The Triumph of Katie Byrne

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

Chapter Twenty-nine

  Niall had offered to drive Katie to the hospice to see Carly, and so they set off on Saturday morning just after nine o’clock. It was a beautiful day, with a blue sky, no clouds, a bright sun and no snow, which had been predicted by the television weatherman the night before.

  As they came out of the house together, Niall turned to Katie and said, ‘I just bought myself a new car, shall we take it?’

  ‘Why not? And what is it?’

  ‘A BMW, and it’s a beauty.’

  ‘My, aren’t we getting fancy, Niall Byrne!’

  Her brother laughed. ‘No, not fancy, just practical. It’s a good car, the best, and it’s my only indulgence in life, if you can call it that. I consider it an essential, especially for business.’

  ‘Don’t you use a pickup truck any more?’

  ‘Sure I do. Every day. For working on sites. But when I go to New York, or up to Litchfield, places like that I’ll take the car.’

  By this time they were in the garage, and after opening the door for her, Niall hurried around to the other side and got in. He backed out slowly, and within seconds they were on the main road heading towards Warren and New Preston just beyond.

  They drove in silence for a while, and then suddenly Katie asked, ‘Why do you still live at home, Niall? Why haven’t you found a place of your own?’

  ‘A number of reasons. First of all, I didn’t want to leave Mom and Dad alone…you’re gone, Fin’s gone, and I felt they needed me to be around, especially Mom. But there are other reasons.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  He looked at her quickly, out of the corner of his eye, and began to laugh. ‘Living at home with my parents is protection.’

  ‘From whom, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Women.’

  Katie chuckled. ‘You. Needing protection? Come on!’

  He smiled knowingly, muttered, ‘Sure I need protection. I don’t want to find myself getting pushed into a permanent live-in relationship. Or any kind of permanent relationship, for that matter.’

  ‘Nobody special then?’

  He shook his head, kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, obviously not wishing to continue this conversation.

  Katie said, ‘But listen, Niall, you’ve dated quite a few women from time to time. So I’m assuming they all have their own places?’

  ‘Sure they do.’

  She noticed the sly smile playing around his mouth and she punched his arm lightly. ‘You’re a devil. But seriously, Mom would love you to settle down.’

  ‘I am settled down. With them. And they love it.’

  ‘She’d love a grandchild more.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with you? The same rules apply.’

  ‘I know, but I haven’t met anyone that really interests me. Unfortunately.’

  ‘What happened to that guy we called The Face?’

  ‘Long gone and forgotten. Anyway, he’s getting married. ’

  ‘Bully for him.’

  ‘So you plan on being a bachelor?’

  ‘Yes, why not? The world is full of bachelors.’

  Katie realized he wanted her to drop this topic, and so she did. She sat back in the deep leather car seat, thinking about the visit to Carly. She always got butterflies in her stomach, never knowing what to expect. And yet she did know, because nothing ever changed. ‘Oh Niall, stop at that plant place, in New Milford, please. I need to buy flowers for Carly,’ she suddenly exclaimed.

  The man came barrelling through the swing doors, almost knocking Katie down in the process. She stepped back swiftly, dropping the bunch of flowers, backing away to avoid collision.

  After stepping on them, the man said, ‘Oh my God, I’m sorry, so sorry. My apologies. Here, let me retrieve the flowers.’ He gave her a weak smile as he bent down to pick them up.

  Katie stood staring at him, thinking what a clumsy fool he was.

  Straightening, the man said again, ‘I’m so sorry.’ He tried to rearrange the crumpled paper around the flowers and dusted them off, adding, ‘I shouldn’t be rushing around like this in a hospital, of all places.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Katie said, glaring at him.

  He attempted another smile as he handed her the bunch of flowers. ‘Not too badly damaged, I don’t think.’

  Katie accepted the flowers silently, looking down at the blooms. But he was correct, the flowers were intact.

  He suddenly said, ‘Oh my God, you’re Katie Byrne!’

  Katie looked at him coldly. ‘Yes, I am.’

  He stuck out his hand. ‘Christopher Saunders.’

