by Mark Edwards
He might have lost the use of his limbs. He might be suffering from amnesia. He might not be able to speak properly, although that didn’t seem to be too much of a worry. Eventually, Paul’s waking sentence would become a thing of legend among those who knew him. I feel like shit. It was so classic, so quintessentially Paul. Jamie knew that Heather, though, would always remember that his first very word upon waking had actually been her name.
They bought tea and coffee and sat around a table in the centre of the canteen.
‘I knew he’d wake up,’ said Jamie. ‘I always knew it. We just had to give him time.’
‘It was our prayers that did it,’ said Paul’s mum. ‘Our prayers and our faith.’
‘It was time,’ Jamie repeated softly.
‘What did Doctor Meer say about keeping him in the hospital?’ Paul’s father asked Kirsty.
‘He said that first of all there was no guarantee that Paul would stay awake. But if he does, they’ll have to keep him in for a while for observation. His body’s undergone a severe trauma. His muscles have been unused for so quite a while, so he’s going to be ever so weak. He’ll have to have a lot of physio. It won’t be easy. Plus they have to check his brain, make sure there isn’t any lasting damage. Even assuming he’s all right, he’ll probably be disorientated and confused. We can’t expect him to be his normal self – not straight away, anyway.’
‘He’s back,’ said Paul’s mum. ‘For now, that’s all that matters.’
‘I’m going to ask him to marry me,’ said Heather.
All heads swivelled towards her.
‘We could make it a double wedding,’ said Jamie. Attention turned to him. ‘Kirsty and I decided last night that we’re going to get married. And we’ve got some other news.’
Kirsty shot him a look. Shit. He’d forgotten, in his excitement, that he was supposed to wait till she was twelve weeks. Before he could think of some other news to share – we’re buying a new sofa, for example – Kirsty said, ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh Kirsty!’ Heather leaned across the table and kissed her. ‘That’s excellent news.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Paul’s dad.
‘It’s been a somewhat overwhelming twenty-four hours,’ said Jamie.
Kirsty stood up. ‘I need to go to the loo.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Heather.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’
Jamie said, ‘Have you still got a bad stomach?’
‘Yes.’ To prove it, she hurried off.
‘We had an Indian last night,’ Jamie explained to the others, ‘and we were both sick this morning.’
‘Oh.’ Nobody was very interested. Paul had woken up. That was all that mattered. The news about Kirsty’s pregnancy was secondary right now. They were itching to get back to Paul’s room. They needed to know how he was.
Kirsty came back looking pale, and a few minutes later a nurse appeared. ‘Would you like to come back now?’ she said.
‘How is he?’ asked Paul’s mum.
The nurse smiled. ‘Why don’t you come and see for yourself?’
They filed back into the room. Doctor Meer was standing beside the bed, looking pleased, hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat. Paul was propped up with a pillow behind his back. He looked like the living dead, his eyes open but empty of feeling. Jamie wanted him to smile – wished his face would light up with that boyish grin – but he just looked at them, impassive. Heather, Kirsty and Paul’s parents each went up to him and hugged him. He didn’t reciprocate; his arms hung loosely by his side, his hands concealed beneath the sheets. When Heather pulled away Paul looked at her as if she was a stranger.
Amnesia, Jamie thought. He stepped forward, a cautious smile on his face. ‘Alright, mate?’ he said.
Paul nodded, still expressionless.
‘You do remember who we all are, don’t you?’
The others exchanged worried glances.
Paul looked at them all. After a long pause, during which Jamie noticed how silent it was in here without the constant bip-bip-bip of the heart monitor, he said, ‘Of course I remember. Mum. Dad. Jamie. Kirsty. And Heather.’ He pointed at the doctor. ‘I don’t think I’ve been introduced to this guy though.’
Doctor Meer stepped forward and told Paul his name.
‘And you’ve been looking after me?’
