by Alam, Donna
‘Please don’t explain, except to say how you know it was him.’
‘He has that voice, doesn’t he? Like it’d get you to do things you might not ordinarily do.’
‘Kinda sexy,’ Fin agrees. ‘Sexy and gravelly.’
‘Aye, an accent with a whole load of sex butter thrown in.’
‘I don’t know what that is, but yeah.’
‘I showed Ivy the video ages ago, and she did her ‘narna. Jesus, did she go mental . . . But the rest of the interwebz, well, they went a different kind of nuts for it. But her reaction . . . I can’t explain it.’
‘Oh, God. You think it might have been Ivy with him?’ Fin’s question is pitched so quietly that if my ear weren’t pressed to the wood of the door, I wouldn’t have heard. ‘How awful—if it were me, I’d be pretty pissed.’
‘You wouldn’t. Not if you’d seen the length of his—Aye, okay! Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t gonnae say cock; I was gonnae say his goods . Ah, look, you’ve made me say it anyway.’
‘Ivy probably has enough for a new car with the contents of the salon swear-box.’
Nat snorts. ‘Like I’m the only one filling it these days; Ivy swears like a sailor if she thinks we’re not listening, cursing and muttering under her breath.’
‘Regardless, I don’t think now is the time to ask if she’s starred in any videos lately.’
‘Agreed. Not after this afternoon. But it can’t really have been her. That’s like incest, or something, and surely, I woulda known. Christ, it makes me feel grubby just thinking about it.’
It makes Nat feel grubby. If only she knew that clip is the very tip of our dirty iceberg. It’s not nice knowing the world has access to your private life, but I’ve tried not to think about it, mainly because I couldn’t do anything about it. But hearing her words—her tone and knowing how liberal her attitude to sex is—well, it makes me feel dirty. Makes me feel all wrong.
And now, I’m crying again. Bloody hell.
‘The thing is, there’s supposed to be new content releasing soon.’
‘She’s not a video game, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Look, it’s not likely to be her because it’s being released by a company that makes porn. It’s likely to be an actress, isn’t it?’
‘So you think he’s doing porn?’
‘Keep your voice down!’
‘How can this not shock you? Finding out Ivy’s married and—and all that stuff, but then that her baby daddy might—’
‘Calm your tits! If you can find them.’ Nat sniggers.
‘Hey, I have tits. They’re just a little on the modest side.’
‘Anything Rory can’nae get in his mouth is surplus? Is that what he’s been telling you? Aye, and the wee folk live at the bottom of my garden.’
‘You’re all kinds of wrong. Stay on track, Nat, please. Porn!’
‘One of my favourite topics.’ She sniffs. ‘It looks like Dylan has tried to get this film stopped legally, according to DMZ, so it’s not likely to be new. Maybe he recorded it before he hit the big time? I saw one or two stills this morning on the net, but the signal’s pretty crappy over here. And it’s gonna be pay-per-view, so I won’t be buying it. I like my wank bank material for free.’
‘Christ on a cracker, you can’t watch!’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
As the pair bicker, my heart begins beating out of my chest. Another video, one Dylan is trying to stop. Maybe that’s why he’s here because I would’ve known if he’d done porn before we were married so that only leaves . . .
‘Ivy.’
Exactly. More of my bum plastered across the internet.
Oh, God. And my face? My parents! Mac—my friends! The village—the fucking world!
‘ What are we going to tell her?’
‘Nothing. That has to be a dickalicious job.’
‘Dick—you’re going to have to come up with another nickname. Apart from that one being inappropriate, it’s a bit of a mouthful.’
‘And that’s what she said.’
‘Really?’
‘She didn’t have to. I’ve seen the video; I can show you if you like.’
‘No—just no!’
‘I’m gonna delete it!’
The pair goes quiet, and for a moment, I’m convinced they’re listening to the sound of my beating heart through the wood.
‘He’s going to want to see her.’ Fin sounds worried.
