Falling Away

by Allie Little

  He breathes out like he’s been hanging onto the air for too long.

  “Just forget it, Ben. Don’t engage in hostilities with her on my account.”

  “But I need to. I can’t sit back and watch. She’s spiralling, Sam. I can feel it. She’s drinking again, and her mood is black. She’s dark and critical …”

  I snigger. “What? More than usual?”

  “Yes, more than usual. At this rate she’ll take us all down with her. I can’t watch Dad lie unconscious in ICU and Mum spiral into despair. She’s been there before, and you know it.”

  “Of course I know it. I’ve been there. We’ve been there. All of us. Watching the misery take hold, the melancholy covering her like a wet blanket. Do you think I don’t remember?”

  “No,” he says sheepishly, glancing away.

  “Good.”

  “I didn’t come in here to fight with you. I came in here to fix this. Or at least try.”

  “Don’t you know by now that you can’t?” I ask, willing him to realise.

  “I won’t believe that my efforts are futile.” Strong words, but they lack conviction.

  ***

  Morning sunlight streams through the portholes in yellow shafts from the post-dawn sky. Like a coarse reminder, painfully real. I close my eyes to try and stop the flow of irrepressible tears.

  I heave myself from under the sheets and stumble to the door. An odd silence hangs over the house. No clatter from the kitchen; no morning chatter hums from the rear, and no breakfast-scent saturates the air. I’m hollow in their absence.

  A scrawled note lies on the white stone surface of the kitchen counter. See you at the hospital it says, in her handwriting. And that’s it. That’s all it says. And the words sicken me, because this is not just another day. She’s done this. This dark-dwelling albatross has left without me. And for some reason Bastille’s Weight of Living beats steadily through my head.

  ***

  The road curls snake-like into Newcastle and it’s fifty minutes before I reach the hospital. I pull into the parking space and take the stairs to the ICU waiting room. There’s no joy in here, just pale faces all harbouring a grim sense of foreboding. Waiting for our own slice of distress, finely slivered like glass. We’re parked with our flaws exposed, each one clamouring for influence. Fear, hurt, pain, sorrow, and deep-seated regret. I am possessed by all five.

  But fear is my weakness. It grabs for my heart and twists till it hurts. Hold it together, Sam. One moment at a time. On my own. Because no-one else should have to endure this. I think of Jack and what he’s suffered. Too much. He’s lost too much. Seen too much pain, far too young. When I look in his eyes it’s visible. Resting there, lingering like a lost soul.

  Mum and Ben are nowhere. I make my way past the nurse’s station toward Dad’s room. No-one stops me. And when I reach his room I hover in the doorway. To stand and look. And he’s the same as last night, only paler. Even with the oxygen he’s breathless.

  “Sam?”

  I turn around, hearing distress laced through Ben’s voice. When I speak I’m sure the same hollow tone occupies mine. “How is he? Have you seen him?” I ask.

  Ben nods, shrugging his shoulders. “Not too good. He’s on a ventilator now, unfortunately. His heart rate dropped to forty, and his blood pressure couldn’t be maintained.”

  I exhale. Not the news I was hoping for.

  “Come down to the café. The nurses have kicked us out for a while.”

  I look into his strained face. “Okay.”

  My phone buzzes with a message from Jack.

  Hey beautiful, how’s your Dad? Sorry I can’t be there. I want to be. Am there with you in spirit. Call you after my shift.

  I text back a quick reply and flip my phone closed. The last thing Jack needs is me, completely consumed with death and dying. He’s had his fair share of all that, and more.

  Ben leads me to the café where mum sits sipping from a takeaway cup. She rises, clutching desperately for her belongings. “I see you made it. Half the morning’s gone, Sam.” She brushes past. “I’m going back to the ward. See you in half an hour.”

  “We’ve been doing shifts,” Ben explains. “Just one visitor at a time, today. Otherwise it’s too much.”

  I signal an agreement. There are no words. I mean, what do you say?

  ***

  The day drags like torture. Ben receives endless texts and mum effectively avoids me, on separate shifts with Dad. I need to believe he knows we’re here. That he’s in there somewhere. Because this is what I cling to. Every moment, since it happened. He has to know. He has to come back. Because without him, I’m left with … her.

