But now I have other plans (maybe we should pretend that I’m just going on a long holiday???) and I wonder about you. What will you do? Who will you be? Because the truth is, Brewster, as much as I adore you, I can see you’re not happy. And I know you never want to talk about you, to talk about your shitty parents and all that worrying you do. But this is my letter. And you have to read it. So I’m gonna say what I need to say. So there.
My darling, you’re living a half-life. I’m sorry if this sounds harsh. I don’t mean to throw shade on your whole existence – I love you. But you are so much more than you think. You don’t see how much you shine. But I do. I always have. You are a diamond-covered sunshine, dude. You’re so comical and kind in a sophisticated non-martyrish way. Underneath all that scared demeanour is a total badass. I’m sure of it! And that’s why I sent you on this trip.
I couldn’t give a shit about Chuck Allen (don’t be mad!!). Because Chuck Allen is not my Big Sexy Love. You are, Olive Brewster. You’re my Big Sexy Love! My best buddy. My favourite person. The love I have for you is so much more epic than I’ve had for any boyfriend. And that’s why, in a totally cruel-to-be-kind way, I forced you into going to New York under a misapprehension. I knew you wouldn’t ever do anything like this without some serious forcing. And what works more than a dying wish? Nothing, that’s what! I have all of the power, muu haaa (how do you spell the evil laugh? You get what I mean, right?).
So. You’re due to arrive here at the hospital for a visit in less than an hour and I feel giddy at the thought of my big sneaky plan being put into motion. It’s the most excited I’ve felt in years. You see, New York is the greatest city in the world for someone like you. I know that just by being in NYC, by being terrified and thrown in at the deep end, you’ll find adventure. Because that’s what New York does. It gets under your skin! It drives you a little crazy! And sending you off on a wild goose chase seems like a good idea to me right now. I had a lot of medicine this morning though, so I’m a little bit high…
Shit. I hope this is the right idea. I hope you see some eye-opening things (the view from the roof at the Airbnb I’ve booked is insane! I hope you see that! The amount of people openly taking craps on the sidewalk is also insane in a different way – I hope you don’t see that). I dearly hope you meet some interesting people. I hope that by doing this you will see how much you shine. Because I won’t be here to keep telling you. And you need to know.
You are destined for great things, my darling.
I can’t wait to see you when you get back.
Don’t be mad at me. You can’t be mad at a sick person. It’s against the rules.
All my love forever,
Your Birdie.
I stare at the letter, my tears falling onto the paper. I don’t want to smudge it, so I clasp it to my chest, laughing as I cry. I pull my mobile out of my bumbag and go to dial Birdie’s number – sod sleep – I want to hear her voice right now! I cannot believe she has done this! The letter was for me! Chuck Allen was a gigantic ruse and all this time, it was for me!
Looking at my phone, I notice eight missed calls from Alex. Eight? He must have tried calling while I was doing my stupid yacht jump. Shit. I hope he’s okay.
I immediately press his number on the screen. He answers after barely half a ring.
‘Alex? It’s Olive! Are you okay? Is Donna okay?’
‘Olive,’ he says, his voice full of anguish. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you all night.’
‘My phone has been on silent. I only just saw. What’s the matter?’
Alex’s voice breaks. ‘It’s… Birdie.’
Oh god. Oh god. No!
‘She… Birdie had a heart attack. She was rushed into emergency surgery last night..’
‘Oh my god. Is she okay?’ I hear a funny clicking noise and realise it’s the phone banging against my earring because my hands are shaking so much. ‘Please tell me she’s okay, Alex?’
‘The emergency surgery went well but when they tried to wake her up she… Well, she’s not responding now. She’s in a coma. I’m so sorry, Olive.’
The room swims before me. Bile rises in my throat.
‘I’m coming back now. Do not leave her side.’
‘Donna wants me to—’
‘I do not care what Donna wants. If you love me at all you will stay by Birdie’s side and you will hold her hand until I get there.’
I hang up.
I need to get home right now.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Text from Anders: Thinking of you, darling bestie.
