‘What?’ I shrug. ‘It’s not my fault there are different staff working here every time I look up, is it? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen the same nurse twice since I’ve arrived. They should be more organised and know their stuff better.’
‘You’ll get more out of people if you’re nice to them,’ my cousin adds.
‘Whatever.’
‘So the other person involved in your accident is in a bad way, is she? I remember hearing something on the news about an emergency operation. Who is she? Do you know her?’
‘I didn’t until yesterday. We met as we were both taking shelter from the storm and spoke to each other while we were trapped. She probably saved my life, first by pushing me out of the way of some falling debris and then by calling for help on her mobile when mine was out of action. I knew she was hurt at the time, but I didn’t realise how serious her injuries were … She was impaled by one of the scaffolding poles.’
Meg winces, running a hand through her short, spiky hair, which is currently dyed a very light blonde colour. ‘Oh my God. That’s awful. Poor thing.’
‘The pain must have been excruciating. And still she managed to make that phone call. I hope she pulls through. It’s been touch and go so far.’
I recount to Meg how the accident unfolded and how lucky I was to have escaped pretty much unscathed. ‘I’ve got a few minor cuts and bruises, but that seems to be about it, amazingly. I think it’s only because of the blow to my head that they’ve admitted me, to make sure I don’t have a concussion or anything. Fingers crossed, I should be out of here by tomorrow, I reckon.’
‘Does your head hurt?’ she asks, her eyes scanning me up and down.
‘Not as much as it did yesterday. I’m stiff and achy all over, but that’s only to be expected. It’s a miracle I wasn’t crushed. Loads of chunks of masonry came down with the scaffolding. That old building was in a right mess. I couldn’t believe the state of it, from what I could see when they pulled me out. I feel incredibly lucky.’
‘Well, if one good thing has come from this, it’s that you’re seeing the positive side of life for once.’
I frown. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Meg rubs her chin. ‘You’re not exactly Mr Blue Sky, are you, Luke? If I looked up the word pessimist in the dictionary, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a photo of you looking back at me. You’re the very definition of a glass-half-empty person.’
‘Charming,’ I reply, although I don’t bother arguing with her. Life has served me my fair share of lemons and, well, I’ve always preferred a pint of bitter to a glass of lemonade.
A little while later, the nurse I asked about Iris reappears at the end of my bed. I know immediately from the fidgety way she stands there that she has news – and not the good kind.
‘Hello, Mr Craven,’ she says in a timid, sombre voice. ‘I, er, made some enquiries about your, um … about Iris. Her surname’s Lambert, by the way. There’s no easy way to say this … It’s bad news, I’m afraid. Miss Lambert suffered very severe injuries and I’m so sorry to have to inform you that she passed away about an hour ago.’
Her words hit like a baseball bat to my face and gut. ‘W-what,’ I stutter. ‘No, that can’t be right. She was stable the last time I asked. I know she was badly hurt, but … are you sure?’
The nurse looks at Meg and then back at me. With an audible gulp, she adds: ‘Yes, I’m sure. I’m really sorry. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know. Is there anything I—’
‘It’s okay,’ Meg says. ‘I’ll take it from here. Thank you for letting us know.’
Once the nurse has shuffled away, Meg leans over the bed and takes my hand in hers. ‘That must have been tough to hear. Do you want me to pour you a glass of water or—’
‘No, don’t.’ I can’t stop shaking my head in disbelief. ‘Please, give me some space, will you? I feel like throwing up.’
I knew it was possible that Iris wouldn’t make it, but I really thought she’d pull through. Burying my face in my palms, I take one deep breath after another. ‘She seemed lovely and kind. And so young: she can’t have been much over thirty. A doctor too, with her whole life and career ahead of her. Her poor family. They must be beside themselves.’
‘She was a doctor?’ Meg asks.
‘Yes, that was one of the few things she told me about herself. She mentioned that she was losing blood and … Oh God, it should have been me, not her.’