  I push the thought swiftly away as Ben rises from the table. He looks down at me, kind of strangely. “So, um … Lily’s here. I’m going outside to meet her.”

  “What?” I say, confused. He’s taken me completely by surprise. “She’s here? At the hospital?”

  He looks at me with a smile that fills him completely. “Yeah. I called her when it happened. I don’t know why. I just wanted her to know. She was part of the family, you know.” He says it like he needs to justify it to himself more than me, his actions.

  I just nod and say, “Okay, sure. Be good to see her.”

  When Ben leaves my phone buzzes. I pick it up and notice another text from Jack, offering to drive to the hospital after his shift. He wants to see me. Be here for me.

  Hey babe, do you need me? I can come to the hospital when I finish. Let me know.

  My heart squeezes. I text back a short message, letting him know it’s late and I’ll be leaving soon. Even as I text I imagine his arms around me, my face buried into his hard chest, inhaling the salt from his skin. Craving him, desperately. His connection and warmth. Wanting my Jack. But I can’t put him through this, because once is most definitely enough.

  Ben and Lily walk into the café as if no time has passed. Except of course it has. Things have moved on. Life has shifted, and so much has happened since I last saw her. She looks slimmer, taller somehow, and still gazes at Ben in that same adoring way. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves. She’s dyed it darker, almost to black, and the blunt-cut fringe offsets her vivid blue eyes. She walks over and hugs me to her. And I realise I’ve missed her. And so has Ben obviously, because when she pulls away she stands close at his side, and he curls an arm tentatively around her waist. A light smile touches his lips at the bittersweet memories. She left him, after all. And now it appears she’s back.

  I smile because having her here makes him happy. And I want Ben to be happy. It’s as if her mere presence erases the pain he’s shoved away, locked up tight in a small, dark recess of his heart. And seconds later they’ve gone, upstairs to see Dad, and relieve mum.

  Thirty minutes later they all leave the hospital together and I’m overcome with loneliness. Sadness. Bracing for the pain. Because I know it’s coming. I can feel it in my bones. This is not going to end well. I make my way slowly to the ward, every step lagging. The shiny hallway is cloaked in grey shadow and when I reach his room the consistent beeping of machines fills my ears entirely. I move to his bed and my heartbeat tightens because this man does not look like my father. Shadows are cast across his brow which feels ominously arctic, like life is already oozing from his soul. Don’t go, Dad. Not yet. It’s not your time. You are NOT to leave. Not now.

  I feel for his hand through the waffle-weave blanket covering only half of him. I peel it away, desperate to rip the tubes and wires attached to his body from his almost translucent skin. Instead I thread my fingers into his cold palm, willing it to move.

  “Dad,” I choke out, the tears welling. Streaming over my face in tiny rivulets. I let them fall, coursing over my cheeks, because they fall in torrents for him. For this stupid, stupid place he’s in. Hell, the stupid place we’re all in. We’re all on this course, and it’s moving in one direction only. There are no deviations here.

  There is no response. When only
yesterday he wiggled a finger, today there is nothing. And it shatters my heart into a million pieces, because more than anything in this world I want to see a sign. Something. Anything.

  “You can’t go, Dad. Not yet. You have to stay. Because I love you and I’ll miss you. Stay, Dad. Please ...” My voice is raspy in the cold silence.

  A tiny movement softly brushes against my finger. It’s infinitesimal but so significant. A smile breaks the tears because he’s heard. He knows I’m here. I squeeze his hand harder, feeling his large hand underneath mine, and sit in silence with my devastating fear. I rub my thumb across the top of his hand.

  The ICU nurses appear silently and the Intensivists too, tending to other lifeless forms. They fiddle with machines and replace IV bags, re-setting machines. A guy my age lies across from Dad in a coma, bare-chested and pale. Car accident. Two young nurses suction his chest noisily, glancing across every now and again with pity filling their eyes. But I don’t need it, their pity. Because this is not happening. Dad is not going to die.