Text from Mrs Ramirez: Chica, be brave for your friend. I am praying for her and for you.
Text from Seth: Sending my love, Olive. I’m here if you need anything.
Text from Colin: Where did you go? Did you get my memes?
The second time I fly on an airplane is much scarier than the first time. Not because of turbulence or oxygen masks falling or flying over the sea. But because the thing I’ve been most scared of this whole time, losing Birdie, is happening. I barely notice as the flight attendants ask me if I want anything. I barely notice anything. My whole head is blurry and tired and absolutely terrified. I don’t even sleep. I couldn’t even if I tried. My body is coursing with adrenaline. I need to be alert, I need to be ready.
As soon as I got back to Gramercy Park, Anders organised and paid for me to be on the next flight to Manchester, while Mrs Ramirez gathered my stuff, packed it and made me a cup of chamomile tea which I couldn’t even hold because my hands were trembling so much.
Our goodbyes were hasty and hazy and apart from a quick exchange of phone numbers I didn’t think to say a proper thank you for all the help they’ve given me.
Eventually, after the longest nine hours of my life, the flight touches down with a rickety bump and I walk into the cool, wet air of Manchester. As I do, New York immediately becomes a memory. A faraway, bonkers, dreamlike thing that happened to someone else. The only thing real to me now is that my best friend is in a coma, and she might never wake up.
When I reach Manchester Royal Hospital, I get out of the cab, race through the double doors and up the stairs to Birdie’s ward. I heave my heavy suitcases behind me, tripping over and stumbling as I do so. The ward sister, recognising me, waves me right through to Birdie’s room.
Heart pounding like a kick drum, I push open the door to find Alex sitting beside Birdie’s bed, holding her hand. I feel a rush of love for him. He pulls me into a hug without saying a word.
‘Can I go to the toilet now?’ he quips, which makes me chuckle as much as anything can make me chuckle at a time like this.
‘I suppose.’ I wave him out of the room.
I sit down in the seat Alex just vacated and take Birdie’s hand, peering worriedly down at her face. She looks like she’s asleep.
‘Hey Birdie!’ I say brightly. ‘I’m back! I got your letter, you turd. What the hell?’
I wait for her to open her eyes and laugh. To ask me to get her some coffee, to tell me about Dr BJ’s arms, to make it all better. But she doesn’t. Please don’t let this be it. I have so much to tell her. So much to thank her for.
‘Come on, Bird!’ I try. ‘Please?’ Part of me stupidly thinks that the sound of my voice will wake her up. Magically snap her out of it.
But, of course, it doesn’t.
‘What did the doctors say?’ I ask Alex when he returns from the loo. ‘How did they know to ring you?”
Alex brushes his hair back from his chubby face, his eyes tired and sad. He sits down on another visitor chair opposite me. ‘Our house phone was listed as the contact number for you, her next of kin. It’s a good job they had it. There was no one else listed. When I got here the doctor told me that she’d had a heart attack and they’d had do an emergency angioplasty.’
I shake my head. Poor Birdie. Poor, poor Birdie.
‘Why isn’t she waking up?’ I ask, the tears starting to fall. ‘I don’t understand.’
I
press my hand to her cheek. It still feels warm. It still feels alive.
‘They said physically, she seems absolutely fine. There’s no sign of infection, but she could have had a small stroke, maybe? They said that sometimes the stress of these events in the body can cause patients to take a little longer to wake up.’
‘So they don’t know.’
‘They don’t know,’ Alex confirms.
‘Wake up, Birdie,’ I say, trying to sound upbeat. ‘Come on, you lazy ass! Wake up!’
But she just lies there.
The following morning, I wake up in Birdie’s hospital hoping to find her miraculously back to normal, hoping that last night wast a terrible dream, an after effect of almost drowning at the harbour. But no. She’s exactly the same.
‘Wake up, dude,’ I say for the millionth time since I’ve been here. My eyes fill with fresh tears as I squeeze her hand. ‘You’re being really ignorant you know,’ I grump.
