by Dani Atkins
‘Jimmy!’
The good thing about fainting in a hospital is that they know what to do with you right away. It was only a moment or two before I once again became aware of where I was. Seated on the chair which my father had occupied the night before, with my head stuck securely between my knees, I could feel the comforting hand of the nurse holding a cold compress against the back of my neck. I struggled to sit up.
‘Don’t go rushing to get up yet, Rachel. Take a moment or two.’ Then, presumably directing the next comment to my dad, ‘She may have been under the hot shower a wee bit too long, she’ll be fine in a moment.’ I very much doubted that. I strained against her hand, and sat up.
I didn’t scream, or shout out, or even faint again, I just stared, totally transfixed, at the face which had been missing from my life for five dreadful years. He smiled but something in my scrutiny caused it to waver and the greeting was rearranged into a look of deep concern.
‘Rachel?’ His voice was hesitant.
I asked the only question that came into my mind.
‘Am I in heaven?’ The nurse clearly found this quite amusing.
‘Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anybody call an NHS hospital that before!’
I ignored her.
‘Is this heaven? Are we all dead?’ That shut the nurse up. I saw the look my dad flashed to Jimmy. See? it said, as plainly as if he had spoken the words out loud. I told you she was acting strangely.
The nurse had regained enough composure to switch back into her briskly professional role.
‘Come along, back to bed now, Rachel. I think you need to have a little lie down.’ She was definitely annoying me now. Disregarding her once more, I directed my question only at Jimmy.
‘Did I die in the churchyard beside the grave?’
I guess his policeman’s training was the reason he answered such a bizarre question so calmly.
‘No, Rachel, you did not die in the churchyard. And beside whose grave?’
My next answer, not surprisingly, took the polish off his professional demeanour.
‘Yours, of course.’
I don’t know who pushed the emergency button this time. It could have been any one of the three of them. Hell, it could even have been me. I think we all needed some medical intervention at that point.
A young doctor I hadn’t seen before came speedily into the room. There was a rapid flurry of conversation. I caught the words ‘delusional’ and ‘sedative’ and ‘tests’. They all meant nothing. I could only stare at Jimmy as they laid me back on the bed, swabbed briefly at my arm and slid the hypodermic into my vein.
It was a much milder sedative than the day before. I guess they couldn’t risk pumping someone with a head injury with too much sedation. Although my limbs were relaxed as though I were floating on a buoyant bed of feathers, my brain was still working. My eyes had closed, but I was still awake. It was a pleasantly drunk feeling, without the room-spinning element.
‘Did she really mean that? Did she actually think I was dead?’
My father’s voice sounded broken.
‘I don’t know, son, who knows. She thought I was dying of cancer.’
There was a long silence.
‘She must have hit her head harder than anyone realised. She’s not going to be answering any questions today. Nothing she tells you right now will help you catch the bastard who mugged her.’
‘I realise that.’
‘You probably don’t need to be hanging around here. That doctor was ordering up a whole load more tests. I can call you when she’s more… with it.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
I was wheeled from department to department. I had an MRI, two further X-rays and several other tests with electrodes affixed to my head. By then I was awake and alert enough to be asking questions. But no one was talking to me, except in soft placating tones designed not to evoke another one of my ‘episodes’. When I was finally transported back to my room, it was empty. The staff nurse who helped me back into bed advised me that my dad and all the rest of my guests had moved down to the canteen for a cup of tea. When I asked who the ‘all’ referred to, she did not know.
So I sat bolt upright in bed, staring at the door, waiting to see how many more deceased visitors I would be receiving that day.
They came in in single file: my dad, then Jimmy, followed by Matt, Cathy and Phil. I stared at them in turn as they arrived. I was still looking a little surprised to see the last three when Matt broke away from the others, rushed to my bedside and kissed me tenderly on the lips. I flinched from the brush of his soft mouth upon mine, instantly looking over his shoulder to see how Cathy would react. Amazingly her face gave away none of the rage she must surely be feeling.