  Dad’s Intensivist Dr Floriet, a tall greying man with woolly sideburns arrives at my side, giving me a sympathetic smile.

  “How’re you doing?” he asks with a ridiculous polka-dot bowtie constricting his starched white collar.

  I glance upwards to his face. “Okay, I guess.”

  Dr Floriet nods knowingly. “I understand this is difficult for you, but we’d like the family to come in for a meeting. We need to discuss end of life issues.”

  His words smack me in the face. Once, twice, three times. End. Of. Life. End of life? No, that can’t be right.

  I must look at him blankly, because he continues unfazed by my silence. “We’d like you all to be here tomorrow afternoon. We can talk about what you’d like to do.”

  “But he’s only been here two days,” I argue, wondering about the rush. I mean, the man’s unconscious. He’s no trouble, is he?

  “The team needs to discuss his condition with all of you. The family needs to be fully aware of the current state of play so that decisions can be made. On your father’s behalf.”

  I blink at him. “What decisions are you talking about?” I ask, shocked at my composure. I want to scream and run from the words, yell at this man standing before me, crushing my world beneath his feet.

  “We’ll go through all of that tomorrow.”

  And all I can do is signal a silent agreement, before backing into the corridor and almost running to the concrete stairwell, desperate to feel fresh air burning upon my face. Only when I find my car and slam the door against its frame does my breathing begin to slow, hitching every now and then in furious gulps.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Gemma lies motionless with her iPad balanced on her chest, the morning sunlight streaking across her blanketed bed. She’s sleeping peacefully, as if the weight of the world isn’t pressing upon her fragile bones. An untouched breakfast rests undisturbed beside her. I move quietly to the tubular metal bed which is unexpectedly cold alongside my skin. Unsure whether to wake her, I reach gently for her hand as her eyelids flutter open and slowly focus. She removes the iPad, settling it snugly against her leg.

  “Hey,” she says quietly smiling, the misery visibly infusing her pale skin. She looks at me somewhat forlornly.

  “Hey Gem,” I say, placing a pile of Madisons on her bedside. “I brought you these. Thought they might be a distraction.”

  “Thanks,” she answers, readjusting the cannula on the back of her hand. It’s obviously bothering her, taped down flat against her skin. “This is sore,” she mutters. “Although compared to everything else I guess it’s nothing.”

  “So how are you?”

  “I’ve got news,” she says, lifting herself higher up the bed and attempting to rearrange the pillow. I fluff it and position it behind her.

  “Good news?” I ask, hoping I won’t choke on my words should it be otherwise.

  She shrugs a shoulder, almost in defeat. “Neutral to negative. Statistically my chances aren’t great. But with these new treatments tailored specifically for me, I’m told I might have a chance.”

  “I’m sure you have a good chance. Young, healthy, that’s got to play a part, right?”

  She raises a brow. “Previously healthy, Sam. Remember? Right now for my age, I have a 63 percent chance of beating this. Which doesn’t sound too bad I suppose, six out of ten. But it doesn’t sound too good, either. I’ve googled it incessantly, scaring myself to hell and back. But there’re those four, right? The four out of every ten who don’t make it. I’m shit scared that’s going to be me.”

  I blink, shocked at how blunt she is. The tears begin to pool in her eyes, but somehow she halts them. “Have the doctors said anything else?” I ask hesitantly, because god, there must be something to cling to.

  “Yeah, there’s more,” she answers hastily, as if wanting to get the news over with.

  “Good, or bad?”

  “Bad,” she answers, deadpan.

  “So, come on. Out with it. We can deal with it, whatever it is.” My false bravado is staggering.

  She exhales, long and slow. “Raised white blood cells. My count is above fifty thousand, which is not a good sign.”

  The numbers mean nothing to me but to her, they’re severing a lifeline. “So, what does that mean, exactly?” I ask, wondering how she’s dealing with this. Her resilience is astounding, even if she can’t see it in herself.

  “My marrow isn’t producing enough red blood cells. So worst case scenario, I may need a bone marrow transplant.”