  Katie had no alternative but to shake his hand, and as she did, she said, ‘But I don’t know you, do I?’

  ‘No, no, you don’t. But I saw you in an off-Broadway show a couple of years ago. It was the revival of A Lion in Winter. You played Alice.’

  ‘The Lion in Winter,’ she corrected. ‘And yes I did have the part of Alais.’

  ‘And I saw your picture in The New York Times, one day last week. You’re in Melanie Dawson’s new play, the Charlotte Brontë play.’

  Katie nodded, trying to edge away, wanting to get to Carly’s room. Clutching the bunch of flowers tightly, she tried to step around him.

  ‘I hope to come to one of the previews.’

  ‘Yes, good,’ she answered, nodding.

  ‘You’re playing Emily. I bet you can really get your teeth into that part. She was quite the enigma, wasn’t she?’

  Katie was startled by this comment, and for the first time she really looked at him, half smiling as she did. ‘Yes,’ she muttered.

  He smiled back, a wide, generous smile, showing very white teeth, and his brown eyes were warm, and slightly questioning.

  Her eyes locked on his and she found she couldn’t look away. He was very good-looking in a sort of freshly-scrubbed, collegiate way, and he was staring at her so intently Katie grew uncomfortable.

  Finally, she said, ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I’m delaying you. Sorry again about almost knocking you down. See you at the play.’

  She stepped around him and went through the swing doors, walking rapidly down the corridor, thinking there was something quite disconcerting about him. Christopher Saunders. The name didn’t ring a bell.

  One of the young women at the nurses’ station recognized her, and came over, smiling. ‘Hello, Miss Byrne. You’ve come to see Carly.’

  ‘Yes, I have, Jane. How is she?’

  ‘More or less the same. Shall I take the flowers, put them in water for you?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Katie smiled and handed them to her, then opened the door and went into Carly’s room. It was filled with bright sunlight, and there were several vases of flowers on the chest against the wall.

  Carly lay on her back in the hospital bed, the feeding tube in place. Her eyes were open, as they sometimes were, and Katie looked down into them, seeking a spark, a hint of life. But they were blank, like a blind person’s eyes. Those beautiful eyes, wide open but seeing nothing, were startling in that pale face. It, too, was passive, bland, showing no animation whatsoever. And very little ageing.

  Katie sat down in the chair near the bed, put her shoulder bag on the floor, and then reached out for Carly’s hand. It was cool, unresponsive as she held it in hers. Katie stroked it, slightly tightened her grip. ‘Hi, Carly, it’s me, Katie. I’m here from New York. I wanted to see you, Carly, to tell you I love you, and that I miss you. I wish you could hear me. Perhaps you can.’

  There was a noise behind her, and Katie swung her head as Jane, the nurse, came in with the vase of flowers. ‘I’ll put them with the others,’ she murmured, did so, and left.

  Katie looked into Carly’s face, and continued talking to her in a soft and loving voice. ‘We’re in the theatre now, Carly, after weeks in the rehearsal hall. It’s very exciting to be on stage at last. Thrilling, really. And next week we start dress rehearsals. I told you when I was here in December, I’m playing Emily B
rontë. I have the second lead. And I’m on Broadway. It’s what we always dreamed about. Mom keeps saying that I’ll have my name in lights at last. But I don’t think it’ll actually be in lights. Georgette Allison’s, yes, and Harrison Jordan’s too. They’re the stars. But nobody’s ever heard of me.’

  Except for Christopher Saunders, she thought, and pushed the compelling image of his face away from her. Leaning forward, she stroked Carly’s pale, passive face, and went on, ‘The play’s at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre on West 47th Street. Just over a thousand seats. Imagine, Carly, a thousand people at a time in the audience. I wish you could be one of them.’

  Katie leaned back in the chair, and closed her eyes, swallowing hard, trying to keep the sorrow from erupting, as it was now threatening to do. It was more than sorrow, though, she knew that. It was frustration and anger as well. There was a man out there who should be paying for this, paying for what he’d done to Carly. And to Denise. There’s no justice. None at all, she thought.