Meg stands up and pulls me into a tight hug, which I resist initially before giving in to it. ‘Don’t you say that, Luke. It’s not for us to decide how these things work. And you have nothing to blame yourself for.’
I hear what she says, but I can’t accept it. I can’t stop thinking it should have been me rather than Iris to have been killed. Why do I deserve to survive and she doesn’t? What do I have to offer to the world compared to her: a young doctor with the potential to make a genuine difference to so many other people’s lives? If she hadn’t had to push me out of the way like she did, while I was being a rabbit in the headlights, maybe things would have turned out differently.
When was the last time I made a difference, other than by tidying up someone’s hair? It’s true what Meg said about me being a pessimist. And that’s only half the story. Misanthropic, crotchety, self-centred – all words that could, objectively, be used to describe me. If I was stuck in hospital for a month, I’d be shocked if anyone other than my cousin came to visit. And considering our falling-out, I’m lucky she’s here. I’m not even sure that Alfred would miss me much, as long as someone else kept him fed and watered.
‘Luke?’ Meg snaps her fingers in front of my face, dragging me back into the moment. ‘Is everything all right? Where did you go just now? You were away with the fairies. I was about to call a nurse. Could this be something to do with your head injury?’
I shake my head to clear it. ‘Um, no. I’m fine. I was thinking, that’s all.’
‘What about?’
‘Iris mainly. I can’t believe she’s gone. I really thought she’d make it, even if the odds were stacked against her. She seemed so capable – so together. It probably sounds ridiculous for me to say that. Like such characteristics would make any difference when—’
‘Take it easy,’ Meg says, knitting her brow, her piercing blue eyes scrutinising mine, silently reiterating her concern for my wellbeing. I do as she says and stop talking. Try to clear my racing mind. It works to a degree, but there’s a knot in my stomach that’s not going anywhere and I can’t get Iris out of my head. I’m picturing her standing before me in that bright yellow raincoat when I realise there’s a blank where her face should be.
Try as I might, I can’t picture it. Not too surprising, considering we only met that one time – and yet it was only yesterday. I desperately want to remember. She deserves that at the very least. But it’s no good. I can’t do it, and it’s frustrating the hell out of me. Then a thought pops into my mind and, as soon as I think it, I have to say something to Meg.
‘I’m going to go to her funeral,’ I tell her. ‘There’s no way I can miss it.’
‘Okay. I get that.’
‘Could you do one little thing for me? It’s related.’
‘What’s that, then?’ There’s a wary tone to her voice.
‘Could you see if you can find out some details of Iris and her family now, while everyone’s here in one place? Otherwise, how will I know where and when the funeral’s going to be held?’
Seeing my cousin’s wariness become hesitance, I add: ‘I’d do it myself, but I’m effectively chained to the bed. They’ve told me I need to stay put. And I doubt the medical staff will simply hand out that kind of information if I ask them.’
Meg lets out a little sigh. ‘You want me to approach her grieving family now – right after they’ve lost her?’
‘All I know is that I really need to go to that funeral. I have to pay my respects.’
‘Fine, leave it with me, bu
t on the proviso that you stop stressing yourself out. Close your eyes and try to have a snooze, yes? You look like you desperately need it. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
CHAPTER 4
‘Well? How do I scrub up?’
Alfred opens his eyes as I kneel to ruffle the fur on his head. He slides them shut again when he sees there’s nothing exciting going on, such as a snack from the magic jar of cat treats – guaranteed to get his attention and temporary subservience, thus kept well out of his way on a high shelf.
‘I’ll take your silence as a compliment,’ I say, stroking him in slow, sweeping waves along the length of his body, which is stretched out on the carpet next to the radiator in the hall. ‘You think I look very smart, right? Perhaps I should get suited and booted more often. People might take me more seriously.’
Alfred meows at me, his eyes still shut.
I’ll never forget when I first wore this outfit – charcoal suit, black tie, white shirt, black brogues. How could I? I bought it specially for my parents’ funeral. I close my eyes for a moment and I’m back there again, sitting on a hard pew at the front of the church on that horrendous day.