Alex is still here, asleep on the chair opposite. He wakes up, his hair all messed up, his round face all crumpled and sleepy-looking.
‘You can go, if you want.’ I say to Alex. ‘Donna must be wondering where you’ve got to.’
Alex shrugs. ‘I’m leaving her.’
‘What?’ I yell in such a high-pitched voice that I check to see if it roused Birdie. It didn’t. ‘What?’ I repeat in a more reasonable tone of voice.
Alex sets his mouth into a grim line. ‘She’s horrible.’
‘I know!’ I nod fervently. ‘Wait… how do you know? What happened?’
‘It was like, without you at home, just hanging out with Donna alone, there was no buffer. And it just hit me… that I don’t actually like her all that much anymore.’
I press a hand to my mouth.
Alex half smiles at my reaction.
‘I thought you were super into her!’ I gasp.
He fiddles with the sleeve of his brown jumper. ‘I was at first. But… I wonder if I was just looking for some stability, something secure after Mum and Dad, you know… and Donna is very steady.’
‘Yes.’ I blow the air out through my cheeks. ‘I thought I was the only one with Mum and Dad abandonment-related headfuckitis.’
‘Nope.’ Alex grins. ‘Me too!’
‘Well, it’s better you realise it’s wrong now before starting a family…’
‘I know. I think that’s what made me decide. She’s packing her stuff up right now.’
‘Oh my goodness. Was she upset?’
Alex looks thoughtful. ‘She seemed more upset when I confessed that I didn’t really like The Big Bang Theory as much as I had been making out.’
‘Alex!’
I knew it!
He grimaces. ‘I know. Then seeing you head off to Manhattan on your own. It just made me think… what’s out there?’
‘A lot,’ I say, my head flashing with images of New York making my chest pang in a weird way. ‘So, so much, Alex.’ I stand up and pour us both a glass of water from the jug at the end of Birdie’s bed. ‘I guess I won’t have to move into the box room then,’ I remark, taking a sip of water. Last week I would have been thrilled about that. But it seems so small-fry now. Who cares about a box room? I feel like a different person now.
Alex takes his glass from me. ‘Well that’s the thing, Olive… I… I was thinking that maybe we should sell the house.’
My eyes widen. Gosh. This is the last thing I expected Alex to say. The house in Saddleworth is our sanctuary. The last remaining evidence of the life we had before our family fell apart. It’s our home. The thought of no longer living there, of no longer sleeping in my childhood bedroom is… no longer as scary as I always thought it would be.
I plonk back down onto the chair, a sense of freedom floats over me. Sell the house? Alex doesn’t even have to convince me. I’m as sure as I’ve ever been about anything that it’s the right thing to do.
It’s time to move on.
After Alex leaves to start making plans for his life without Donna, I spend the morning sitting with Birdie, willing her to be okay. I switch between crying so much that one of the nurses pops her head round the door to see what the wailing noise is, to singing songs from our university days, telling her jokes and relaying all my tales from Manhattan. I re-read her letter a million times. I read it to myself, I read it out loud, I read it so many times that I soon know it off by heart.
My phone continues to beep like crazy with texts from Colin who has become somewhat creepy in his efforts to find out if I am okay, and if I have received his memes, both of which seem of equal importance to him. I spend thirty minutes crafting a text that tells him I’m not looking to embark on anything romantic right now because I have other priorities, but that I hope we can be friends. I feel guilty as I press send but, even if Birdie was completely well, now that I know what real, whole-hearted attraction feels like, even if it was with somebody I’ll never see again, I know that that’s not what I felt for Colin. Despite his sideburns.
He doesn’t text back.
I try not to think too much about Seth either. Now that I’m here, back in real life, it seems daft that we should stay in touch. I texted him back to say thank you for his nice message about Birdie, but otherwise I’ve left well alone. What would be the point? Nothing could ever come of it. We’re on opposite sides of the world, for goodness sake. And right now, I don’t have space to be thinking about anything other than Birdie.
