by Dani Atkins
Wayne trapped my hands within his long-fingered ones. ‘If that man loves you the way he damn well ought to, it shouldn’t make any difference.’
I sighed, knowing it wasn’t as simple as that, but suddenly overcome with the kind of weariness that no amount of sleep could cure. ‘I just want to feel like the old Bella again,’ I said. ‘Most of the time I don’t even know where she’s gone.’
We were interrupted before Wayne could reply by the arrival of Rosie, my favourite of all the nurses on the ward. She grinned and apologised for interrupting us, and said she’d be as quick as possible. ‘Don’t rush on my account,’ assured Wayne, and there was something in his voice that I don’t think I’d ever heard before. I thought he was just being his usual funny and charming self, although if I didn’t know better I would have sworn he was flirting with the pretty young nurse. Rosie had certainly turned a very becoming shade of pink by the time she’d finished taking my ‘obs’ and had left the room.
It was only when I saw my old friend’s eyes following her back into the corridor that it dawned on me that maybe I hadn’t been barking up the wrong tree after all. I waited until I was certain Rosie was out of earshot before turning to him. Now I thought about it, Wayne had been quite smartly dressed on his last few visits, which I’d thought had been for me. Now I wasn’t so sure. I said nothing, but allowed my raised eyebrows to ask the question for me. For a moment he hesitated, and then grinned and patted the back of my hand like an elderly maiden aunt.
‘Just when you think you know all the answers, life has a funny way of surprising you, Bella.’
‘It’s just that I’d always thought… you know, that maybe you…’ I was in danger of digging the world’s biggest hole and burying myself deeply inside it if I chose to finish that sentence.
Wayne was looking through the window into the corridor where Rosie had disappeared with an almost sheepish look on his face. ‘I’ve always thought that dogs have the right idea, you know. They’re not hung up on gender the way people are.’
‘True. Boy dog, girl dog, leg of a table. Pretty much anything goes in canine dating.’
Wayne’s laughter was infectious, and after a moment I found myself joining in just as heartily. It was a release, probably out of proportion to the situation, but it felt so damn good. By the time we were done there were tears streaming down both our faces, but for once they weren’t ones of sadness.
‘There you go. You made a funny,’ Wayne said, smiling down at me like the world’s proudest parent.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but all I knew was that I suddenly felt better than I had in days. ‘Yeah, I guess I did.’
He bent low and gently kissed my forehead. ‘That’s my girl. That’s my Bella. You’re still here. You’re still you.’
And for the first time since the day of the accident, I actually felt like me again.
16
When I’d told Wayne how each of my hospital visitors made me feel, there was one name I’d omitted from the list. Because technically he wasn’t a visitor, I told myself. If a person was already in the hospital, and just happened to casually pop in to say hi, then that didn’t count as a bona fide visitor. Did it? My omission certainly had nothing to do with the way I found myself expectantly watching the door of my room, or the curious lightness I felt whenever I heard the sound of crutches squeaking across the linoleum floor.
The nursing staff seemed happy to waive the strict hospital visiting hours where Will was concerned. I wasn’t sure if that was down to his undeniable charm (even the frosty ward sister had succumbed), or because of our new-found minor celebrity status. It was something we’d discussed on his second visit, two days after the accident.
‘There are so many other reasons I’d rather see my mug plastered all over the papers,’ he’d said, unfolding the newspaper he’d bought in the hospital foyer and laying it down on my bed. On the second page were two large grainy photographs, positioned side by side. Mine was dreadful; three years out of date, and taken at a time when I’d been sporting a particularly unfortunate fringe. If I’d known that photo was going to be in virtually every national newspaper, I would definitely have deleted it from my Facebook page. Will’s photo was a professional studio one, which he said he used for work.
‘What kind of reasons?’ I asked, closing the paper with a wince after seeing the third photograph in the article, showing the twisted remains of The Hybrid. Dad had been protectively shielding me from online photos, so this was actually the first time I’d seen the wreckage we’d been cut free from.
‘Why else would I like to be famous?’ he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. More of it was visible now that the wide crepe bandage had been replaced by a rectangular plaster. ‘For rescuing someone from a burning building. For winning the lottery. Or better yet, for getting a Pulitzer for something I’ve written.’
It seemed rude to question whether books reviewing theme parks were that critically acclaimed, so I opted for a safer alternative.
‘You’d have made a good fireman. You were certainly very calming when things were really bad after the crash.’
Will gave a crooked grin. ‘Really? Then I’m a much better actor than I realised, because most of the time I was shit scared. I was more than relieved when the real-life heroes arrived to take over.’
‘You were my hero that day. I don’t think I could have got through any of what happened if you hadn’t been there. I’ll never forget what you did to help me, Will.’
He blushed, and for some reason I found that both touching and unexpected. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget you either.’ That wasn’t quite what I’d meant, but to correct him would cause an awkward moment between us.
To be fair, for people who’d met in such a dramatic way, we had settled into an easy and comfortable friendship, which grew a little more familiar with every visit. I had no idea why the fracture clinic were keeping such a close eye on his broken ankle, but I was very grateful that his injury provided him with plenty of opportunities to visit me after his appointments.