  Her words glide over me. I want to grab her and tell her she’ll be fine. That this abyss won’t swallow her whole. Because right now, she’s drowning in fear and white blood cells. I bite my lower lip nervously, wondering how to respond. Gemma relays this information as if talking about the weather. Emotionless. And today she’s different. Harder, like the old Gem. The one who flirts with boys and dances under the dark cover of trees, awash with the tide.

  “Hey, girls!” Emily springs into the room holding an enormous bunch of pink lilies and waving chocolates under Gemma’s nose. “How are you, lovely friend?”

  Gemma smiles from beneath the flowers drenched in scented petals. “Hanging in there.”

  “Of course you are. You’ll be out of here before you know it.” Emily gives her a knowing wink, at which Gemma lightly smirks.

  “How’s your Dad, Sam?” asks Emily, pulling me into a hug.

  “Ah, not doing so well. It’s not looking that good at all, actually,” I say as she releases me. When I verbalise the words I feel my heart lurch and the tears begin to spring, but I will myself to be strong. “He’s on a ventilator now and his heart rate’s dropped. He’s heavily sedated, kind of like a coma I guess. It’s shit, basically.”

  Emotion in the room spirals into a nosedive. Gemma doesn’t know where to look and Emily’s face fills with genuine pity and concern.

  “Are you okay, hon? I mean, if you need anything, please just ask.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I lie, feeling anything but. “You need to look after Gem.”

  Gemma smiles weakly and Emily nods. “Already under control.”

  “That’s not good, Sam. You need to be with your Dad, not here with me,” Gemma adds.

  I shrug my shoulders, keen to change the subject. “So tell me, Gem. When you get out of here, what’s the first thing you want to do?” I ask, hoping to lighten the tone.

  “You mean when I’m well?” she queries.

  “Yeah. If you could do anything.”

  She thinks, pausing to consider her options. “This is going to sound utterly pathetic, but all I really want is to feel the sun on my skin. As simple as that. Because at the moment I feel like a daylight-deprived vampire, minus the pretty glittering diamond-skin. In here it’s all about blood this, and blood that. Marrow this, and white cell count that. I just want to be a normal girl, lazing in a hot summer sun, soaking it through my bones. This place is so starchy.” />
  I know exactly what she means. Suddenly I have a thought. “But you know what, Gem? We can easily grant that wish. Right now.”

  I grab the wheelchair sitting under a window shattering light across the linoleum floor. When I push it close to the bed Gemma’s eyes fill with both possibility and fear.

  “It’s okay, Gem. If you’re up for it, we’re going outside.”

  A gentle smile curls the corners of her mouth. “I’m definitely up for it,” she says, pushing herself more upright.

  Emily grins, helping Gemma transfer from the bed to the wheelchair, arranging her IV tubes and the hospital gown, and pulling the IV pole close so it doesn’t drag behind.

  “You push, I’ll tow the IV pole,” I say to Em.

  Gemma’s face is one of frail mischief. “Hell, yeah. Let’s go find some sun.”

  ***

  After thirty minutes I excuse myself from the sunshine party. Gemma’s smiling like I haven’t seen in a while, and Em’s trying to be extra diligent in keeping her spirits buoyed.

  “You guys going to be okay getting back to the ward?” I check, not wanting to leave them stranded.

  “Totally fine,” Em answers. “Go see your Dad. Hope he’s doing a bit better.”

  “Same,” says Gem. “Thanks for the rays.”

  I laugh and kiss her warm cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Em gives me a wave as I leave.

  ***

  The ICU waiting room is busy. It’s Monday morning and the place is full. I’ve hardly had a moment to think about Jack. Being here with Dad and Gem seems to consume my every thought. Illness, treatments, end of life plans. Heart attacks, leukaemia, ventilators and bone marrow transplants. In less than forty-eight hours my life has taken a turn. Nothing seems certain or predictable anymore. And everything seems disconnected … from me. It’s impossible to comprehend how I arrived here. Only a few days ago Jack and I were delighting in life on the river. I was swimming at Jack’s private aquamarine beach, baking in the sun and musing about life. Jack was fishing and laughing, telling stupid jokes he’d picked up on the ferry. Where has that carefree girl gone? She certainly doesn’t exist anymore.