  Sitting up straighter, Katie concentrated on Carly once more. ‘I think about you all the time, Carly. You and Denise are always in my thoughts. I told you when I came at Christmas that I took this part for both of you as well as for myself. I was a bit ambivalent about it, and then I realized I was afraid of failing. And I thought if Carly and Denise were here with me I wouldn’t be afraid at all. And one day I understood that you are with me. In my heart and in my mind, and you always will be. Xenia helped me to make the decision to do the play. You’d like her a lot, Carly. She’s different from the three of us, yet like us, one of us. She’s the only friend I’ve ever had in all these years since you and Denise were…’

  Katie stopped, choked up again.

  She sat for a long time, holding Carly’s hand, stroking it, squeezing it from time to time, and talking to her quietly. She recited some Shakespeare, because Carly had always loved his work, and whispered part of Emily Brontë’s poem, Cold in the Earth.

  But eventually she fell silent, and after a short while she stood up, leaned over the bed and kissed Carly on her cheek. ‘I have to go now, Carly darling, but I’ll come back soon.’ Blinking back the tears, Katie found her bag on the floor, and went out, closing the door behind her quietly. For a moment or two, she leaned against the wall, trying to compose herself, but the tears suddenly flowed, and she fumbled in her shoulder bag for a tissue.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Startled, Katie glanced up and saw Dr James Nelson standing outside another patient’s door, holding a chart in his hand. She had met him briefly at Christmas. He was new at the New Milford Hospital, where he was head of Neurology. And he also supervised the Neurological Wing at the hospice. Her mother had told her he had worked here for about a year.

  ‘I’m okay, Dr Nelson,’ she replied. ‘I still get a bit upset when I see Carly like this…lying there in a coma.’

  ‘That’s quite understandable, Miss Byrne.’

  ‘Oh please call me Katie, everybody does.’

  He inclined his head. ‘How’s the play coming along?’

  ‘Very well, thanks.’

  Katie moved away from Carly’s door, and he fell into step with her. He was tall and thin, sandy-haired, an attractive-looking man, in his mid-thirties, she thought, and she had liked him the first time she met him. He inspired confidence with his competent and very direct manner, quiet and thoughtful demeanour.

  They walked along the corridor together, making for the front lobby. It was he who broke the silence when he suddenly said in his quiet voice, ‘Carly’s not actually in a coma, you know.’

  Katie stopped dead in her tracks, and so did he.

  She swung to him, stared up into his face. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice rising an octave.

  ‘Carly was in a true coma for about five or six weeks after she first suffered her injuries,’ he explained. ‘She then went into what is known as a vegetative state, and she’s been in that vegetative state ever since.’

  ‘But nobody told me that!’ Katie exclaimed, still staring at him. ‘And what does it mean? Why is it different from a coma?’

  ‘From a medical standpoint, a person is in a coma when his or her eye opening, verbal response, and motor response, on the Glasgow Coma Scale, total eight or less. And it’s typical for a patient’s eyes to be closed, and he or she is never awake. Do you understand, Katie?’

  ‘Yes, so far.’

  ‘Now, a vegetative state is a condition in which the patient’s eyes are frequently wide open, and the sleep/wake cycles are intact. However, the patient does not speak, and does not exhibit any behaviour that indicates an awareness of loved ones, or an awareness of the environment in which he or she is living. Do you follow me still?’

  ‘Oh yes, I do.’

  ‘Good. By the way, the term vegetative state was coined by two doctors, Jennett and Plum, at the Royal Hospital for Neuro-disability in Putney, London, in order to provide a clinical diagnosis based on behavioural observations of patients. Let me put this as simply as possible, in layman’s terms. The word vegetative was very specifically chosen to describe merely physical life, or existence if you like, devoid of sensation and thought. I’m sure you’re understanding all this, Katie.’

  ‘Yes, I am, Dr Nelson. But there is one thing I’d like to know. Could Carly come out of this vegetative state?’

  ‘I obviously can’t predict anything like that,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘But has anybody ever come out of it?’

  ‘To my knowledge, no.’