‘Not just Doctor Meer,’ said Paul’s mum. ‘All the nurses here, and your dad and me, and Heather and Kirsty and Jamie. We’ve all sat with you, Paul, waiting for you to wake up.’ Tears bubbled to the surface again, and she produced a damp tissue and blew her nose.
‘So I suppose I owe you all my thanks.’
‘You don’t owe us anything, son,’ said Paul’s dad.
‘We’re just so pleased to have you back,’ said Heather.
Paul brought his hands out from beneath the sheet and studied them. His voice was hoarse. ‘I feel so weak. All my muscles – I feel like a newborn kitten. It feels horrible.’
‘We’re going to have to build you up again, Paul,’ said Doctor Meer. ‘We have a program of physical therapy already planned out for you. It’s going to be hard work – but soon you’ll be back to peak fitness.’
Paul rubbed his eyes. ‘God, I had such dreams.’ He looked up, cast his gaze over each of them in turn, finally settling on Jamie.
‘I want to talk to Jamie,’ he said.
‘No, you need to rest,’ said the doctor. ‘Jamie can come back later.’ He turned to the group. ‘Paul’s not ready to talk to all of you yet. He needs time to adjust to being back among…the living. I know you’re all desperate to talk to Paul, but I have to put his well-being first.’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ Jamie said, as Doctor Meer ushered them out again.. As they left the room, Jamie looked back over his shoulder. Paul had already closed his eyes.
Over the next seventy-two hours, they were allowed in to see Paul one at a time. Jamie had to wait until Paul’s parents and Heather had taken their turn. The waiting was agony, but made bearable by the fact that Paul was now conscious: that he was back among the living, as the doctor phrased it.
Jamie grabbed the plastic chair he had sat on so many times and pulled it close to the bed. Paul looked a little better now, the effects of the long sleep fading from his face. He was still on a drip, but that awful bip-bip-bip noise had gone. There were magazines piled up by the bed, which Paul hadn’t touched.
‘What happened?’ Paul asked. ‘Heather told me the details but I can’t quite get my head round it. I want to hear it from you.’
‘You don’t remember it?’
‘I remember the go-kart race. I know I won. But the last thing I recall is crossing the finishing line.’
‘One of the other racers crashed into the back of your kart. I didn’t see it, but we were told that Chris braked too quickly in front of the other racer, making him swerve into you.’
‘That’s what Heather said. Poor Chris. I bet he feels really guilty.’
‘What? Why did you say poor Chris? He’s not the one they carted off in an ambulance.’
‘But to cause an accident like that, especially after we’d been getting on so well. He must have felt so…what’s the word? Oh, my head feels fuzzy.’ He concentrated. ‘Remorseful.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘He hasn’t exactly shown it. Paul, you don’t know what’s been going on while you’ve been in here. Chris and Lucy have turned into the neighbours from hell. I’ve been trying not to think about it while you were in the coma, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Chris had done it on purpose. They’ve been writing us letters, taping us having sex, joining us to endless clubs. You wouldn’t believe what…’
Paul yawned, the high-pitched noise drowning Jamie out. He realised Paul hadn’t been listening to a word he said. ‘You’ll have to tell me about it some other time. I’m too tired to concentrate.’
Jamie nodded. He didn’t want to upset Paul or do anything to hinder his recove
ry. ‘Do you want me to go already?’
‘Not just yet.’ He yawned again, and then a smile crept across his lips. ‘I gather everyone was heartbroken and worried that I wouldn’t come back.’
‘You could say that.’
Paul’s smile widened. ‘That’s good.’
Jamie was shocked. ‘I don’t think it’s something to be pleased about. We’ve really suffered, Paul.’
‘Oh come on, wouldn’t you be pleased to hear that everyone was really worried about you? It’s like going to your own funeral and seeing everyone crying over you and saying what a good bloke you were.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘You’re obviously not feeling yourself at the moment.’
Paul didn’t say anything.
