James butts in then with a thought that hadn’t seriously occurred to me.
‘You never know…you two might give us a day out yet.’ He attempts to lighten the mood as the two of them help me carry the coffee back upstairs to Callum’s father and aunty.
‘Abby?’ A grey-haired woman dressed in turquoise scrubs calls to me as I walked past the nurses’ station.
‘Is there news?’ I suck in my lower lip and wait with bated breath.
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. But would you just sign this for me? Linda said you’re his next of kin.’ That can’t be right, we’ve only been together a few months. I scan the paperwork she presents to me, private insurance documents. The black print blurs in front of my tired eyes, I rub and blink hard twice.
I can’t take in the information on the page because there’s one word printed in bold font at the top that I can’t tear my eyes from – Callum’s name. My heart skips a beat as I take a sharp breath. There it is, in bold black print, one tiny word that jumped directly from the page straight into my previously cynical heart: Callum Patrick Connolly. I’m torn between laughing and bawling crying. A rush of elation surges tingling through me. It’s the final piece of Esmerelda’s eerie prediction that I’d been unwittingly searching for.
We are meant to be together. I know it myself, but this tiny reassurance evokes a final burst of confidence that I need to believe it. There’s nothing left to hide behind now. It’s time to feel my fear and do it anyway.
I sign the paperwork and sink silently into my seat next to Callum’s family. He could have told me this two weeks ago. Why would he choose not to? The answer springs to mind immediately – because he shouldn’t have bloody well had to! I’m such a fool. Such a cowardly weak fool. I can only pray that he comes out the other side and I get my chance to make it up to him, to hold him in my arms, and to bollock him for not calling me on my bullshit, instead of letting both of us suffer.
Hours pass agonisingly slowly. I churn every mistake I ever made with Callum over and over, the enormity of the hurt I probably caused him only fully hitting me now. I silently beg the man upstairs to give me the chance to right my wrongs. To make Callum happy, to tell him how loved he is, how I will never leave him again if he only gives me the chance.
The door opens and the consultant approaches. His face is neutral, displaying no hint of Callum’s condition. I rise from the chair, aware of the tightness in every muscle in my body, rigid in preparation of the news. I daren’t breathe for fear it will be the last breath before my world is shattered for good.
‘He’s out of surgery. We fitted stents and are optimistic. He’s being transferred to ICU shortly. You should be able to see him soon.’ I have an overwhelming desire to fling myself at this scrub-wearing hero, kiss his surgical crocs and declare my eternal gratitude.
‘Oh, thank God.’ Tears of sweet relief flood my face, and I joyously throw my arms around a confused looking Jimmy, who pats me on the back and smiles.
‘I’ll tell the lads. They’re all waiting downstairs for any news.’ I run down the stairs and back up again as quickly as possible. When Callum wakes up, I want to be near.
An agonising eighty minutes pass before a friendly looking nurse in her forties sticks a reassuring head around the door.
‘Abby? He’s asking for you.’ She nods to a private room on the ICU unit, encouraging me to enter.
Linda sits quietly in the corner, fat grateful tears of sheer relief rolling gently down her cheeks, hands clasped together in a prayer-like statue.
I’m ecstatic he’s awake, but my stomach balls with writhing nerves. I fire up a silent prayer that he still wants me, that things will work out between us.
There’s no going back from this. I swore that if Callum pulled through, there will be no more daft doubts planted by some old lady in Wicklow, or by anyone else for that matter.
I push open the heavy clinical door to find him propped up in a semi-reclined position, tucked under the white starched sheets of the hospital bed.
Glazed medicated eyes light in my presence. Instinctively, he attempts to rise. I shoot a warning hand out to stop him. Copious amounts of wires and tubes would have had the same effect, but I’m done leaving things to chance. I slip my hand into his warm, strong palm and kiss him tenderly on the forehead.
‘Abby.’ My name falls from his lips thickly.
‘How are you feeling?’ I balance precariously on the edge of the bed, studying him intently. His pale face is shadowed with a greyish tone, but a determined strength emanates from within.
‘Like utter shite. Not least because my sporting career is undoubtedly over. But you don’t know how happy I am to see you.’ A hundred emotions cross his face as he struggles to locate the appropriate words.
‘You frightened the life out of us.’ The pent-up tension in my chest releases in the form of a relieved, lengthy exhale.
‘You came to practice?’ His eyes flash to mine, searching for confirmation of hope.
‘I should never have let you go, Callum Patrick Connolly. I’m going to spend every day, for however long you’ll put up with me, making it up to you. I’m so heartfelt sorry.’ I bring his intubated hand to my mouth and kiss it lovingly. It’s the best I can do for now. ‘There was never a question of me going back to Sean. Not since I met you. But why didn’t you tell me your middle name was Patrick when I spouted all of that daftness that I was hiding behind?’
A slow sinking anxiety creeps into the pit of my stomach again. Had he wanted the break from me? Did I push him away? Do I bore him? He’s used to a different woman every weekend. Had he taken comfort in the arms of someone else in the time that we’d been apart?
‘I could have put you out of your misery a long time ago,’ Callum confesses. ‘But I needed to know that it was me that you wanted, regardless of my name. That what we have, is enough, regardless of any prediction. Because when you’re in the limelight like we are, honey, there will always be someone making predictions about us. And most of the time, they won’t be good.’
I plant a kiss firmly on Callum’s dry lips. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again,’ I warn him.
‘No. Don’tyouever do that to me again,’ he corrects. ‘Don’t ever doubt what we have.’
