Recovery

by JC Harroway

  From somewhere, Nathan found my hoodie, sliding it onto my shoulders to cover the T-shirt belonging to him I’d worn to bed. He dropped my trainers onto the tiles in front of me, holding my arm as I stepped into them like a dutiful child.

  ‘My father’s suffered a heart attack.’ It was the only explanation I could offer.

  He nodded. ‘Jake’s booked you a flight—it’s the last seat. I’ll follow you on the next one available.’ I was buried in his chest, his arms banded around my shoulders, too numb to register the warmth or the comforting scent of him. ‘I’m so sorry, Soph. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.’

  I nodded, my face rubbing the clean linen of the T-shirt he’d donned. My head was full of test results and complications of myocardial Infarction, leaving no room to ruminate on last night and the unfinished discussion on where we’d taken a wrong turn. But my body, as if working independently of my mind, seemed to know this could be the last time it would find itself in this happy position. I was too numb to register the pleasure, but my senses absorbed every scrap of this moment, saving it up, storing it until a time when I would need it most. His heart thumped a vital rhythm beneath my cheek, which moved up and down with the expansion of his chest as he breathed. His arms around my back were a steel band, holding the parts of me together else they scatter in the breeze.

  I lifted my head, my face in line with his neck, and pressed my lips to the soft skin at the hollow above his breastbone. Filling my nose with one last indulgent glut of him, I stepped from his arms and clutched my jacket over my chest.

  ‘Can you give me a ride to the airport?’ My eyes were dry and gritty with unshed emotion.

  He was heartbreakingly beautiful in that moment—sleep-rumpled and with a sprinkling of stubble on his jaw, his worried eyes haunted and wary. ‘Sure.’

  If I’d had any strength to spare, I’d have rushed to him, soothed him, consoled him and told him I would be okay. But I was bereft, flailing, insubstantial, as if at any moment I would shatter and cease to exist.

  An hour later, as I passed through airport security, I turned one last time to fill my vision with the sight of him beyond the barriers. I lifted my bag onto my shoulder and raised a hand to him, my eyes memorising his beauty, turning away when a group of fans, finally recognising their idol, swallowed him up from view.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  HOSPITALS the world over smelled the same—a unique blend of disinfected floors, starched linen and ailing humanity. It had never bothered me. In fact, I found it comforting. But as I rested my head on the bed beside my father’s still form, I knew I’d never be able to disassociate the smell from this moment, forever more connecting the odour with the demise of the once invincible man my father had been.

  The gentle grip I had on his warm fingers wasn’t enough to convey the depth of my emotions to him through the fog of his coma. The beeps from his monitors and the whoosh of oxygen being delivered to him failed to drown out the anguish in my head.

  By the time I’d arrived from LA, he’d slipped into unconsciousness. He’d suffered a cardiac arrest and, although resuscitated, he hadn’t come around. The ICU doctors suspected he’d also suffered a stroke in the wake of the heart attack and now, only time would tell if he could pull through. The chances were slim and I began to prepare my mother for the worst. If only preparing myself was as easy.

  Mum and I had kept a constant bedside vigil since I’d arrived from LA thirty-six hours ago. I hadn’t been home and hadn’t changed clothes, still wearing Nathan’s T-shirt under my jacket.

  With reluctance, I’d persuaded Mum to head home for a shower and a few hours sleep during the night. She was due back any minute and she was bringing Matty, who’d yet to see our father in this condition. He’d likely be upset—the hospital environment alone enough to send him into a spiral of sensory overload with its beeping monitors, echoing floors and constant hum of fluorescent lighting. But he needed to be part of this, to have the chance to say goodbye, and I couldn’t protect him from it.

  I needn’t have worried. As always, Matty surprised us with his ability to adapt, and Mum had prepared him well for what he would see when he stepped onto the ward that housed our father’s lifeless form.

