait. I was already trying Logan’s number before I was out of the ward, cursing under my breath as it rang straight through to voicemail.

  You have reached Dr Logan Hall. I’m sorry I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message.

  I left him a message.

  “Answer me,” I told him. “Please, Logan. Please just answer me.”

  I shoved my phone in my pocket and barely managed a wave to the other nurses before I was out of Franklin Ward. I was zipping out of there, through the main hospital reception and out onto the street, zooming off for Harrow train station before I even really knew where I was heading to.

  Fuck.

  Please, universe. Please bail me the fuck out here.

  I started with the basics. I sat down on a bench on platform one and started searching for funeral director details in Redwood. That’s one thing about Logan. Practicalities. He was the lord of efficiency. No doubt he would have chosen one locally.

  There were two funeral directors in Redwood. I had my fingers crossed – literally – as I called the first number.

  “Webber’s funeral services…”

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m, um… I’m needing to find Jackie Hall’s funeral arrangements. I believe it’s going ahead today…”

  The hover on the line gave me the answer before she did.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any Jackie Hall listed.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I was gone.

  My fingers were trembling as I dialled the second firm. I was mumbling please, please, please, before the receptionist answered, fingers crossed tight again.

  “I’m needing to find Jackie Hall’s funeral arrangements. I believe they might be today. Please could you help me?”

  And thank the universe, she could.

  “Yes,” she said. “The service is at Redwood Crematorium. It takes place at eleven this morning.”

  Eleven.

  Fuck.

  It was ten already.

  “Thanks,” I told her, and hung up the phone.

  I checked the train times, and it was close. There was one in five minutes setting off for Redwood, but I didn’t know how far the crematorium would be from the station. It was pulling in to the platform by the time I’d called up the street map details. Fifteen minutes’ walk time to the venue from the train station.

  It would be close.

  Really damn close.

  I tried Logan again three times on my way there. I tapped my foot on the floor, heart racing past every station until the train pulled in at Redwood, and then I sprinted. The jittery racehorse in me actually sprinted. I galloped through the streets on the way to the crematorium, begging, BEGGING the universe to let me get there in time.

  I could see cars in the crematorium car park before I saw the venue itself. I was out of breath but still racing, pain stabbing like a dagger in my ribs at the sight of the empty hearse parked up by the entrance. I plunged through the doors, my breaths whistling in my ears as I tried to find my way through to the main service room.

  And there it was.

  The entrance.

  A fresh set of double doors, lovely and grand in a heavy shade of brown.

  11.07 a.m.

  I slammed my way in through the doors, expecting to find Logan in an empty room all by himself. But no. It was nothing like that.

  A sea of faces turned to stare at me from either side of the aisle. A whole world of people, different ages dressed all in black.

  And there he was.

  Logan.

  Standing right next to Jackie’s coffin and staring at me, just like everyone else.

  He looked incredible, just like always. His sharp black suit was gorgeous, his dark tie matching the darkness of his eyes just so.

  Here I go.

  Make or break.

  Tiger or mouse.

  My legs were jelly, but my resolve was steel. It would have been so easy to sit my butt down on one of the pews at the back of the room like a meek little pipsqueak, but I didn’t. I just kept on walking.

  The people’s stares turned with me, everyone’s attention fixed right on my jelly-legged footsteps, my chin held high as I closed the distance.

  He was watching me every step of the way, still as a statue as I reached him and sat myself down on the pew at his side.

  I didn’t speak and neither did he, and no matter how hard he tried to hide those shutters, he failed. This time he failed.

  Shock.

  Relief.

  Love.

  I saw it all in his eyes in one tiny flash of a moment. And I knew it. I took a breath in that seat and I knew it.

  I’d done the right thing.

  A woman appeared at the podium, clearing her throat for the service, and he sat himself down at my side close enough that I could feel his warmth through my crappy sweater, completely at odds with the rest of the funereal garb the rest of the crowd was wearing.

  But that didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but Jackie and Logan.

  “Today, we’re here to celebrate the life of Jacqueline Ann Hall,” the woman said.

  49

  Logan

  She was a lifeline in my pain, a beautiful radiance in a stormy world, filled with grey.

  Her being there next to me was a shock that had me reeling inside, but it was shock on top of a whole slammer of shocks that morning – looking around and seeing so many faces coming together to say goodbye to my mum.

  I’d forgotten over the years just how many people Mum had in her life. So many visits, and friends. So much joy and companionship and laughter. I’d turned my back on the whole load of it a long time ago, shutting her up in a guise of security, her in her final days with me, without the stress and interruptions of visitors.

  Yet again, I had been wrong. So fucking wrong.

  I sat down next to my jitterbug, and I couldn’t stop myself, no matter how hard the steel inside wanted to hold firm. I took her hand in mine and squeezed h
er fingers, thanking her without words. She squeezed me right back, and it took everything I had not to wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, letting her know I was sorry for not inviting her there. Sorry for not letting her in.

  The service started up, everyone listening to the funeral celebrant recounting the story of her life. The whole room was attentive, but the shiver of tears were audible, even over the speech. I kept my pain silent, tears flowing but muted. Every emotion inside battling to stay out of view.

  Jacqueline Hall was an amazing woman, full of soul and life.

  Jacqueline loved elephants, and mountains, and sandcastles on the beach… but mostly she loved laughter. Laughter and the people laughing with her.

  Chloe was looking at the coffin, crying tears of her own.

  I realised just then how much of an asshole I’d been for excluding her from something so important to her loss.

  I squeezed her hand again before I let her go to step up to the podium. I cleared my throat before I began talking, feeling a fool for expecting so few people that I hadn’t prepared a speech.

  As it turns out, I didn’t need one. The words just flowed.

  Mum was an amazing woman. So much wisdom in that always laughing head of hers. I learnt so much from her over the years, more than I will ever be able to say…

  Everyone listened. Everyone cried.

  I told them some of my favourite memories, about Mum and I swimming in the sea. About Mum cheering as I first rode my bike down our street, and how she whooped and leapt in the air when I graduated.

  I told them how incredible it is to have a mother like her on your side. How she held me tight when I was scared, and promised me it would all be ok. How she told me jokes in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, and how she read me kid’s stories in amazing funny voices.

  I was almost done when the emotions lost their fight and burst free of me up on that podium. The tears streamed and I choked on my words, taking long moments to compose myself. It should have scorched me, the weaknesses in my armour coming to light. But no. It was ok.

  It was ok because I felt it there through that room. Something I’d been trying to forget for an eternity.