by Caroline Day
I’m about to say what a … and I’m looking for the word, which is when you’re sitting on a coach in America and there’s a person next to you who is a stranger, but also they’re the granddaughter of your grandfather or, maybe, your uncle. Or a cousin maybe. It’s a bit of a jumble, thinking about it, but in fact it’s not one anyway. Julie is saying she wondered if we’d been held up and Danny Flynn is saying sorry we were so long, and they’re talking to a man behind a desk, who has a beard, but not on his cheeks, just on his chin, and he’s saying yes, Mr Kephalopolis, yes, just wait there. And then there’s a woman in a nurse top who’s saying, follow me please, and then, in here please. I’m expecting Mr Kephalololis to be in there waiting for us, but in fact there is just a desk with one chair behind it and two chairs on the other side and also a sort of bed, which is blue and plastic, and like when I walked into a car and they needed to look at my arm and to see if I could move it and then they said I had to go for an X-ray because of it being probably broken. There’s also a computer on the desk, and a telephone.
‘Hello. Thank you for coming.’ He’s coming in from a different door. He says his name but it’s so quick it doesn’t even sound like what everybody has been saying. He has a real beard, on all of his face, where a beard should be, not just on the bottom, and it’s a really big beard. He’s wearing a white shirt and it’s tucked into grey trousers, and there’s a button that is open, and a bit of hair is poking out there too. But it’s rude to stare, so I’m trying really, really hard not to.
‘Please, do sit down.’ I’m going to sit on the plastic bed, but Julie says no, no, Hope, you have a chair, and Danny Flynn says he’ll stand and, please Julie. And for a little bit we’re sort of swapping places and waiting for each other.
‘So …’ This is Mr Kepaphoplis. He’s on the other side of the desk and he’s looking through lots of papers, and at the computer screen. ‘So …’ He’s already said this, and I’m waiting for him to say something else, with my hands under my bottom, and one, two, three.
‘Jennifer Nicely.’ He looks up from the papers, and he’s putting his fingers together, so that just the ends are touching the fingers on the other hand. It’s like a finger game that I used to play when I was little and it was called this is the church and this is the steeple, except with his fingers, he’s not making the steeple, only the church, and he’s looking at me. ‘You’re her daughter?’
I say yes. I’m about to say, but not her birth daughter who was made by her, but actually her adopted daughter and the best thing that ever happened to her, because of my birth mother leaving me in a cardboard box. But I tell myself, no, Hope. With my hands under my bottom still. Because, I’ve practised this. I don’t need to tell everybody everything about me or everything that is in my brain. So I just don’t say anything. Only, yes.
Mr Kephapolis nods, looking at me, and says, well, Hope, you understand what has happened to your mother?
I’m not sure what to say back, because I think I’ve been told what happened, but I don’t really remember now, only a little bit. I’m trying to think about what Connor Flynn said, because he knows everything. But I can’t remember his words.
‘I didn’t do the right thing. CRP … The blowing thing. So now she’s in …’ I’m thinking so hard, and it’s not coming and then it does, like when I was having my breakfast. ‘I See You.’
‘Sweetheart. It wasn’t your fault. All of us panic at times like that.’ This is Julie Clarke, with her accent, which sounds like she’s happy about it, even though I don’t think she is really. ‘It’s just lucky Danny was there.’ She looks at the doctor. ‘It was Danny here who performed CPR until the ambulance came.’
Mr Kephalopolis nods and says good stuff, and looks at me again, with his fingers still making the church. If he was doing the finger game, he would need to make the steeple now, and then he’d need to turn his hands inside out, because if you look inside then here are the people. But he doesn’t do that. He’s just touching his fingers together, that’s all.