  My eyes, which had remained unnervingly dry and scratchy since receiving the phone call from my mother, filled as I watched Matty assimilate the myriad of information, gleaning the basic concepts of what our father had suffered with one or two concise questions.

  When he began to move restlessly around the curtained bay, I accepted my mother’s car keys and led Matty from the ward.

  The forty-minute car journey home was punctuated by further clarification, where Matty asked the same questions he’d asked at the hospital and I answered them in the same way, a process that calmed him but had the opposite effect on me, as if each time I answered the words became more real.

  When we pulled up outside his flat, grief and fatigue duelling to suck me into a void of numbness, Matty turned and said, ‘Dad is sick. His heart is sick.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ My throat closed as he reached out a clumsy hand and patted my shoulder. ‘Don’t be sad.’

  And then he was gone.

  I couldn’t remember a time my little brother had consoled me. Unlike many people who believed autistic people didn’t feel the way the rest of us did, I believed the opposite—that they felt too much, their emotions so big they overwhelmed them. I’d always been the strong one, locking away my own feelings in an attempt to protect Matty. And again, he’d surprised me by seeing right through my thinly veiled attempts at stoicism.

  As I made my way to my parents’ home, only minutes from Matty’s, the tears flowed freely, soaking the neck of Nathan’s shirt. I stumbled into my childhood home, and headed straight for the bathroom where I ran a bath.

  While the bath filled, I dropped my bag onto my old bed and rummaged in my handbag for my cell phone. I hadn’t thought to check it since arriving at the hospital, focused only on my father, as if by sheer will alone I could help his body heal from the ravages of cardiovascular disease.

  My cell phone was dead. I located the charger at the bottom of my bag, relieved I’d had the foresight to throw it in when I’d rushed to collect the essentials back in LA. When I plugged in the phone, the incoming alerts went berserk and I returned to the bathroom, switching off the water so I could spend time going through the texts and missed calls.

  Nathan had texted twenty-eight times. I’d missed eleven calls from him and three from Jake. With a sigh, the last of my energy seeped away. I noted the time and attempted a quick conversion to LA local time. It was the middle of the night—he’d be asleep. I pushed away any guilt I might feel at ignoring his messages and opened the most recent text, which was from Jess.

  What’s going on? Call me ASAP

  Shame prickled the hairs on the back of my neck. I hadn’t contacted Jess for days. She’d be worried about me. I guessed she’d somehow heard about my dad. Dialling her number, I prepared myself to leave a voicemail, but she’d clearly finished her shift because she answered on the first ring.

  ‘Soph? Where are you? Are you okay?’

  ‘Jess, I’m sorry. I meant to call earlier, but … it’s been horrible. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Yes. I flew home the day before yesterday. It’s not looking good, Jess.’ My voice broke on the last word and I covered my mouth to hold in the anguish that threatened to drag me under.

  ‘Shall I come ’round? I can’t believe he’d treat you like this—what a tosser!’

  My fatigued brain was fuzzy, Jess’s words making no sense. My father couldn’t help being ill. He didn’t do this to spite me.

  But before I could ask her to clarify her outrageous statement she continued, ‘So did he end things with you in LA? Please tell me he told you in person and didn’t just let you discover the headlines for yourself?’

  I shifted from bemused and indignant to outright irate. ‘
Jess, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Nathan. I thought he was one of the good guys. I’m sorry, Soph—I encouraged you to go for it …’

  I was numb and desperate for sleep. I longed for a hot bath and some clean clothes and my friend was talking in riddles. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came back from LA because Dad’s in hospital—he’s had another heart attack and is in ICU.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh Soph! I didn’t know—I’m so sorry. I’ll come ’round to yours straight away.’

  ‘No. I’m at Mum and Dad’s—I came home for a change of clothes and a couple of hours sleep before I go back.’ Making sense of my head was like trying to wade through treacle. ‘What did you mean about Nathan?’

  Her voice was small, hesitant. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. Don’t worry about that now—you rest and I’ll meet you at the hospital. Which one is your dad in?’