‘Aye.’ One word, but so hard, Nat’s earlier devotion to the man she knows as a movie star melting away. Yeah, it’s only one word, but it sounds so resolute like she’d protect me from the devil, if I had a need. But Dylan isn’t a devil. He’s just a man who has made some mistakes. Big mistakes, but mistakes all the same. And he’s not alone in this. Only, some mistakes can’t be soothed or made better, no matter how sincere the balm. But maybe they can be moved past. For the sake of an unborn child.
See, you have more important things going on in your life. You survived leaving the love of your life; you’ll survive this.
I step away from the door, Fin’s answer barely registering—something about Rory’s aims at getting Dylan shit-faced drunk. As though recognising my inner turmoil, Vlad begins to move along with my steps; a flip or a turn, followed by a heel poking through my thinned and veined skin. I pull the cotton tank I’m wearing to the top of the bump, rubbing the full roundness as I make my way silently back to the bed.
Almost silently.
‘Ooof! You wee bugger, what are you doing in there?’
I turn as the door creaks open, and Nat’s head pokes through.
‘What are you up to in here?’
‘Vlad’s awake, so that means I am,’ I reply, climbing onto the bed.
‘Are you hungry?’
I pause for a second, considering those most magic of words. ‘Does a pope poop in the woods?’
‘Aye,’ she responds immediately, stepping into the room. ‘I expect he would if he were caught short. His cassock would give him plenty privacy, I suppose.’ Flopping against the snowy white pillows, I frown, playing back what I’ve just said. ‘It’s bear, daft arse,’ Nat corrects. ‘Does a bear shit in the woods.’
‘I swear this baby’s stealing my brain cells.’
‘Let’s get him fed then. Fin’s just popped along to my room to ask June if she’s ready for a cuppa and a bite to eat. We’ll get it delivered to the room.’
The look that passes between us says all the words. I’m not ready to step into the real world, and I’m not ready to see Dylan, drunk or not.
‘Tea and toast.’
‘You’re staying in a five-star boutique hotel, and you want tea and toast?’ she asks incredulously.
‘With lashings of butter.’ I think I must be drooling because Nat looks at me like I’m a loon as she picks up the phone from the nightstand.
‘Bampot.’ She shakes her head ruefully, unable to hide the smile on her face.
‘I want half a loaf.’
‘Ivy, why didn’t you tell us?’
My gaze falls away, my fingers toying with the hem of my shirt.
‘I couldn’t—not until I’d told my mum. And I couldn’t tell her until I came home—and I was going to, really. But it was all over before I was due to come back for Christmas.’
‘Because he cheated on you?’
‘Not exactly. It’s more complicated than that.’
‘Life usually is, but you could’ve confided in us, Ivy. You didn’t have to suffer this alone, especially after going back to see him. I mean it doesn’t take much to work out what went on there.’ She glances pointedly at the bump escaping my tank. What was that even about? I want to say closure, but even I don’t believe that. ‘And you didn’t tell him about the baby, did you?’
‘I-I couldn’t. I couldn’t say any of it. Ever, not out loud. Only in my head. ‘I wanted to—I wanted to tell you about him, about us. And I wanted to tell him about the baby, too! But he was supposed to h
ave fallen in love again, and I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t—’ I begin to cry, great heaving sobs. I love him, and I’ve hurt him, and I’m having this baby alone.
And he hates me for it.
‘Hey, now, shush.’ Nat drops the phone receiver back, perching herself on the end of the bed. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ she insists quietly, taking my hand in both of hers. ‘You’ll get through this. You have us; you’ll always have us, and your parents and Mac, too.’ What she doesn’t say fills the room anyway. You’ll have us even if you don’t have Dylan.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘So silly, more like. Bottling stuff up is unhealthy, and the stress can’t be good for the baby.’ She leans over and pats my stomach, which she knows I’m not fond of, but I’m not in a state to make a fuss. ‘You know why people think it’s okay to rub a pregnant woman’s bump?’
‘Because we look like lucky Buddhas?’
‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ she answers. ‘That’s why I asked.’
‘I’ve already screwed things up for him before he’s born, haven’t I?’
