“In the back,” Hannah directs. “I’ll get in the back too.”
“I’ll get dressed and follow on,” Cliff says as he lifts Luke into the car and buckles his belt for him. “You go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Daad!” Luke wails as he realises that Cliff is stepping away from the car.
“I’m coming,” Hannah says, climbing next to him. “I’m with you. You’re gonna be fine.”
Fresh blood is still running down Luke’s face. “Give me the towel too,” Hannah says, and Jill runs back, scoops it from the floor and hands it to her.
“I’ll call you,” Tristan tells them, already starting the engine. “I’ll call you as soon as we get there.”
The traffic is light, and it takes them less than ten minutes to reach the hospital.
During the journey, Hannah holds Luke in her arms and strokes his hair, and perhaps because of this or perhaps because he’s simply exhausted, his wailing fades to a series of quiet, whiny sobs.
In Grasse, Tristan drives to the entrance to the Accident and Emergency dock and parks next to a red pompier’s truck. Someone berates them – in French – for parking where they have, but Tristan says, with irony, “I didn’t understand a word of that, did you?” and they push on into the emergency ward.
The rows of plastic chairs inside contain only two other people: a single arab man with his arm in a sling and an old grey-haired woman who looks like she may have been living, for some years, under a bridge.
The receptionist takes one look at Luke and uses the tannoy system to call for a nurse. The nurse, in turn, takes one look at Luke and trots off in search of a doctor. The rapid escalation confirms what Hannah thought – that this is serious. Her heart starts to race.
Tristan, in fact, is reassured by their rapidity. “It certainly beats England,” he says. “When I broke my finger in London, I had to wait two hours before anyone even spoke to me.”
“But this isn’t a broken finger, is it?” Hannah says.
“No,” Tristan agrees. “But you get my point.”
“I do.”
“Do you want me to phone Cliff?” Tristan asks. “I didn’t even give him the address yet.”
Hannah shakes her head. “There’s no point yet. Wait till they tell us something.” It seems to her, at this instant, that adding another stressed adult to the mix would be more of a hindrance than a help.
In just over a minute, the nurse reappears with a young doctor in tow. He crouches down in front of Luke and points a torch into his eye whilst attempting to lift his eyelid. Luke shrieks and begins to cry again.
“OK,” the doctor says. “Emmène-le directement en ophtalmologie.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah says, “but do you speak English?”
“We must take you upstairs,” the nurse says. “Come.”
She leads them to a lift and on up to the third floor. “You have very good chance,” she tells them in the lift. “The Doctor Graffin is ‘ere today. Surgeon. He is very good. Really.”
The word surgeon makes all of the hairs on Hannah’s neck stand on end, which is the exact opposite of what the nurse intended.
When the lift doors open, she leads them along a seemingly endless corridor and through multiple sets of double doors, and finally into a small room where the surgeon is standing with his back to them talking on the phone.
Hannah places Luke on one of the two chairs in the room and places her palm at the base of her back and stretches. One more year and she won’t be able to carry him at all.
The doctor ends his conversation quickly and turns to face them. He is over six feet tall with olive skin and deep-brown almost black irises. An imposing presence, he shakes Hannah’s and Luke’s hands, and then crouches down in front of Luke.
“Ils sont anglais,” the nurse tells him.
“English, huh?” the surgeon says, his accent a mixture of American and French.
“Yes.”
“So we ‘ave a little accident, huh?”
“Yes.”
“How this ‘appen? You tell me, please?”
“A diving mask,” Tristan says. He is met with blank looks from both the doctor and the nurse. Lacking essential vocabulary, notably the words for mask and diving, Tristan performs a rather impressive charade involving putting on a mask and diving into a pool, swimming, and whacking himself in the face. Were the circumstances not so dire, it would be pretty funny.
“I understand,” Doctor Graffin says, restraining a smirk and reaching into his desk drawer to pull out a pair of powered magnifying goggles which he clips across his eyes.