‘Matt,’ I hissed, my eyes flashing a warning towards his girlfriend. I could suddenly remember the vow he had made when dropping me back at the hotel: that he was not going to let me get away again. Did he really think this was the appropriate place to start that campaign?
Besides, I couldn’t concentrate on anyone other than the person standing at the foot of my bed. At some point during the day I guessed he must have gone off duty, for he was now out of uniform, wearing jeans and a dark shirt. But the most amazing thing of all was that no one else in the room seemed in the least bit amazed that he was there. It was like that old saying about ignoring the elephant in the room. This was so enormous, so ludicrously and mind-blowingly ‘wrong’ – how come everyone wasn’t reacting like me?
And then the answer came to me. How could it have taken so long for me to get it? Especially when I’d seen The Sixth Sense so many times I knew parts of it off by heart.
‘Can anyone else see Jimmy in the room?’
I can’t begin to describe the pity on their faces as they all exchanged extremely meaningful looks. My dad answered for them all.
‘Of course we can, love.’
‘No, Dad, don’t humour me. Just be honest. I can see Jimmy’s ghost right there at the foot of my bed. Now can anyone else see him or not?’
Dad’s pain was obvious as he tried to formulate an answer but before he could reply the incredibly solid-looking ‘ghost’ of Jimmy came up to sit on the bed beside me, gently picking up my hand. I felt the mattress depress when he sat down, felt too the warmth of his fingers against my grazed skin; the ghost theory was losing ground fast.
‘Rachel, just listen to me for a moment without speaking, would you?’ I opened my mouth to protest but he gently pressed his forefinger across my lips. ‘No interruptions, right?’
God, if he was a ghost he was a bloody bossy one. And that finger against my mouth had felt so strong… so real.
‘You’ve taken a nasty blow to your head.’ He carried on as though I was going to contradict him. ‘You’d travelled back here for Sarah’s wedding.’
At last, something I could agree with. ‘Yes, I know that.’ There was a communal sigh of relief that I had grasped at least that one truth.
‘Now something happened, we think you were probably mugged, after leaving the station. And we think that somehow, when you were attacked, you must have hurt your head. And all these… strange… thoughts and ideas you are having right now are because of your injury.’
He might as well have saved his breath.
‘Then this must all be a dream,’ I announced, seizing upon the only other solution that made sense. Someone, I don’t know who, gave a loud sigh of despair. I ignored them. ‘This is all just a very real and very vivid dream, but it’s all in my subconscious. Any minute now I’m going to wake up.’
There was a long silence, which no one seemed to have the words to fill. It was though my absolute determination to stick to my own beliefs had sucked all protests clean out of the room.
Silently, Matt came up to the other side of the bed and rested his hand lightly against the back of my neck. Something flickered in Jimmy’s eyes as he immediately let go of my hand and got up from the bed. This dream was really p
eculiar; it was like going back to when we were teenagers all over again. The awkward moment was interrupted by a softly ringing bell from the nurses’ station.
‘I think that’s the end of visiting,’ my father announced with relief. ‘Perhaps you should all go now, I think Rachel could do with her rest.’
Actually, I was feeling much calmer now I’d finally worked out that none of this was really happening at all.
‘Look, why don’t you go home and rest too, Tony,’ offered Matt, unexpectedly. ‘You look really exhausted. I’ll stay with Rachel.’
Dad looked reluctant, but Dream Matt was insistent. ‘Go on, you go and get a few hours’ sleep.’
But my dad still appeared unwilling to go.
‘I don’t know, I think I should stay. I’d feel wrong going home and leaving her.’ Adding in final justification, ‘She’s my daughter; she needs me here.’
Matt’s response was firm.
‘I understand that but you’re not much use to her if you’re dead on your feet. Go home. I’ll take good care of her, Tony. I know she’s your only daughter but you’re not the only one who wants to look after her; after all she is also my only fiancée!’