Jamie looked around the ward, at the flowers beside the bed, the MP3 player in the corner so Paul could be played his favourite music. ‘The other day, you said something about having dreams.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. Before Doctor Meer asked us to leave.’
‘Of course I’ve had dreams. I’ve been asleep for a long time.’
‘What kind of dreams?’
Paul closed his eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe I’ll tell you later.’
‘Were they bad dreams?’
‘I said I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘OK.’ He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. He was cold beneath his pyjamas. ‘OK.’
Paul tried to smile. ‘What have I missed while I’ve been away?’
‘Oh, quite a bit. Kirsty’s pregnant.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, Heather told me. Congratulations.’ There was little sincerity in his voice.
‘And we’re going to get married.’
Paul rolled his eyes.
Undeterred, Jamie said, ‘Maybe it will be you and Heather next.’
‘I don’t think so somehow. God, I don’t even know what she’s been up to while I’ve been in here.’
Jamie exhaled. ‘She’s been absolutely grief-stricken. She’s been coming here every day to sit by your bed. Every time I see her she ends up crying. For some bizarre reason – and don’t ask me what it is – she loves you.’
‘I suppose it’s quite romantic, having a boyfriend in a coma. I bet it makes her feel really noble and worthy. It’s a great way to get sympathy.’
‘Paul! I can’t believe you can think that.’
‘Yeah, well. We’ll see if she’s still so keen now I’m back in the land of the living.’
All of a sudden, Jamie wanted to get out. He wanted to talk to Paul again after he’d had more time to adjust to what had happened to him. He knew this wasn’t the real Paul talking. This was someone who’d just woken up after a long time in another place.
‘I’d better go,’ Jamie said. ‘You need to rest.’
Paul nodded and Jamie stood up. He felt like he ought to be blissfully happy. His girlfriend was pregnant, he was getting married and now his best friend had come back from the dead. He ought to be ecstatic, but instead…
He shook away the feeling of foreboding and looked back at Paul, who was studying his hands again, flexing his fingers, casting shadows on the whitewashed walls.
‘Welcome back,’ he said, under his breath.
Fifteen
‘So how was Paul?’ Kirsty asked when Jamie got home. She had taken a couple of days off work; she still felt unwell, as if there was something poisonous still working its way out of her system. She was in bed reading a book about pregnancy, a glass of water beside her.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got a horrible headache.’
‘Why don’t you come to bed?’
‘Good idea.’
He undressed and slid beneath the cool quilt, closing his eyes. It was early evening; the birdsong outside had ceased and shadows were beginning to darken the room.
Kirsty turned over to face the wall. She closed her eyes. She could still feel the rumblings deep down in her stomach. It was nothing to do with being pregnant. It was illness, impure and simple.
‘It’s so good to have Paul back, though, isn’t it?’ she murmured drowsily.
‘Yes it is. But–’ He realised that, within that second, she had fallen asleep.
When Jamie awoke, it was dark. He squinted at the bedside clock. It was nine. They’d been asleep for several hours. His mouth felt like something had died in it or like he’d been eating fur. He sat up and scratched his chest then crossed to the window, pulling back one edge of the curtain and peering out at the quiet night.
He sniffed. There was a strange smell in the air, faint but unpleasant. At first he thought it might be gas, but it was too pungent. In fact, it was making him feel sick so, despite the chill, he opened the window. It didn’t help, so he pushed down the sash window, harder than he intended so it closed with a bang. In the bed, Kirsty groaned. ‘What time is it?’
He crawled onto the bed and kissed her hot forehead. ‘Just gone nine.’
‘Bloody hell. We’ve missed the whole evening. Hey, what are you doing?’
‘Lighting an incense stick. There’s a horrible smell in the air.’
He found a packet of lavender joss sticks and lit one, waving it around like a Bonfire Night sparkler, trails of lavender smoke curling to the ceiling and cleansing the room.
Kirsty said, ‘I couldn’t smell anything.’