  ‘Jess, I’ve spent the last three days either flying or sitting at my father’s bedside. I haven’t washed, eaten or slept. Tell me what you meant.’ I was close to collapse, my skin tingling and my face numb with fatigue. I had neither time nor patience for guessing games and Jess didn’t usually play them.

  ‘I thought you knew.’ Her reluctance to elucidate was evident from her whispered words.

  ‘Knew what? I don’t need this right now. Just tell me!’

  ‘Nathan’s gone public with Claudia—they are all over each other on the internet. I’m sorry.’ I could hear the tears choking her as a strange sense of relief washed over me.

  ‘No. He’s on his way here—he couldn’t get on the same flight as me so he’s following as soon as he can.’ I needed to read his texts. Perhaps he’d already landed.

  ‘Oh, good, okay.’ She didn’t sound convinced, her tone sending an icy trickle down my spine.

  ‘What exactly have you seen?’ I cursed myself for allowing my phone to die, but I’d been preoccupied, and celebrity gossip was hardly a priority for me right now.

  ‘Look, this can wait. Let’s focus on your dad.’

  My rational brain knew she was right, but I’d passed rational hours ago and was now entering the perilous flying-on-instinct territory. Without waiting for Jess, I pulled my laptop from my bag and flipped it open, determined to glut myself on punishment.

  It had fared better than my cell phone, having enough remaining charge for me to fire up an internet search of Nathan’s name. Within seconds I was on an entertainment site, my tired eyes scanning the images of Nathan and Claudia looking very convincing as a couple. Their demeanour screamed ‘intimate’—they were either acting a very convincing show, or I’d been dumped online.

  ‘Soph? Soph, are you still there?’ My cell phone was still pressed to my face as dread numbed me further.

  ‘Jess, can I call you back later?’

  ‘Soph, he’s not quoted directly, it just says that “sources close to the couple confirm the co-stars are dating” thing. You’re probably right—I’m sure he’s on his way. I’m going to swap shifts and meet you at the hospital, okay?’

  ‘Sure. See you in a few hours.’ I tossed my cell phone onto the bed, too focused on the article in front of me to extend my friend the good manners she deserved.

  British heartthrob and rom-com darling, Nathan Banks, was seen out and about in LA today with his co-star and latest flame, Claudia Garrett. The Daddy Date stars were spotted at LA’s trendy eatery Table 10, enjoying lunch in the sunshine before leaving together. Nathan had been seen in recent weeks spending time with British doctor, Sophia King, but when questioned about their relationship, claimed they were ‘just friends’. As previously reported, Ms King spoke out recently stating Banks was a ‘commitment-phobic womaniser’ who’d used her to present a ‘fake relationship’ to the world as a ruse to distract the media.

  Banks’s people have declined to comment on his past relationship with Ms King, whose father was involved in a UK political scandal in the 1980s, or his current relationship with Ms Garrett. But if these photos are anything to go by, he seems to have overcome any fear of commitment he might have had.

  The main image was a slightly grainy shot of Nathan and Claudia locked in a passionate embrace. His back was to the camera and her hands were tangled in his hair as they kissed. There was a smaller picture of the two of them wearing similar clothes and sitting side by side, smiling at each other in some intimate-looking corner. A third photo was inserted into the main photo—Nathan and I on the red carpet. Nathan’s Hollywood smile gave him an untouchable air and the angle of the shot placed me behind him, my eyes slanted in his direction and my face a bewildered mask.

  The constriction of my throat threatened to choke me and I blinked gritty eyes to dispel the image of Nathan and Claudia together. The betrayal burned like acid, but it was the crushing humiliation that slumped my shoulders and forced me to my knees at the side of my childhood bed.

  My father lay dying in a hospital bed and this time it was my actions dragging his name through the mud. The words ‘just friends’ played on a constant loop through my head, each replay torturing me with a painful clench in my chest.

