‘Can I see my friend, the one I came in with? I really need to see him!’
‘I’m afraid not,’ the woman said, as she fixed the blood pressure cuff around her arm and popped the glass thermometer into her mouth. ‘Just hold that under your tongue. He’s in the very best hands and you would only get in the way. I’ll get someone to come and talk to you as soon as they can.’
She nodded, the woman’s response giving no indication that her friend was going to make it. Remy thought she might be sick. Seconds ticked by and the nurse took her readings, removing the glass thermometer.
‘Thank you.’ There it was again, that mealy-mouthed two-word catch-all that didn’t convey half of what she wanted so desperately to say.
Please, Tony . . . Please don’t leave me . . . Please be okay . . .
‘Try and rest, and if you need anything, just pull this.’
The nurse looped a red cord that looked like the bathroom light at home over Remy’s shoulder and into her hand before she left and closed the door behind her. It was the first time she had been alone since the assault and she stared at the door, her heart racing, wary of who might walk in.
How can I be sure the police have kept them locked up? Or are they out? Could they find me here?
She ran her thumb over the red cord and took comfort from knowing it was there, that all she had to do was pull. Closing her eyes as the drugs riddled through her system, she felt herself on the verge of dozing and let her body sink deeper into the trolley bed on which she was perched.
Oi!There it was again, that gunshot.
She came to with a start at the sound of the door opening. Her heart raced as, momentarily stunned, she took a second to remember where she was and why.
‘Oh, my baby! My baby girl!’ Her mother spoke as she rushed towards her, making no attempt to hide her distress, her dad following behind, his face ashen. Ruthie Brett stopped short of the trolley and placed her hand over her nose and mouth. ‘Oh my God!’
It occurred to Remy then that she hadn’t seen a mirror. Aware that she was injured, she felt a leap of fear in her chest as, judging from her mother’s expression and demeanour, she figured it must be bad. It was some small consolation that her mum was a little prone to exaggeration, if not hysterics. With this in mind, she managed to remain calm. It was, however, the sight of her dad, whose knees seemed to buckle when he saw her, reaching for the edge of a sink, leaning on it hard as he pushed his thumb and forefinger into his closed eyes and breathed deeply, that worried her.
‘Mum!’ She spoke softly, her voice now scratchy, coming from a throat riven with exhaustion.
Ruthie took her tenderly into her arms. ‘My little dove, my darling. I love you Remy, I love you so much. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!’
Remy wasn’t sure what she was apologising for but welcomed being held. It was everything.
‘How did you know I was here?’ she managed to ask when her mum released her hold and took her hand.
‘The police came to the house. I was in my nightie, just cleaning my teeth, when they knocked on the door.’ She brokeaway to shake her head and cry some more. ‘It’s every parent’s worst nightmare, and there they were,’ she howled. ‘I thought we’d lost you. I thought there’d been a crash or—’
Oi!There it was again, and her body jolted.
‘Not a crash, no,’ Remy whispered. ‘How’s Tony? They won’t let me see him.’
‘He’s holding on, my love. He’s holding on.’
Holding on ...it sounded fragile, and she again offered a silent prayer into the ether.
‘He’s my best friend, Mum.’ Her tears came again.
‘I know, my love, I know.’
Her mother tentatively stroked the hair from her face. Some of it caught, trapped, she would discover, stuck fast to her skin with globs of dried blood.
‘Ouch!’
‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ Ruthie shook her head once again.
Remy looked over at her dad, who had gathered himself, a little.
‘Hi, Dad.’
He stood on the other side of the bed and let his tears drip down his face.