‘So, what we need to understand is that when someone stops breathing and their heart stops, it means there is no oxygen going to their brain, and if a brain is without oxygen for any time, the brain cells begin to die, which is when damage will be caused. Now …’ He is tapping his church fingers together a little bit, while still looking straight at me. ‘As I believe has already been explained to you, there is some evidence that lowering the body’s temperature may help minimise brain injury, and this is what was done with your mother when she was brought in. But over the past twenty-four hours, we have gradually brought her temperature back up to normal.’
‘So is she better now?’
‘No, Hope.’ His fingers are still touching – the ends of his fingers on one hand, touching the ends on the other hand – but now he’s brought his hand up to near his face so that both of his thumbs are also touching his big beard. And then he puts his fingers between each other. But it’s not the right way to do the people, because of it being on the outside, not the inside, so maybe he doesn’t know that game. ‘Your mother remains unconscious.’
‘But will she be better soon? Now that she’s not cold?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you the answer to that. We all hope that she will be, of course. I have had patients who have spent weeks or even months in a coma, and have subsequently regained consciousness and gone on to make good recoveries. But equally, many people who have been through what your mother has never wake up at all.’
He’s looking at me again, as if he’s waiting for me to ask a question. But I don’t do that. I just look back at him. He puts on his glasses again. ‘One of her nurses has reported your mother’s eyelids twitching. That might be encouraging. But equally, what I’m trying to tell you, I suppose, is that we should be aware of the possibility that she may never recover. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
I nod, because he’s telling me about maybe death. And I know it, too, because Julie Clarke has put her hand on my shoulder, like that might make me feel better.
‘Is my mum sleeping now?’
‘A person in a coma does look very much as though they are asleep, but they have none of the normal sleep patterns, and, unlike somebody in deep sleep, they will not react to any stimuli. But patients who have emerged from a comatose state sometimes do recall dreams and also an awareness of the world around them. And I always encourage family to talk as much as they can, hold hands, keep on acting normally.’
‘I should talk to my mum? Even with her being in the coma?’
‘Well, yes, I think it’s good to do. There have been cases where patients have clearly remembered conversations that have happened around them while they were still unconscious. However, it is important …’ Mr Popolis looks quickly towards Julie and up at Danny then back at me, ‘to remain very calm. It is fine to talk or sing even, or chat about your day. But calmly. You understand, Hope, everybody finds it difficult to see someone they love in this state, but it is very important not to become agitated or to touch the machines. And it is also very important not to try to take your mother’s mask off.’
I’m a bit surprised by how hard he is looking at me, with his thumbs against his beard and his fingers holding each other. And Julie Clarke says in a quiet voice that she’s quite certain that won’t happen again, and that’s a bit funny because again means something has already happened, and I don’t know what she means. Maybe she’s feeling a bit confused.
‘Do you understand, Hope?’ It’s the doctor, with his fingers apart now and just pointing towards me, and his eyes even harder on mine, like it’s very important. And I say yes, I understand. And of course I do, because I’m not stupid.
‘… but he doesn’t like it when his peas go into his macaroni cheese, or especially when Barry does a poo in the park because of not wanting to smell it. That’s because of the asparagus spectrum. And normally he doesn’t even like going for a dog walk in the morning, because of always wanting to do t
he same things in the morning, and that is reading his book and doing research about science and brain things and pep …’ I’m thinking hard but the word won’t come ‘… things. And it’s because of his routine. That’s what he really likes most. But he did come for a walk with me, because of it being a nice morning and because of him showing me the way and because of Bridget saying what a nice thing that would be. But most of the time he’s doing his research. And Danny Flynn is always telling him he doesn’t know why he even reads all his books and it’s very funny because Connor Flynn says that that is because Danny Flynn isn’t even clever enough to read them.’
It is very quiet in the room apart from a sound that is like breathing but it’s not coming from my mum, it’s coming from a machine. And when I take a sip of my tea, it is very cold.
‘Danny Flynn had to go to work at the library today, that’s where he is now, even though it’s Saturday, because that’s when most people go there to get their books. He likes it best when he works in the children’s library. And if I want, one day, I can go in with him, and I can help him put the books back on the shelves, but only if I’m ready quickly in the morning and not still eating porridge when it’s time to leave.’