“Superpower goggles,” Tristan says. “What do you think of those, Luke?”
Luke, apparently paralysed by fear, remains silent.
The surgeon then grasps Luke’s head with one hand, and pulls back his eyelid with the other provoking a quivering round of sobs.
“He needs to look and see what’s wrong,” Hannah whispers. “Try to be still for him. You’re being amazingly brave Luke.”
The doctor straightens almost immediately. “OK, my little friend,” he says. “You have glass in your eye. We will ‘ave to take that out and very quick is better. How long this ‘appen?”
“About half an hour now,” Tristan says, checking the time on his phone. “Maybe forty-five minutes.”
“It’s good. You are very quick.”
“Is that difficult?” Hannah asks, “to get the glass out, I mean. Will he be OK?”
The doctor gives her a gallic shrug. “It’s a little operation. ‘e should be. But you know, the eye is a delicate organe. You are the mother, yes?”
Hannah nods. She feels a wave of shame, as if this question is in fact some accusation of responsibility. And she fears that the accusation is reasonable. She should have been watching them.
“Good,” he says. “The nurse will get the form. I ‘ope we can do it right now.” he glances at his watch. “You are lucky. Is quiet today. Very quiet. Is strange.”
He rattles off some French at the nurse, who leaves, then says, “I return. Please, stay,” and follows her through the door.
“He sent her to get consent forms,” Tristan says. “And something or other financial forms.”
“I need to get Cliff to bring that card thing in,” Hannah says.
“The E111? Have you got one of those?”
“They don’t exist anymore. It’s a European Health Card or something now,” Hannah says. “But yes. We got one before we left. Didn’t you?”
Tristan shrugs. “Didn’t cross my mind.”
“I’m not even sure what it covers,” Hannah says, “But to be honest, I don’t care. When he says operation, that’s not with a general anaesthetic, though, is it? They’re not going to put him to sleep?”
“I don’t want a general anaesthetic,” Luke says. “Don’t let them put me to sleep.”
Hannah realises that the only time Luke has ever heard the term, put to sleep, was in reference to their previous cat. She regrets the turn of phrase immediately.
“A general anaesthetic is just when they give you something to make you snooze for half an hour,” Hannah says. “So they can fix things without it hurting while you’re asleep. But it’s not always necessa–”
At that moment the nurse reappears with a wad of paperwork on a clipboard.
“Can you ask her, Tris’?” Hannah says.
“I don’t know what general anaesthetic is in French,” Tristan says.
“Anaesthesie generale,” the nurse says.
“And will Luke need one?” Hannah asks.
“Yes,” the nurse says. “Yes for the kids, with the eyes, always. Otherwise they are moving too much.”
“I won’t move,” Luke says. “I promise.”
“Is it really necessary?” Hannah asks.
The nurse nods. “Yes,” she says. “Is necessary.”
“It’s better really, Luke,” Tristan says. “If I had the choice, I’d have one too. Have a nice
little snooze in a comfy bed and when you wake up we’ll be next to you watching over you and it will all be fixed.”
With the nurse and Tristan working together, they translate and answer almost fifty questions about Luke’s medical past, his allergies, drug histories, and blood type, and then the nurse leaves Hannah to read and sign the other forms: an admissions request, a financial resources form, and a consent form.
“I can’t translate half of this,” Tristan tells her, studying the first page.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Hannah says as she puts her initials on each page. “There isn’t really any choice, so... But call Cliff for me, would you?”
When she has finished the forms, Tristan dials Cliff’s number and hands Hannah the phone.
She tells him that they are going to operate, and that she is randomly signing anything that they put in front of her. She asks him to agree that this is the right thing for her to be doing.
“I guess so,” Cliff says. “Unless you want me to phone Europe assistance and see what they say.”
“What could they possibly say?” Hannah asks.
“I don’t know. They might tell us if it’s a good hospital or not, or if it’s better to fly him home, or...”