  I’d messed up, leaking Nathan’s personal information to a blogger, making his choice easy for him. He’d chosen, cutting me free in the most public way possible and I couldn’t even blame him. I’d never belonged in his world. I was a liability. Pretending for a while had been fun, but now I was fully immersed in my own reality and it didn’t include Nathan.

  ***

  The ward round was in progress and Mum and I had stepped into the relatives’ room so the doctors could examine my father and discuss his progress. I was still numb, refusal to think about anything other than my father’s recovery isolating me from reality and the painful reminders of Nathan’s betrayal.

  During the quiet early hours of this morning, I’d finally opened his texts, biting the back of my hand to prevent me from uttering a sound as my parents slept, my dad in a deep coma in his hospital bed and my mum slumped in an armchair at his bedside.

  The first two gave me hope.

  I’m sorry you had to travel alone. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Thinking of you and your family.

  You should have landed by now. Text or call me when you can.

  The next dozen were repetitive and increasingly frantic in tone.

  Call me.

  Are you okay? I need to speak to you.

  Please answer.

  Soph, I can explain.

  The most recent tore at the last shreds of my heart.

  Are you still at the hospital? They won’t tell me anything.

  I didn’t want it to be like this.

  I wanted to explain in person, but you won’t answer the phone.

  I still want to be there for you.

  The grief broke me, cracking open my chest so my insides were raw and exposed. I’d lost the man I loved and as the hours passed, I was being forced to witness the loss of my father. Fragile and insubstantial, I barely had enough strength to deal with one of these losses and I’d closed my phone, unable to withstand the crushing pain.

  My mother’s voice broke the helpless silence in the bland room, whose walls had housed endless grief-stricken relatives waiting for news. ‘It’s more than Dad, isn’t it?’

  My head jerked up, my gaze yanked from the damage my thumbnail had inflicted on a polystyrene cup from the vending machine. ‘What?’ Her words made no sense and I scrambled to decipher the events of the day in case I’d missed something.

  ‘You. I’ve never seen you so broken. It’s not just Dad that’s upset you, is it? Is it that boy?’

  Only my mum could describe the exquisite specimen of manhood that was Nathan Banks as a boy. The incongruity jarred so violently, I almost smiled.

  ‘Mum. I’m just worried about Dad.’ I didn’t want to do this now, when I was clinging to the cliff edge of sanity by my ragged fingernails. Couldn’t she see I had little left to give?

  ‘I blame myself.’ Her voice d
ropped as her throat thickened on a half sob.

  ‘For Dad’s heart attack?’

  ‘No. For before, when you and Matty were younger—I let you both down and I’m sorry.’ Her eyes glittered with unshed tears and something else. Determination.

  ‘Mum, let’s not go there. Let’s just get through this, okay?’

  Her unfocused stare settled on a torn poster on the wall, which preached the perils of smoking. ‘You were always fixing things. Even as a little girl you’d bandage dolls and teddies with toilet paper or fetch a spoon from the drawer to give them medicine. You’ve always been trustworthy and responsible, but I let you down and I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘No, Soph. I went to pieces after your father’s affair and I’m deeply ashamed. At a time when you and Matty needed me most, I wasn’t there for you. I’m not making that mistake again.’

  ‘Matty and I were fine. I looked out for him—’

  ‘I know—your brother was largely oblivious to the whispers, thank goodness. But you—I failed you, put too much burden on you, and it’s shaped the way you live, who you are. I know I can never get those years back for you, darling, but I don’t want you to waste any more of your life.’ Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her mouth trembled, but she clamped her lips together, her stare fixed on me.

  ‘Mum, you’re my family. Families take care of each other.’

  ‘I know, and you’ve done a wonderful job. But Matty is my responsibility, mine and Dad’s, and I don’t want you to hold back for him, me or Dad. We want you to be happy—you deserve to be happy too. Your dad and I, we made our choices and we have to live with them. You don’t need to fix us, sweetheart.’

  My throat worked on a series of swallows as I battled to hold back the dam of tears threatening to spill.