I jolted with surprise and instinctively looked over at Cathy who was picking up her coat and handbag and getting ready to go. Matt’s words didn’t seem to have affected her at all.
‘Although right now she’s a fiancée without a ring,’ observed Jimmy in an unfathomable tone.
I stupidly looked down at my left hand as if to seek confirmation. There was obviously no jewellery upon it, although as I looked more closely I could see the faint white mark where a ring had obviously sat. Also strangely, the knuckle appeared reddened and swollen, something I’d not noticed before amongst the others cuts and bruises. It looked as though whatever had been on my finger might have been pulled off quite roughly.
I looked up, my face registering a sort of dazed surprise, and interrupted a very dark exchange of looks between Matt and Jimmy as they stood facing each other on either side of my bed. The thin veil of friendship between them looked stretched to the point of rupturing.
‘Ring or no ring, she’s still my fiancée, mate.’
Oohh… this dream was getting more interesting every minute.
6
Sometime over the next twenty-four hours it all stopped being quite so funny.
When does a dream become a nightmare? I’d always thought it was when the familiar suddenly becomes strange and threatening; or when you get lost somewhere you thought you knew well; or even when you feel overwhelmed by a feeling of impotence – when you know you’re speaking clearly but no one appears to be listening. And it’s true, a nightmare is all of those things. But my true nightmare began with the realisation that I wasn’t waking up: that somehow, impossibly and unbelievably, this was all really happening.
This realisation didn’t come all at once but slowly pricked away at my conscious with a questioning voice that refused to be quiet. The first indicators to concern me were the continuing and detailed vividness of the dream. There were no strange shifts in time or place; this dream had continuity and even monotony. What dream could I ever recall having before that had incorporated the truly mundane details of day-to-day life? In this one I ate the unappetising hospital meals, I slept (who does that in a dream?), I even visited the bathroom. None of this had any place in a ‘real’ dream.
Of course, when Matt and I had been left alone in my room, after my other visitors had left, I was still happily ensconced in blissful ignorance. I was content to sit back and let events around me unfold like a play. This was just a dream, after all; nothing I did or said had any real consequence.
So I made no protest when Matt drew a chair up close to the bed and entwined his long tanned fingers around mine. I winced slightly as he caught the grazes on my palms, never stopping to think how odd it was to actually experience the sensation of pain in a dream. I let his lips cover mine as he bent to kiss me tenderly, whispering soft and low between kisses how frantically worried he had been about me. And when he eventually pulled back, I could feel my heart fluttering madly against my ribs like a frenzied canary. Well, that wasn’t really a surprise; it had been a long, long time since I’d been kissed like that – either in a dream or wide awake.
What I hadn’t expected after such a display of tenderness was for him draw back and for his tone to turn so quickly to one of censure.
‘Rachel, I have to ask, what the hell were you thinking of, setting off alone from the station and walking down that deserted road? Didn’t you realise the stupid risks you were taking?’
I blinked up at him slowly, caught off guard by the sudden switch in his mood.
‘Why didn’t you phone me to pick you up, or get a cab, or just wait with the other passengers?’
He was looking at me intently. Clearly expecting some coherent reply. I had none.
‘I’m sorry…’ I offered lamely. ‘I don’t remember anything except…’ Except everything that really happened: the dinner, the ride back to my hotel, and then the disastrous visit to the cemetery.
‘Except?’ he prompted hopefully.
‘Except waking up here.’ Even in my dream I was smart enough not to keep on insisting that my reality appeared to be completely different from everyone else’s.
‘And it’s not just about losing the ring, don’t think that – though thank God we had it well insured.’
The ring? Was that what was concerning him, losing the engagement ring? Jeez, Dream Matt was certainly all about the money.
