And it’s all your fault.
A choked sound escapes as the thought lodges itself in my mind: if I’d not been up the mountain with Paul, I would have got there in time. I could’ve saved him.
‘Hey.’ Meg is crouching in front of me.
My throat aches too much to speak so I just shake my head.
She sits beside me on the bench and pulls her legs up beside mine, leaning her head on my shoulder. She smells like fresh grass. ‘You didn’t answer your phone so I called Cormac and he told me… I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks,’ I croak. ‘I…’ The words get lost in my throat. ‘I tried to call you, to ask you to go with me.’
‘I’m sorry. I was busy. We’ll talk about it later.’ She rubs my arm. ‘There’s so much going on.’
We sit on the bench for I don’t know how long. Cars drive in and out of the car park. People pass us with faces etched in worry. I see a man carry a sleeping toddler, his jaw set, and I stop my imagination from trying to work out what happened for him to have a child out of bed at this time of night.
My phone rings. Mum’s voice is stretched out like she doesn’t know what to do with her breath. ‘Come back up.’
Meg heads home as only family are allowed in intensive care. When I get to the waiting room, Sheila has her arm round Mum, whose skin is pale and eyes red and swollen.
My heart punches against my ribcage. ‘Is he…?’
Mum jumps to her feet. ‘No, no. Oh God, no. He’s…he’s not conscious, but he’s alive. Oh, love, I’m sorry.’ She squeezes me tight. Over her shoulder, I can see Nanny Bet with her hands clasped tight like she’s praying.
She’s hurting.
Good.
I flinch at the thought, but I’m not ready to feel sorry for her yet.
I let Mum guide me to a seat. She takes my hand in hers. ‘So they’re still doing tests, but they think he might’ve had an aneurysm.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a swollen blood vessel in the brain and…’ She takes a breath. ‘And when it bursts it bleeds and…’
The words are landing in my brain and I know this is big, but I feel nothing. ‘Will he be OK?’
Mum closes her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’
There’s a cough from across the room and I see that Sheila now has her arm around Nanny Bet. Nurses walk along the corridor outside, beeps sound from the nearby ward. I hold Mum’s hand as she cries beside me. I should be crying. Why can’t I cry? I text Meg to let her know what’s going on.
I’m starting to doze when eventually a nurse comes and says Dad is stable for now, and that we should go home andsleep. Nanny Bet and Mum refuse, but Sheila tells them firmly, ‘There’s nothing you can do here. You need your rest.’
Reluctantly they agree. We gather our stuff and the nurse gives us a bag holding Dad’s wet clothes. ‘We’ll call you if there’s any change.’
The drive home is silent. We drop off Nanny Bet first and before getting out of the car she reaches out her hand. Without thinking, I take it and squeeze.
When we get home, Cormac and Tommy are in the living room. They give us hugs and Sheila gives them an update as Cormac puts the kettle on. I sit on the sofa, holding on to Dad’s bag of clothes. I zone out as Tommy asks about aneurysms and how I found him. I’m exhausted and my nerves are frayed.
‘I’m going to bed.’
The walk up the stairs feels endless. I pause outside the bedroom and rest my head against the door.
‘Michael?’ Fiona is standing by her bedroom door in purple pyjamas. I should tell her to go to bed – it’s at least 2 a.m. – but before I can open my mouth she runs over and throws her arms around me.
I give her a hug. ‘Hey, hey. You should get some sleep.’
‘I wanted to make sure you’re OK.’