There were people – family and friends – on either side of me, and so many more behind them, but I’d never felt more alone.
How could Mum and Dad both be gone, torn mercilessly away from me without even the hint of a warning … forever? How could I be expected to manage without them?
I kept asking myself if this was actually happening. It didn’t feel real.
The dreaded day’s events were unfolding like a terrible dream. But this was far worse: a living, breathing nightmare from which there was no waking up, no escape. It kept inching forward. I couldn’t stop it.
The vicar started speaking. Had there been music before that? I couldn’t recall. Nor could I tune into the words being spoken in front of me. And the very last thing I wanted to do was look up, because that would have meant seeing the coffins again – both of them – knowing they contained the vacant, broken bodies of my parents. So I stared down at my stiff new shoes and tried to keep breathing, despite the tightness in my chest. I willed my heart to harden to spare me any more of this unbearable pain.
‘Luke, are you okay?’ More words, whispered into my ear this time, accompanied by a squeeze of my hand. But that felt no more real than anything else. I nodded all the same. But I wasn’t okay, of course. What an absurd question.
How could anyone be okay on the worst day of their life?
I drag myself back into the present and to the bathroom mirror. A red swarm now shrouds the light blue hue of my eyes; my cheeks glisten with tears.
‘Come on, Luke,’ I tell myself, splashing my face with cold water. ‘Today’s not about you. It’s about Iris and the family she left behind.’
A few minutes later, the buzzer goes and I tell Meg through the intercom that I’m coming down.
‘I’m going out now,’ I say to Alfred. ‘You’re in charge. There’s plenty of food and water to keep you going. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Slipping on my black, double-breasted mac as the final piece of my sombre outfit, I let myself out. Ideally, I’d like to wear a hat too, but since I don’t own one smart enough, I’ll have to accept having a cold head. Oh, the joys of going bald.
While exiting through the front door of the building, I flinch as I spot my elderly neighbour Doreen approaching from outside.
‘Please could you hold the door?’ she calls, speeding up her walk to the point where she starts to waddle.
Doreen’s in her late seventies, I think. She has white hair, wavy and short, neatly brushed into a side parting. Today she’s dressed in brown cords, a thick red woolly jumper and a green raincoat.
I haven’t run into her since the scaffolding incident. I wouldn’t blame her for saying ‘I told you so’ after the abrupt way I dismissed her storm warning that day. But if she’s aware of what happened, she doesn’t let on, to my relief.
‘Thank you, Liam,’ she says as I let her inside. ‘Just been for my daily constitutional.’
She’s always called me Liam, for some reason. I used to correct her at first, but it didn’t make any difference, so eventually I just accepted it.
I keep myself to myself when it comes to the other folk in my building, not wanting to get too friendly in case they get the wrong idea and start bothering me with annoying stuff like watering plants when they’re away or helping them to put up shelves. It’s not like I specifically chose to live near any of these people. So why do we need to be friends?
You’d think my general surliness would have made my feelings about this pretty clear. However, Doreen has always persevered, regardless.
‘You look very smart today,’ she says. ‘Going somewhere special?’
‘Something like that,’ I say, not wanting to discuss the funeral with her. ‘Anyway, my, um, cousin is waiting to pick me up. Got to dash.’
Meg’s white Mini is parked just along the road. I climb into the passenger seat and greet my cousin with a kiss on the cheek. ‘You look nice,’ I tell her. She’s wearing a demure black midi dress with a pleated front and matching cardigan; her hair is a little less spiky than usual and her makeup more subtle. The result is a fresh-faced, naturally pretty look that she doesn’t present to the world too often but suits her well.
‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ she replies. ‘How are things?’
‘Fine. Thanks for offering to pick me up and come with me. I appreciate it, especially after … you know, the last few months.’
‘Wow, someone’s on their best behaviour today.’ Meg smiles and squeezes my hand. ‘I’m happy to help.’