Hospital days are long and quite frankly more than a little boring. So I told myself the delight I felt whenever Will unexpectedly appeared at my doorway was a natural antidote to the tedium experienced by every long-stay hospital patient.
Will had grown used to me greeting him with a happy smile, so the day he turned up and found me in floods of tears threw him off balance. Almost literally, in fact, as he hurriedly swung his crutches towards the bed.
‘What is it, Bella? What’s wrong? Have the doctors said something?’
It was a fairly intuitive guess. I’d shared the grim prognosis from the medical team with Will. Why it had been easier to do so with someone I’d only just met, when I still hadn’t found the courage to tell my own boyfriend, was something I chose not to examine too closely.
‘No. It’s nothing like that,’ I said, looking up, uncaring that my eyes were bloodshot to a vampire red and my nose was running. I had no vanity with this man, who could look unflinchingly at my mutilated legs in a way that even my dad found almost impossible.
Will plucked a box of tissues from the bedside cabinet and kept pulling them out and passing them to me until I’d finally mopped up the worst of the flow.
‘So you’ve not had bad news?’ he probed, when I could eventually talk past the lingering hiccupping sobs.
‘No, it’s not that. It’s just me… being stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid,’ he defended in a loyal knee-jerk response.
Somehow I managed to summon up a small laugh. ‘Spoken as only someone who’s never seen my school exam results could do.’
He smiled. ‘They’re not how you judge how smart a person is.’
I gave a wry smile, knowing without having to ask that he’d been a ‘straight-A’ boy.
‘Then what is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Sasha’s wedding is tomorrow and we were all meant to be together today, having facia
ls and getting our nails done. Just silly girly stuff.’ I looked up as though this explained everything, only to find him looking at me, wanting more. ‘And my feet are all bruised and battered and I’ll probably never have another pedicure again, because, well… who would want to go anywhere near my legs? They’re a freak show.’
Of all the things I thought Will might do next – laugh, politely disagree, or try to cheer me up – the one thing I never expected was for him to reach over and whip off the sheet covering my legs, like a magician performing the famous tablecloth trick.
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ he said, sounding angry, which was an emotion I’d never heard before from him. ‘Your legs are the mark of a survivor. Okay, so they might not work well at the moment, and yes, there’s a chance they might never work properly again.’ Our eyes met at those words. ‘But do you know what I see when I look at them? Because it sure as hell isn’t the long puckered scars or the stitches and the metal pins and bolts. I see a badge of honour: they’re a medal that only a survivor who’s shown true bravery deserves to wear. I see someone who has the courage to get past all of this.’
I looked down at the legs I’d once been quite proud of. They used to look pretty good in shorts, I remembered, as though reminiscing about a long-lost friend. But Will’s words were too powerful to ignore. I should be grateful, not wallowing in self-pity.
‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m more upset than I expected about missing the wedding.’
‘That’s only natural. Is your boyfriend still going?’
I nodded, and tried to keep in mind that Aaron was only doing so as a favour to me. Thanks to him, I’d at least be able to watch everything as it happened on my laptop.
*
I thought I was done with tears for one day. I’d certainly cried enough of them, but when Rosie popped into my room at the end of her shift and pulled up a chair beside my bed, I had no idea that she was about to set me off again. She was carrying a small chemist’s bag, which she upended, catching the bright red nail varnish as it fell into her palm. Without saying a word, she turned back the bed sheet to expose my feet.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, aware my question was ridiculous, as it was pretty obvious what she was up to as she shook the bottle and carefully unscrewed the lid.
‘A little birdie suggested that this might possibly cheer you up.’
The tears felt very close as I asked: ‘By any chance was that “little birdie” extremely tall, with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and hobbling around on crutches?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say,’ Rosie replied, her lips curving in a smile as she bent and began to paint my toenails.
*
The laptop was set up and ready, with the familiar Skype logo filling the screen. The wedding was due to start in less than ten minutes and in my heart I was right there with them. Jessica had been in charge of linking me in to the bridal party preparations that morning, so I’d kind of been there with them as my friends had their hair and make-up done. Thanks to modern technology it almost felt as though I was in the room with them, smelling the clashing aromas of perfume and hairspray. Almost. The most poignant moment had been when Sasha finally slipped into her wedding gown. When you put a beautiful girl in a gorgeous gown she’s always going to look spectacular, but Sasha took perfection to a whole new level. The bridesmaids with her in the hotel room cried when they saw her, and in the privacy of my hospital room, so did I.
And now they were all at the church, and Aaron was in the Skype driving seat, with his phone directed towards the altar where Phil was waiting to change my best friend’s last name to his.
‘Can you see all right?’ whispered Aaron, redirecting the phone so I could see his face. I had to admit he was looking incredibly handsome for someone who’d once claimed he didn’t want to attend this wedding. He’d made a big effort, and while I knew the new shirt and the smart haircut had been done for me, they still felt like an uncomfortable stone lodged in my shoe.
‘Yes. I can see just fine. Thanks again for doing this for me, Aaron.’
He gave that smile, the one I’d fallen in love with. ‘No probs, babe. Oh, I’d better shut up now. Looks like it’s all about to kick off,’ he said, switching the camera view to the church doors.