  ‘Does Mrs Smith know Carly’s not actually in a coma, as such?’ Katie asked, her brows drawing together in a puzzled frown.

  The doctor nodded. ‘I did explain this to Carly’s mother last year. I pretty much said what I’ve just said to you. But to be very honest, I think she really believes Carly is in a true coma, and nothing will change her mind.’

  ‘I see.’ Katie bit her lip, looking reflective. After a split second, she said, ‘I haven’t seen Mrs Smith for a very long time. I called her when I came back from London at Christmas and left a message, but she never got back to me. And she hasn’t responded to any of the overtures my parents have made. But I do know my mother’s run into her once or twice here. I can’t imagine why she didn’t say anything to Mom…about this vegetative state Carly’s in, as opposed to a real coma.’

  James Nelson was silent for a moment, wondering the same thing. Finally, he responded. ‘Katie, I honestly don’t think Mrs Smith understands the difference. She’s just convinced Carly is in a deep coma…’ He looked at Katie helplessly, and shook his head. ‘It’s odd, I admit that.’

  ‘Thanks for explaining all this to me, Dr Nelson. I realize Carly is still truly out of it, that her condition is terrible, irreversible, but on the other hand it doesn’t seem quite as bad as a coma.’

  Katie hesitated on the steps of the hospice, shading her eyes against the sun with her hand, looking for Niall. But the BMW was nowhere in sight. It was such a sunny morning, mild even, and so she went and sat on the low wall to wait for him. She knew her brother wouldn’t be very long. Like her, he was always fairly prompt.

  A moment later a shadow fell across her, and she turned her head slightly, then lifted it, found herself staring up at Christopher Saunders, who was hovering over her anxiously.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said, gazing down at her with that same intensity of earlier, the huge smile on his face touching his eyes, filling them with warmth and laughter.

  ‘Hi,’ Katie murmured, gazing back at him, wondering if he had been hanging around waiting for her.

  As if reading her mind, he said, ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I hope you don’t mind, but I did want to apologize to you again. I’m such a clumsy fool. I could have hurt you, the way I came hurtling through those doors.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said and finally pulled her gaze away from his, not wishing to look into those mesmerizing eyes any longer. There was something very compelling about this man,
and it troubled her. She didn’t want to be compelled by anybody, least of all this stranger.

  ‘I hope the person you came to see didn’t mind squashed flowers, and that he or she is feeling better,’ he said, sounding as if he really cared.

  Katie sighed. ‘She won’t ever get any better, I suppose. And she didn’t notice the flowers, as far as I know. But at least Dr Nelson told me a few things that made me feel, well, less depressed about her.’

  ‘Jamie’s the best doctor in the world, you know. Brilliant guy. So it’s a neurological problem, is it?’

  ‘Yes. You call him Jamie. Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘Sure is. My best buddy. We grew up together, went to the same school in New York. Trinity.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So that’s why you’re here. Or did you also come to visit a patient?’

  ‘No, I brought something for Jamie from New York.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m sorry someone in your family is ill,’ Christopher now said, trying to make further conversation with her. ‘It’s very worrying, I know.’

  ‘It’s not a family member, it’s my best friend. Or she was my best friend until she was violently beaten and went into a coma. Now she doesn’t even know me.’

  ‘Oh my God, how awful!’

  ‘Dr Nelson says she’s not in a true coma, but is actually locked in something called a vegetative state. But in a way, that doesn’t give me much hope, because she’s still lost to the world. And she will be for the rest of her life.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Christopher again sounded genuinely sympathetic, and he went on, after a brief pause, ‘How did it happen? Was your friend mugged, or what?’

  When she didn’t answer, he sat down on the wall next to her, and murmured, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.’

  ‘She was beaten on the head by a fiendish psychopath, beaten until she was unconscious. And my other best girlfriend was raped and murdered by the same guy. At the same time.’

  Christopher was staring at her stupefied, an expression of total horror settling on his face. There was a long moment before he responded. Then he finally said, ‘How truly horrible. I’m very, very sorry. It’s a pretty rotten thing for you to have to cope with.’