‘You could have been seriously hurt, it could have been so much worse than just cuts and grazes and a bump on the head. When I think of what that guy could have done to you…’
He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, so I nodded slowly as though absorbing the dilemma that my dream persona had apparently brought upon myself.
‘When we got that call, when you cried out for help… well, I’ve never felt so useless in my entire life. Thank God Jimmy was there – and it’s not often you’ll hear me saying that!’
I gave a watery smile in response. Then curiosity to learn more took over.
‘Why, what did he do?’
‘Took charge. I guess it’s his policeman’s training to act like that in an emergency. We were all about to go charging off God-knows-where to find you but he was the one who kept calm and cool and called his police station. He figured you were probably at the railway station or somewhere nearby and got several cars out looking for you before we had even got out of the car park! A squad car found you by the church only ten or fifteen minutes after your call and you were off in the ambulance before we were even halfway there. I guess it pays to have a copper on hand in a crisis.’
So Jimmy had saved me once again. I guess I could see why, in a dream, I had once more cast Jimmy in the role of hero. It was, after all, how he’d lost his life.
‘Not that his behaviour afterwards was very professional though.’
My ears pricked up at that comment.
‘Why, what happened then?’
‘Well he really lost it while we were at the hospital waiting for you to be assessed: when we didn’t know how seriously you’d been hurt. He started yelling at me about how could I be so irresponsible; how I never should have left you to travel alone at night. I particularly liked the bit about how I didn’t deserve to have you, if I couldn’t look after you properly.’ He rubbed his hand ruefully over his handsome chin. ‘And then he took a swing at me!’
I sat up sharply. ‘He did?’
Mistaking my total astonishment for loving concern, he patted my arm in reassurance.
‘Don’t worry, he didn’t do any damage; Phil had a hold of his arm before he even made contact. Damn unprofessional of him though, even if he was off duty. I could make an official complaint…’ He saw the look in my eyes and continued quickly, ‘I won’t, of course. I realise it was all just heat-of-the-moment stuff. Don’t worry, I’m not goi
ng to get old PC Plod in trouble. And I guess it is understandable, feeling as he did about you all those years ago.’
There it was again. Even in my dream I couldn’t seem to get away from someone trying to convince me that Jimmy had been deeply in love with me.
‘I think he must have forgotten how strong-willed you can be. And independent. After all, you haven’t been in touch with him for quite a while now, have you?’
I wanted to say: Well no, not without the aid of a Ouija board. But settled instead for a less controversial, ‘No, not really… we must have kind of lost touch.’
I was really quite glad when the nurse came in at that point, wheeling a laden trolley of pharmaceuticals. She tactfully reminded Matt that visiting hours were long over and he took the hint, kissing me lightly on the forehead and leaving with the promise to return the next day.
As I lay on the starchy hospital sheets, waiting for the pills I’d swallowed to take effect, I pondered on the curiously complex scenario my subconscious had summoned up. All the facts and characters were present but the details and events were twisted into such a bizarre parallel reality. It was my life but not as I knew it, for here it was all so much better: Jimmy was still alive, my Dad wasn’t sick – and neither was I, apparently – and Matt and I were engaged to be married. It was almost a shame to wake up.
And I didn’t. Well, that’s to say I slept and when I opened my eyes it was a new day, but still the dream continued. That’s when the voice first started up, telling me something was really wrong here. They had scheduled me for God knows how many more tests that morning, and my pleasurable euphoria of living in a dream began to gradually dissipate when my real life failed to return. I even resorted to the old trick of pinching myself hard, a real old Chinese-burn style pinch, whilst waiting outside the room for a second MRI scan. Nothing happened, except that I gave myself a very nasty-looking red and white mark on my forearm. Even then, I only stopped contorting the soft flesh when I caught the pitying glance from the nurse who had wheeled me down for this latest test. Clearly news of the delusional new patient was widespread and all comments directed at me were in the softly spoken sing-song tones usually reserved for dealing with those under five or the imbecilic.