‘Is Ellen covering the shop for you?’
‘Yep.’
Must be nice to have someone to do that. It’s not so easy when you run a business with no employees other than yourself. I’ve decided to stay closed all day today – and not for the first time since the accident. I may have escaped more or less uninjured, but it hasn’t exactly made me feel like grafting. Luckily, I’m in a position where I can afford to miss the odd day’s work, knowing it won’t break the bank.
‘Is that one of yours?’ I ask, pointing towards a swirly ring on her left hand that looks like it’s made from barbed wire.
Meg runs a small contemporary jewellery store on the other side of the Northern Quarter from my barbershop. It’s not the kind of jeweller where you buy fancy watches and diamond rings, but rather one with lots of affordable, quirky original designs, mainly using silver. Most of what she sells, she makes herself in a little studio at the back. It’s amazing how creative she is. She’s great at what she does and seems to really enjoy it. Ellen’s a long-term employee and friend who serves in the shop a couple of days a week so Meg can focus on the production side of things.
There’s a twinkle in my cousin’s eye as she replies: ‘Yes, it’s a new design I’ve been working on. Do you like it?’
‘I do. It looks great, as usual.’
She throws me a raised-eyebrow glance. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere. How’s the head, by the way?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘It doesn’t hurt at all any more?’
‘Thankfully not.’
‘That’s good news.’
The conversation inevitably turns to the funeral, which is being held at a church in Prestwich, a suburb to the north of the city centre, followed by a cremation.
In light of our chat, Meg managed to speak to someone from Iris’s family at the hospital while I was still an inpatient there. They exchanged phone numbers and so, once the arrangements were finalised, by which time I’d been released back home, she was able to furnish me with details of the ceremony.
Just over two weeks have passed since that fateful night when Iris and I were trapped. If anything, it feels longer. I’ve been itching for this day to come, hoping the funeral will give me the chance to get some kind of closure. However, now it’s finally here, I
’m not sure what I’m hoping to achieve by turning up. I feel increasingly nervous as we make the short journey, with Meg using her mobile, mounted on the dashboard, to direct us to the right location, since neither of us has been there before.
‘Why do you keep sighing?’ she asks me at one point.
‘Do I? Sorry, I didn’t realise. It must be nerves.’
‘You do seem really on edge, Luke. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can turn around and take you back home if you like, no problem. There’s zero pressure from anyone other than yourself. No one expects you to attend.’
‘I’m fine,’ I reply, taking a deep breath and then, suddenly aware of what I’m doing, letting the air back out as slowly and quietly as possible. ‘Honestly, it’s cool. I need to do this, Meg.’
The church is at the end of a long, winding street off the main road we’ve followed most of the way out of Manchester. As we drive down it, the trendy bars and restaurants at the top end give way to a mix of traditional terraced houses and a few modern semis. We pass an electricity substation and a working men’s club before reaching a small parking area that’s full to the brim. A crowd is already gathered in the churchyard: a mix of old and young, sombre faces, wrapped up in dark coats.
‘Did you notice any parking spaces on the side of the road?’ Meg asks me as she swings the car around. ‘There’s no way we’re fitting in here.’
‘No. I, er, wasn’t really looking. Sorry.’
It takes a few minutes of searching, as the street is chock-a-block with traffic, but we eventually find a spot with enough room to wedge in the Mini.
‘You’ve done this before,’ I tell Meg after she reverses into the space in one go and turns off the engine.
‘Only about a million times.’
It’s a bit of a walk back to the church; when we get there, the tail end of the crowd is shuffling into the main entrance, so we do the same.
‘Let’s find a spot somewhere near the back,’ I whisper into Meg’s ear, glad to have her with me. She nods in agreement, but once we get inside, it’s clear that’s not going to happen. All the rear and middle pews are full, with the only room remaining being on the front four rows, which have presumably been left clear for close family and friends.
How to Save a Life Page 3