I don’t really like my tea but I keep on drinking it, because my mouth is a bit thirsty with all the talking. ‘And I still don’t know if Danny Flynn is my boyfriend because he hasn’t told me and he hasn’t even given me a sign. But maybe he is now, actually, because he gave me another kiss when it was time for him to go, but it was on my cheek, not like, you know …’ I take another sip, ‘that one … the one with the rain, when she didn’t realise it was raining. And at the end they’re on the bench. Or in Veronica Ptitsky’s horse book which is with two women because it’s BLT … No, I mean LGB … T. You know. The community.
‘It’s quite exciting if he is because I’ve never had a boyfriend before, but I don’t really want to ask him, because if he’s not really he might think I’m stupid, and he might not even want to let Barry sleep in my bedroom, who is meant to be on the floor but mostly …’
There’s a knock and, for a moment, I’m not even sure what it is, because I’ve sort of forgotten where I am, because of being so busy talking. I’ve been in my head, just talking, talking, talking and not thinking about hospitals or elephant masks or my mum, Jenny, who is just lying there and not saying anything at all. But now Julie Clarke is coming in, with her head first, looking round the door, and saying is it OK …? And she’s coming in and putting her hand on my mum’s arm, and looking at her and then at me and she’s saying am I OK – but not really saying it because it’s only her lips moving and not any sound from them.
I say I am OK. But I’m a bit tired from talking so much. And it’s a bit boring because nobody is listening or saying anything back to me, and maybe it’s time for me to go back to see Barry now because probably he wants someone to throw his squeaky ball for him.
8
CONFLICT AND RESOLUTION
23
‘… best practice therefore, that I would never choose to present my findings until all evidence had been collated and I had made a full analysis of all available data and information. And there are still too many areas of conjecture and theory for me to do that, although already there are most certainly a number of inferences that can be made with absolute confidence. And already it is clear to me that in your approach to ascertaining the full picture of your origins, you have limited yourself to only those few …’
All I said was that I’d been thinking about my book and that maybe Connor Flynn was right that the cardboard box could be important or that maybe my blanket is. And now he’s talking and talking, about proof and methodologies, and also about restricted memories and self-protective filtering of facts, but I stop, and I put my hand out, like a cue, and I say: ‘Close your eyes and hold your nose and turn around.’
This is because I can see Tinie Tempah is crouching in the position, with his back in a curve that means he’s about to do a poo. Connor Flynn turns around, with his eyes shut and his fingers pressing his nose, so he’s not looking and he’s not smelling, and when I’ve scooped it into the bag and put it away in the bin for poo, I tell Connor Flynn that it’s OK and he can carry on walking now.
This is the second time that I’ve done my job again, since my mum, Jenny, has been in the hospital. It’s not unsupervised because of Karen, that’s my boss, being on the other side of the park, with the other dogs, but it is a little bit unsupervised, because it is just me and Tinie and Sallie and also Barry, and Connor Flynn is walking with me, and he’s going to make sure I remember when to bring the dogs back at the right time, but only with me doing all the business with the poos, and also holding the leads and being in charge.
I like talking to Connor Flynn because of him being so clever. And now I’m wondering if it’s a good idea to ask him a thing, and that’s the thing about Danny Flynn. But I don’t want to ask, because of being worried that Connor Flynn will tell me I’m stupid and that he will think how on earth did I even think that. But, flip a pancake, I really want to know. And in my head, I’m trying really hard to think of a way to ask the question, without really asking it, like being a sly and secret person with a plan.
I have an idea. And it is a little bit sly and secret. I say: ‘I wonder if Danny Flynn has a girlfriend.’
The reason that it’s being a bit sly is because I’m not saying about the girlfriend being me. But I have to say it three times before Connor Flynn seems to hear me and then he just says, highly unlikely, and nothing else.