“There’s no time, Cliff,” Hannah says. “They said it’s urgent that they get the glass out. And it is a good hospital. I can tell.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just... I don’t know. I just can. It’s clean and friendly and we’ve been here less than an hour and we’ve already seen the surgeon.”
“Well, just go with the flow then,” Cliff says. “You know best. Give me the address and I’ll come and join you. And I will phone Europe Assistance just in case.”
“Oh, the nurse is here. We have to go. Don’t come now. I’ll... I’ll phone you when we’ve stopped rushing around.” Hannah hands Tristan’s phone back. “Thanks,” she says.
The nurse leads them to a pre-op ward where they lay Luke, fully clothed on a gurney, take a blood sample to confirm his blood type, and inject him with a sedative.
“You’re being so brave,” Hannah tells him. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It didn’t really hurt,” Luke says of the injection.
“This is amazing service,” Tristan comments. “I mean, we’ve only been here an hour, and they’re prepping him for S–”
Hannah raises her hand, silencing him. “Scary word,” she mouths.
Tristan nods. “Sorry,” he says.
“How are you doing there?” Hannah asks Luke.
“Sleepy,” he says, his head already lolling.
Yet another nurse appears, checks over Hannah’s paperwork, and then she and Hannah wrestle Luke’s floppy body from his clothes and into a hospital gown.
“OK, je le prends,” she says, kicking off the brakes on the trolley. “À tout à l’heure.”
“She says she can take it from here,” Tristan translates.
“Sure,” Hannah says, reaching out to grasp the rail of the trolley as a wave of panic sweeps over her. “I can go with him, right? Tell me I can go with him?”
Tristan translates Hannah’s question, but the nurses reply is clear enough. “Non.”
“But he’s eleven,” Hannah says. She’s breaking out in a sweat at the idea of abandoning her son to these strangers.
“I think it’s normal, Han’,” Tristan says. “It’s an operating theatre.”
“S’il vous plaït,” the nurse says, nodding at Hannah’s whitened knuckles, and so she slowly releases her grip.
“How long, Tristan? Ask her how long it will be,” Hannah says as the nurse pulls the trolley from her, expertly spins it, and then begins to push it towards the double doors.
“One hour.” The nurse casts the words over her shoulder as she pushes through the doors. “Maybe one hour and half. You wait here, and I come get you for wake up.” She points at the waiting room, and then she and Luke vanish beyond the closing doors.
In the small, empty waiting room, Hannah sits, then stands and paces to the window, then walks back and sits and sighs before standing up all over again. “I just don’t know what to do with myself,” she says.
“I know,” Tristan says, chewing a fingernail. “It’s horrible.”
“He’ll be OK, won’t he?” Hannah asks.
Tristan’s honest reaction would be to shrug, but he suppresses this and nods. “Of course he will,” he says. “They said it was good that we got him here so quickly. And the nurse said that the surgeon is a good one.”
“But she would say that, wouldn’t she?”
“I’m not sure,” Tristan says. “I have known a few nurses in my time – of the male variety of course – and they rarely had a good word to say about the doctors. So I think that it’s a good sign.”
“This is my fault,” Hannah says. “So stupid of me leaving them in the pool unattended. Anything could have happened. Anything has happened.”
“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” Tristan says. “I should never have bought him that mask.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that this would happen,” Hannah says.
“No, well... Nor could you.”
“I think Aïsha smashed it,” Hannah says. “She seemed guilty. That girl so needs some discipline.”
“But she got him out of the water,” Tristan points out. “That can’t have been easy. Luke’s almost as big as her now.”
“Yes,” Hannah says with a sigh. “Yes, I suppose so.”
A series of images of Luke with a missing eye spontaneously manifest on the projection screen of Hannah’s mind – an empty eye socket, a sewn up eyelid, a glass eye pointing the wrong way – and the weight of tears that have been building since the day’s drama began suddenly overwhelms her. She sinks into the nearest chair and puts her head in her hands and lets the tears roll down her face. Her body shudders.