This was the worst moment, waiting for it all to begin. This was never the way Sasha and I had planned it when we’d played dress-up brides when we were kids. For a moment I felt like an outsider with my nose pressed up against a windowpane. I was alone… and then suddenly, incredibly, I wasn’t. I heard the opening of a door; not the church one, but the one to my room. Will hobbled in, wearing not the jeans or shorts I was used to seeing, but an immaculate dark suit. He even had a perfect white carnation in his buttonhole. His smile was full of apology.
‘Sorry I’m late. It took me longer to get dressed than I’d calculated.’ His smile should have felt unfamiliar, but in that moment I felt as if I’d known it for a hundred years. ‘I thought you might appreciate some company today.’
He manoeuvred his crutches and was beside my bed in two steps. In one hand he held a small corsage tied together with tendrils of curling white ribbon.
‘I didn’t know what the other bridesmaids were carrying, but as the chief one, I thought you needed flowers.’
*
He must have been bored. It couldn’t possibly have been interesting watching people he’d never met, and was never likely to, get married and then celebrate for hours afterwards. And yet Will never once complained. When Aaron filmed the wedding speeches, Will produced a bottle of champagne and two plastic flutes. ‘Don’t let Nurse Ratched catch us,’ Will teased, crossing to the venetian blinds and twisting them to a close, shutting off my room from view of the corridor. ‘I’ve a feeling you’re probably not allowed to get the patients drunk.’
I grinned as I watched him attempt to silently pop the cork, and then pour out two generous glasses of champagne. When Phil’s best man toasted ‘The Bride and Groom’, fifty miles away from the wedding reception, in a shadowy NHS hospital room, two survivors from a theme park tragedy did exactly the same.
*
The irony of it only occurred to me much later. On the day that Sasha’s relationship was being celebrated and secured for the future, my own was beginning to disintegrate. Not that I realised it at the time, of course.
After the speeches, I told Aaron he could shut down the Skype call. Was I expecting him to leave the reception at that point, now that his task was done? If I’m being honest, maybe I was. But perhaps he didn’t want to appear rude. I can hardly just eat and run, can I, babe? Or perhaps he was just enjoying himself too much. Was it fair of me to begrudge him having fun? Of course it wasn’t, but I did anyway.
After Will had been evicted at the end of visiting hours by a grumpy nurse who appeared immune to his charms, I was left with confused feelings. I’d been incredibly touched by what he’d done for me that day; it went beyond just an act of kindness, and that bothered me more than a little. Was I guilty of encouraging him? I rewound every one of our interactions, looking for any sign where I might unwittingly have led him on. I truly couldn’t think of a single one. With my lower limbs looking like something out of a Frankenstein film, I had certainly never felt less alluring. Not that I wanted to look appealing to anyone except Aaron. It’s not as if I was looking for an upgrade. The thought jolted through me like an electric current. Was that how I thought of Will? As though he was somehow better than the man I’d been dating for the last two years? The man who’d given up his Saturday to attend my friend’s wedding, just to make me happy?
What kind of ungrateful girlfriend would study the posted Facebook photos of Aaron on the dance floor, glass in hand, laughing with a group of people I didn’t know, and compare him unfavourably to the man who’d dressed up in a suit on a boiling hot day to be a ‘virtual guest’ at a stranger’s wedding?
I fell asleep that night watching a video someone had posted of Aaron jiving enthusiastic
ally with a girl I didn’t recognise, just some random wedding guest, and tried not to feel bitter that even on my very best day before the accident, I’d never have been able to match her moves. Aaron loved to dance. It was his thing. It always had been. Had he realised that my days of joining him on the floor were definitely over? It should be irrelevant; it shouldn’t matter one little bit… and yet I was really afraid that it would. It was time to tell him the truth.
*
‘In a wheelchair? What… like forever?’
I shook my head sadly because he sounded so horrified, while in my head I heard a distant hammering. I was pretty sure it was the first nail being driven into the coffin of our relationship.
‘I don’t know yet. They don’t know yet. But yes, it’s a possibility.’
‘And how come they didn’t tell you this straight away? Why did they let you carry on thinking you were going to make a full recovery?’
I couldn’t meet his eyes, and a hot flush was starting at my throat and creeping steadily northwards.
‘You knew this? You knew this, Bella, and you never told me? Why didn’t you say anything? We’re meant to be a team, you and me.’
‘I wanted to have more information. I kept hoping they’d be able to give me something more positive to go on. I hoped that after the next operation—’
‘The one next week?’
I nodded. ‘—I’d be able to give you a clearer picture of what we could expect.’
‘So it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me enough not to do a runner when I was told how bad it was?’
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ I lied.
‘Because it doesn’t make any difference to the way I feel about you,’ Aaron lied right back.
17
‘We’re so sorry, Bella.’
Do not cry. Do not cry, commanded a voice in my head. Unfortunately, the message didn’t appear to be getting through to my eyes. I nodded blindly as my hand reached out towards my dad. His was outstretched, waiting for me. The surgeon gave us a moment to paint a new picture of our future before continuing.