We carry on walking a bit and I say, why, and he says what do I mean why – and I say just why, that’s what I mean. And he says why what. I say why is it highly unlikely about Danny Flynn having a girlfriend? He puts his eyebrows together for a moment, and says that, well, objectively, to give me a simple answer to that would be conjecture and theorem since science has thus far failed to identify any single contributing factor, and although there have been multiple studies into particular gene variants, a recent study, encapsulating genome-wide association studies on data from more than 470,000 genetic databases, suggested that there were thousands of genetic …
I’m listening, with my mouth a little bit open. And Connor Flynn is still talking and it’s about regions on chromosomes and chromosome 8 and other ones too, and cultural considerations and preferences and complexity …
I don’t understand what he’s talking about. I don’t even think it has anything to do with Danny Flynn. It’s just about DNA and orientation and sequences. And I’m thinking maybe Connor Flynn wasn’t the best person to ask about this. I’m thinking maybe I should even change the subject. But then it just comes out of my mouth without me telling it to.
‘Don’t you think Danny Flynn is my boyfriend?’ And it’s not quite shouting.
He stops talking about entire genomes and he stops walking, Connor Flynn does, right there in the middle of the path. And he looks at me. And he says: ‘You are asking me if my brother, Danny, is romantically or sexually interested in you? That’s correct? That is the question? Whether I believe that Danny might choose to be in an intimate relationship with you?’
My cheeks are feeling a bit warm, but not like when I’ve been given a silver star. I’m cross with the question now, because maybe I shouldn’t have asked it. But it’s too late and I nod and I say, yes: does he think maybe Danny Flynn wants to be my boyfriend?
And Connor Flynn is giving me a look, with his eyebrows going up nearly to his hair. And then he’s laughing and laughing and laughing, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard and like he can’t stop. And his laugh is like a hiccup which goes up at the end.
And I don’t know why he’s laughing. I think maybe he’s laughing at me. Maybe he thinks it was such a silly thing, for me to think that Danny Flynn would want to be my boyfriend at all. Maybe it’s because of my muddle brain and maybe he’s thinking why would anyone want to be my boyfriend. Not likely, Hope Nicely. And I’
m thinking it’s not very nice, actually, to be laughing this much. And I’m thinking, actually, Connor Flynn has his own rainbow, even if he calls it a vegetable and a spectrum instead. He’s not an ordinary drop of light. And so maybe, he should think about not laughing at people just because they ask about someone being their boyfriend. Maybe, actually, he should think about hurting someone’s feelings.
I say what’s so funny, but he just laughs even more.
‘Hope, it’s OK. Shh, darling, everything’s all right.’
I don’t know what is happening. I was just here, walking, with my mum, and she was wearing her dress, the one that is the bluest dress ever, and we were walking in the park with a puggle called Pepper, which is funny, because Pepper doesn’t even come for walks anymore because of moving to Yorkshire. And it was very sunny and with a big rainbow in the sky, and there was an ice cream van, except it was huge like a house. And my mum, Jenny, was saying let’s run as fast as the wind and we can have a nice ice cream. But then there was a big hole, just suddenly, which wasn’t there before, in the middle of the park, and everything was falling into it, and now there’s no ice cream van and no Pepper and no sun and no mum.
I’m in a bedroom but it’s not my bedroom and I’m sitting up in my bed and the woman is saying, it’s OK, and calm now, calm down darling. And she’s saying everything’s all right now, it was only a dream. I don’t even know who she is, except I sort of do, because she’s Bridget, but in my head I can’t find the reason why she’s here, in my bedroom, and why it’s her talking to me and not my mum. And I can’t stop crying, until I’m too tired to cry anymore and my eyes don’t want to be open.
The dice make a noise like drums when I’m shaking them between my two hands and then it’s tap, tap, tap as they’re rolling, before they stop, on the table, which isn’t really a table but more like a tray with wheels underneath it and long legs.