She got out of bed and stretched her arms above her head. Jamie moved towards her, putting one hand just above her hip, leaning into her.
‘Ooh, your breath.’ She waved him away.
‘Thanks.’ He put his arms around her and kissed her neck.
‘You’ve got morning mouth, Jamie. Even though it is nine pm.’
‘I’ll clean my teeth.’
‘Yes, do that. But I’m getting up now. I’m not in the mood for sex. My stomach still hurts a bit.’
‘It’s not because you’re worried about making noise?’
She tutted. ‘No. For God’s sake, Jamie, I’ve just got a stomach ache.’
‘Alright, there’s no need to snap.’
He walked into the bathroom and cleaned his teeth. He felt guilty, but also concerned. Their sex life had dwindled since the Newtons had sent them the CD. Obviously, there was a lot more to their relationship than sex, but sex with Kirsty was still pretty much his favourite thing in the world and he hated the fact that it had been marred by the worry that they were being listened to every time they did it. They could pretend defiance, but when it came down to it, that knowledge meant they could no longer relax one hundred percent. Those bastards downstairs were clever – he had to give them that. He bet this was exactly the effect they had intended.
He splashed his face with icy water and told himself to snap out of it. What did it matter, anyway? Sex, or the lack of it, was the least of his concerns at the moment. His whole life was going to change. He leaned against the sink, water dripping from his face into the basin. He opened his eyes and caught sight of something running across the bathroom floor.
‘I just saw a real fuck-off spider in the bathroom,’ he said to Kirsty as they stood dressing in the bedroom.
‘What? Where did it go?’
‘Behind the toilet.’
‘And you didn’t try to catch it?’
‘I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now.’
Kirsty walked into the hall and peered into the bathroom without actually daring to go in there. Spiders terrified her and she hated herself for it: she didn’t want to be a pathetic female stereotype; but then, surely everyone was entitled to have at least one irrational weakness? Arachnophobia ran in her family. Her mum, her grandmother, her dad: they were all hopeless when it came to small, eight-legged creatures. It was the way they moved…oh God it made her go all cold and shivery inside. And in her imagination, the spiders were always much bigger than they really were. Multiply their size by five, or ten, or more. An average household spider turned into a tarantula. A common or garden British spide
r became a bird-eating monstrosity; a funnel-web beast that lay in wait for her behind the toilet, all eyes and teeth and long furry legs.
‘What did you mean when you said it was a fuck-off spider?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Was it really big?’ she called out. ‘Come on, you’ve got to tell me.’
Jamie was really regretting saying anything. ‘No, not that big. It was barely bigger than a five pence piece.’
‘You’re just trying to make me feel better.’ She went back into the bedroom and climbed on the bed. ‘You’ll have to catch it.’
‘But it ran behind the toilet. It’s probably disappeared beneath the floorboards by now. Kirsty, it was only a spider.’
She glared at him. ‘You know how I feel about spiders. And I shouldn’t be exposed to any stress in my condition.’ She touched her stomach.
Jamie realised she had found a way of making him do anything she asked over the coming months. He sighed. He loved her but sometimes she drove him mad. Her terror of spiders was so irrational. She was about a thousand times bigger than a spider. If this was Australia and the spiders were poisonous he’d understand it. But these were British spiders. They were pathetic little things. Completely harmless.
He went back into the bathroom and got down on his hands and knees. He peered behind the toilet. There were some dust-smothered cobwebs, but no sign of the spider. It had been quite big – one of those brown spiders with furry legs that they sometimes found in the bath (with Kirsty having to disinfect it after Jamie had scooped the creature up and thrown it out the window) – but Jamie wished he hadn’t described it as a ‘fuck-off’ spider. What with all the excitement and too much sleep, he hadn’t been thinking straight. He wondered if he should pretend that he had found the spider and act out throwing it out the window. No, she would know he was lying, and that would only make things worse – especially if it reappeared later.