‘You?’ She pauses, seeming to formulate her reply. ‘Yeah, you have, but don’t worry, with me as his godmother, he’ll be fine.’ I huff a watery laugh. She’s such a loop and lovely with it. She’s also slightly deluded. ‘Because I’ll steer that moral compass like a motherfucking Titan.’
‘Wasn’t that a ship that sank?’
‘And I’m supposed to be the uncouth, uncultured one,’ she says with a theatrical sigh. ‘Looks like I’ll also have to teach wee Vlad the classics. The Titans were Greek, philistine.’
‘The only Greek you know is your order from the kebab shop.’
‘I’m deep, me,’ she responds, reaching for the phone again. ‘Half a loaf and a gallon of tea?’
‘Oh, at least.’ But she doesn’t get as far as a connection before Fin explodes into the room.
‘Come quick. Something’s wrong with June.’
Chapter 35
Ivy
We’ve all heard stories or recounts, I suppose, of how during accidents and medical emergencies—matters of life and death—time slows. As I stand on the periphery of a room newly decorated and with the faint scent of paint lingering in the air, I experience this in real time. For the first time. And I’m struggling, my grip on this reality fragile and questioning. Why June? Why now?
‘June! June! For the love of Christ, open your eyes, you bloody stubborn woman!’
Nat bends over the bed, her hands wrapped around her grandmother’s shoulders, the expression on her face something frightening and pitiful. But me? I feel as though I’m watching this through a cloud, and the whole thing is a haze. My heart aches for my friend and weeps for June as she lies prone on the bed, her breathing laboured and something ancient.
‘Ambulance is on its way,’ Rory says, appearing in the doorway. A couple of long strides and he has his arms wrapped around Fin as she begins murmuring. ‘How will it get here during the high tide?’ His reply is by helicopter. The air ambulance; the hotel has a newly installed helipad.
I don’t partake in the conversation; I’m on the outside looking in as his strong arms wrap around her waist, offering her his comfort and strength.
I tighten the belt on the plush hotel robe I’d grabbed at Fin’s distressed entrance and glance down at my bare feet and pink painted toes. I can’t seem to find tears. Numbness overload.
‘June,’ Nat cries—not a yell. A soft, terrified plea but she’s not responding, and I’ve no idea what actions to take.
Words and questions and we all stand, hovering around the edges of the bed, unsure of what to say or what to do.
‘Do we have aspirin?’ Fin asks.
I half expect Nat to complain that June’s suffering from more than just a headache.
‘Might she have had a stroke?’ she questions, but I can read what she doesn’t say. That it might be too late. How would she swallow? What can we do? How can we help? Murmurs and mutterings. Words hanging heavy in the air with hope and desperation.
‘The paramedics won’t be long.’
‘Where’s Kit?’ Fin asks.
‘Gone to arrange a boat to the mainland so we can get to the hospital. So we can follow.’
I feel so fucking useless—why have I never completed an emergency first-aid course? What can I say? What can I do?
The only thing I can. Comfort Nat. Be there for my friend as her watery gaze stares up at me. I place my hand on her shoulder.
‘Her breathing is so awful. What can we do?’
Wait. Pray. ‘Help will be here soon.’ I place my arms around her but can’t offer her anything else.
A distraction at the end of the room pulls our attention as Kit strides in, full of self-assurance. Please God, let him know what to do.
‘It’s in the air, and a first aider is on the way.’ As he reaches the end of the bed, his poise drains away as he takes in the fragility of June.
I don’t know Kit very well, but he very much seems the take-charge kind. He’s pleasant enough but reserved. He strikes me as the kind of man who’s a bit of a hard arse beneath the image he’s cultivated. Layers. The man has layers I can only guess at.
‘Let me . . . ’ His words trail away as he motions Natasha from the side of the bed, rolling June onto her side.
The recovery position. Why didn’t any of us think of that?
I wrap my arms around Nat’s back, rubbing small comforting circles. At least, I hope they are.
‘How long has she been like this,’ he asks his brother.
‘Fin found her a few minutes ago.’ Feels like hours ago.
‘She was conscious then but couldn’t seem to speak. I only left her to shout for help.’