At lunchtime, one of the nurses enters the room to tend to Birdie, changing her tubes and sheets, making sure she is clean and in a fresh gown. As she potters about the room, preparing everything, I burst into tears again. I can’t help it. This is devastating.
‘You might as well go for a coffee,’ the nurse says kindly, ‘I’ll be about an hour or so and we don’t usually allow visitors in the room at this point.’
‘Oh, okay,’ I say. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’
‘No, love. You get gone. You might want to get home for a shower?’
She says it kindly, but she’s right. I must stink. I’m in the same clothes I’ve been wearing since my flight.
Alex took my cases back to the house this morning, so I grab my bumbag and head home to get cleaned up.
After a long, hot shower, I get dressed into jeans and a soft green jumper, pack a bag with some water, face wipes and a nice hand cream for Birdie and head back to the hospital. On the bus there, in my foggy, jet-lagged state, it occurs to me that it’s Monday already. Which means last night would have been Seth’s first show as a cast member on Sunday Night Live. I shouldn’t watch it. I definitely shouldn’t watch it. It’ll make me miss him and I don’t want to miss him, I can’t miss him. Hmmm. Maybe I could just watch the first five minutes…
I pull out my phone and my earbuds and search the internet for somewhere I can stream the episode.
As the bus trundles along the streets of Greater Manchester, five minutes turns into a lot longer as I watch Seth, handsome and self-assured, introduced as the newest cast member of one of the biggest shows in the world.
I smile and chuckle lightly as he appears as an overly positive old guy on a broken funfair carousel ride and then in the next sketch as an Italian teenager in an arthouse black and white film. He doesn’t mess up once! He doesn’t flake out, he doesn’t even look slightly nervous! He looks like he belongs on that stage.
I know him! I think proudly. Well, I knew him. For one ridiculous, crazy week. The best week of my life, really.
At the thought, my heart blossoms and breaks in equal measure.
As the show draws to a close, I feel my stomach flip over when the cast do the final sketch and it’s one that I recognise. Holy moly. It’s the Pizza Flap sketch I helped to write! It’s a little different than it was the day Seth came up with it; tighter, funnier, but the fact that they used some of my ideas makes me burst with delight. Wow. What a feeling!
As the end credits play, I peer out of the window. We’re passing through
Manchester town centre full of people in suits, staring at their phones, looking harassed by the busy traffic, walking a mile a minute, in a rush to get where they’re going.
I think of Birdie, not rushing anywhere. Completely still.
Life is short. Unexpectedly short.
Before I know it my hand flies out and I press the bell so that the bus stops.
I’m not at the hospital yet, but I get off anyway.
There’s something I need to do. And if I don’t do it now, I might never do it at all.
‘Quit?’ Taller Joan gasps from behind the fish counter. ‘You want to quit?’
‘Hand in my notice, yeah,’ I correct as Tall Joan puts her hands to her cheeks in shock.
‘But… why?’
I hold out my hands. ‘I think it’s time for a change,’ I explain. ‘I’ve been working here for a long time and… well, I’m pretty sure it’s not my passion. There are other things I’d really like to try.’
‘Well!’ Tall Joan says, wide-eyed. ‘Olive Brewster!’
I bite my lip, worried that I’ve offended them both after they’ve been so kind to me. But then Taller Joan bursts into noisy laughter.
‘Well thank buggering bugger for that!’
I blink. ‘Um, what?’
‘We’ve been fretting for a while now, wondering how we could let you go gently,’ Tall Joan says, leaning her elbows onto the counter.
‘Let me go?’ My mouth drops open.
‘We haven’t needed you here for a long time,’ Taller Joan explains, two spots of colour appearing on her cheeks. ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but we’ve not been getting enough custom for three staff. No offence, love, but you’ve been a bit surplus to requirements for about eight months now.’
I look between the two of them, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me?’ I ask. ‘Why didn’t you just sack me?’
Tall Joan looks at her feet. ‘Well, we love you, petal. And working here is all you’ve done for so long. We worried you’d panic if we let you go.’
Big Sexy Love: The laugh out loud romantic comedy that everyone's raving about! Page 27