Tristan crosses the room and sits next to her and drapes one arm around her shoulders.
“God, I hope he’s OK,” Hannah says through snuffles. “I love that boy so much. I just couldn’t bear...”
“I’m sure he will be,” Tristan says again. “Do you want me to call Cliff?” he asks, unsure as to how best to deal with Hannah’s tears. He doesn’t really know her that well.
Hannah nods, but then as Tristan pulls his phone from his pocket, she snatches it from him, says, “Actually don’t,” and then hands it back. They sit in silence for a moment as both Hannah and Tristan wonder why she just did this.
“Is everything OK between you and...” Tristan starts.
But Hannah interrupts him, saying simply, “Bathroom, sorry.”
In the women’s toilets she stares at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her mascara has run. She looks a mess. What is happening here? she thinks numbly. And then she shakes her head, lowers her face to the sink, and washes away the tears.
When she returns, Tristan looks up at her expectantly. “Cliff phoned,” he says.
“Is he coming?”
“I told him to come in an hour,” Tristan says. “At twelve.”
Hannah glances at the clock. “Right,” she says.
“I said that was best.”
“Right.”
“Is that OK?” Tristan asks.
Hannah nods.
“Aïsha can’t stop crying apparently.”
“No, well...” Hannah says.
For fifteen minutes they sit in silence interrupted only by an occasional set of heels clip-clopping along the corridor. And then, out of the blue, the culmination of some private thought process, Tristan says, “It must be amazing to have a child. To know that he’s your own flesh and blood.”
“It is,” she says. “And at times, like today, it’s really painful. It’s hard to describe.”
“Yes,” Tristan says. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“It’s like his pain is your own. Only worse. Because you can’t do anything about it.”
“Yes,” Tris
tan says. “I get that.”
“Did you ever think about children of your own?” Hannah asks.
Tristan tuts. “It’s not really an option, is it?” he says.
“I suppose. Though people do manage it, don’t they? Like the gay couple on that TV show, Modern Family.”
“Sure,” Tristan says. “There are ways. If you’re determined enough. But I’ve never been able to keep a boyfriend for more than a week, so...”
“A week?” Hannah says. “Really?”
“No,” Tristan replies. “Not really.”
“Oh.”
“You know that anyway. You know I was with Paul for two years.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. My mind’s, you know... elsewhere.”
“Understandable.”
“So what happened with Paul?” Hannah asks. “I don’t think I ever really knew. He just vanished one day. And you were with... Mark? Mike?”
“Matt. But it’s OK,” Tristan says. “We don’t have to talk about me.”
“No, it’s good,” Hannah says. “I swear that clock moved a whole minute when you were talking.”
“It’s the world’s slowest clock, isn’t it?” Tristan says.
“Torture,” Hannah agrees.
“Well, Paul was lovely,” Tristan says. “Kind, thoughtful, generous...”
“Yes, I liked him, I must say.”
“But kind of boring.”
“Really?” Hannah says. “I thought he was pretty funny.”
“Oh, he was funny. But I missed all the stuff I did before, I guess. Going out, clubbing, drinking, dancing. Even dating. I actually missed all the cruising and chatting people up online and the wondering if...”
“The excitement of the chase,” Hannah says.
“Exactly. We’d be in of an evening, and you’d just know that all that was going to happen was Corrie and a glass of wine.”
“Corrie?”
“Coronation Street. He’s from Manchester, so...”
“Of course.”
“And though, in a way, it was all I ever wanted – you know, someone to snuggle with on the sofa – I just kept feeling this, is this it, kind of feeling. I don’t suppose that makes any sense to you.”
“It does,” Hannah says. “More than you can imagine. But you can’t have both, can you? That’s the point.”
The Half-Life Of Hannah (Hannah series Book 1) Page 15
