‘The Screen,’ says Mum.
Shit,I think.
Who the hell’s told them that?
‘Mum, come on,’ I say, out loud, ‘you know not to read that stuff.’
‘So, it’s not true?’
I sigh.
‘Oh, Claude,’ she says, heavily.
And I close my eyes, not because I want to sleep, but because I really don’t want to be having this conversation.
I also feel very ready not to be in this cubicle any more. My CT scan was clear (so great, really, I’m so glad I’ve exposed myself to all that unnecessary radiation), and I’ve had two stitches in my scalp, which has stopped the bleeding. But I was sick in the ambulance, all over Nick’s feet (‘Oh good,’ said Mum, when I told her, ‘that’s going to make your sister feel so much better about what happened on the plane.’), so I’m being kept under observation for a while longer.
‘How long’s a while?’ I asked the nurse who delivered that news.
‘That depends on whether you’re sick again,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if you can keep down this sandwich your mum’s brought you.’
‘What is it?’ I asked Mum.
‘M&S,’ she said, like that was all I needed to know.
Opening my eyes, I tentatively take another bite (it’s a chicken salad: my favourite when I was at school), and notice that Mum’s no longer looking at me, but around the cubicle, her hands clenched in her lap.
‘Areyouall right, Mum?’ I ask her, gently.
I haven’t forgotten that the last time she was in this hospital, it was to pick me up after my nan and grandad died.
I think, actually, it must be breaking her in two, being back here.
I’m finding it disquieting enough, and I barely recall that day.
‘I’m ok,’ she says. ‘It just feels very strange. Sad.’
‘You shouldn’t have come. You didn’t need to … ’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Now come on –’ she nods at my sandwich – ‘eat that up so we can get out of here.’
I’m finally discharged at six, with strict instructions to rest for forty-eight hours, until Sunday night, and ideally not be left alone in case of any delayed symptoms. Mum declares she’llstay and keep an eye on me whilst Nick’s working, I tell her that’s totally unnecessary, I have no intention whatsoever of not working, Nick tells me not to be crazy, of course I can’t work, Mum tells him to ignore me, I’m concussed, then Nick calls Ana, who calls Jeff, who talks to Doverley’s management, who make a staff room available for Mum in the house.
‘Luckily I packed plenty of clothes,’ Mum says as we leave the hospital via a secluded fire escape that Blake’s recced for us, so avoiding the press outside A&E. ‘I had a hunch you’d need me to stay.’
‘I don’t need you to stay,’ I repeat, climbing into the waiting car.
‘Of course you do.’
I don’t protest further.
I haven’t got the energy.
And besides, maybe Mum’s right.
Maybe I do need her.
Now that she’s here, I realise I’m glad she’s going to stick around.