Fin begins to cry softly, Rory pulling her tear-stained face into his broad chest. ‘Hush now, you did the right thing.’
‘Fin, you’ll go with Rory on the boat once we determine which hospital she’ll be taken to.’ He glances at his watch, no doubt thinking the same as the rest of us.
Please let it be a hospital and not a morgue.
Nat turns in my arms and begins to sob. But then, Dylan appears, speaking softly to Kit. He rolls June on her back once again, taking her hand in his. I notice her fingertips are blue.
Fingers under her chin, he tilts her unconscious head.
One knee on the bed, he lays his sandwiched palms on the centre of her chest.
Chest compressions. But she’s breathing, isn’t she?
We stand.
We watch.
We don’t speak as Dylan pumps away hard enough to break a rib.
‘First-aid training prep for a movie.’ He catches my gaze, his mouth a sad half-smile. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, running down his face. Without speaking or thinking, I step closer and use the sleeve of the robe to wipe his forehead. His gaze is grateful, his eyes moving almost circumspectly to the bump named Vlad.
As though sensing the connection, Vlad kicks.
How long do we wait? A minute? Thirty? An eternity? But eventually, paramedics—a doctor?—appear in a blur of high-viz clothing with their unfamiliar jargon and acronyms.
Unresponsive.
AF.
Query thrombotic.
Oxygen and CO2.
CVA. Intubate.
Respiratory distress.
ICP.
With the arrival of professionals, it’s like the air comes rushing back into the room and with the whoosh , comes action. It seems mere minutes pass before June is covered, secured, and on the move with Nat tagging behind.
‘We’ll be there as soon as we can,’ Fin says, catching Nat’s elbow as she passes. ‘She’s in good hands, and you need to stay strong.’ Nat doesn’t answer but nods, wiping the moisture from her tear-stained face.
‘And make sure,’ Rory says, leaning in and planting a kiss on her forehead as she pulls away, ‘that June doesn’t touch the doctor’s bum. They don’t like it and might start a sexual ha
rassment case.’ She manages a watery smile before turning and quickly following the medical entourage.
‘You ready?’ Rory motions to Fin to take his hand, patting the back pocket of his pants in that universally male key-wallet-phone check.
‘Boat’s at the jetty,’ Kit says, turning to Fin. ‘Take a jacket. It’ll be choppy.’
Fin dips her head. ‘I’ll grab it now. You coming?’ she asks me.
I don’t miss the look that passes between Rory and his brother. Christ knows what kind of voodoo is going on there. Volumes are spoken in the blink of an eye yet remain unsaid as Rory’s gaze slides away to Dylan whose head in his hands as he’s hunched in a chair.
‘Ivy’s much closer to June than I am,’ Fin says, knowing before I do what’s passed between the pair. ‘June is practically her family. She needs to be there.’
‘June’s out of it, titch. Natasha will be the one who’ll need support.’ His eyes find mine. ‘You have to consider the crossing and the bairn. Can you not wait a while and drive over at low tide?’
‘We can’t leave her here!’ Fin protests, absolutely avoiding looking at Dylan.
‘Then you’d best get dressed quickly,’ Kit says, as though this finalises everything.
‘No,’ I answer quietly, my voice becoming stronger with each spoken word. ‘You go.’ I grab Fin’s hand in both of mine. ‘You look after Natasha for me. I’ll have to call Mum and let her know. I’ll . . .I’ll drive over as soon as I can.’
‘You’re sure?’ Her eyes dart to where Dylan again.
I nod. ‘I’ll be fine. Let me know . . . let me know what’s happening, as soon as you can.’
The trio leaves, and Dylan and I are left alone.
Chapter 36
Ivy
Dylan. Seated in a chair, in front of me. Holding out his arms.
Did I hear right, or only what I wanted to? Am I going deaf or daft? Am I delusional? Suffering from a bout of desperate wishful thinking?
‘Don’t make me ask again.’
I blink twice heavily and continue to stare blankly back because the tone isn’t right—not for that phrase. The words aren’t served as a demand but are rather heavy and raw with need.
