The resolve I have been trying so desperately to hang on to dissolves. My ability to be brave vanishes and without thinking I am on my feet and in his arms and allowing him to soothe me as I sob.
‘It’s okay,’ he says, holding me so close that the warmth of his body settles my shaking. ‘I’ve got you. We’ll just get through this one minute at a time. It’s okay. I promise you.’
There’s a long-held belief that in Disneyland, when a character hugs a child, they are not allowed to release the hug until the child does first. Conal O’Hagan could make a brilliant Disney prince I think because he does not let go of me until I eventually step back from him. Just being held by him for those few minutes is enough to help me reset and steady myself. Him being here, despite our ongoing tension, is enough to calm me. I might really, really love this man.
Laura fills her brother in on what has happened, saving me the trauma of having to describe the events of the last hour or so. Conal listens, nods and rubs my hand as we sit side by side. It’s strange but that shitty sofa doesn’t feel half as uncomfortable when Conal is sitting on it beside me.
‘This is the worst bit,’ he says. ‘The waiting. Once we know what is happening, we’ll be able to make a plan to deal with it.Right now, there’s too much to worry about and no way to do anything to control the outcome.’
He’s right, of course, and it’s exactly the advice I would give myself if a friend was going through this trauma. Things are always easier to deal with once you have the big picture. I’m just hoping the big picture in this scenario doesn’t involve planning a funeral.
I can cope with anything else. I’ll have to cope with it. But I won’t care – as long as she is alive, and with us. I’ll move into her house. Care for her. Move her into my house. Move us both to an accessible bungalow. I’ll get carers. I’ll care for her myself. Whatever it takes. It’s the least I can do. I never thought I’d find myself praying for my mother to need round the clock care, but up against the alternative? I’ll take it and say thank you.
‘How long do you think it’ll be?’ Adam asks. ‘Before a doctor comes to talk to us? Do you think I should go to reception and ask for an update?’
He tries to stand up, but I grab his hand and motion to him to sit back down. ‘They’ll come to us when there is something we need to know. We have to assume that they are busy caring for her now and let them get on with their work.’
Adam drops his head in his hands. It hurts my soul to see him upset but there is no magic way to take away this worry. There is nothing I can say that can make this better and that’s probably the very worst thing about this whole shitty, sad situation.
We sit quietly for a bit before the small talk starts again. Conal asks about the Just Sing! experience, and we tell him.
‘Don’t suppose they sing any Coldplay? Or Biffy Clyro?’ he asks.
‘Don’t think that’s quite their genre,’ I say. ‘They seem to be more cheesy pop, which is absolutely fine with me.’
‘I admire your commitment to the cause,’ Conal says with a small smile and a much-needed hand squeeze. I love how this man is trying to make things normal when they are anything but.
A knock to the door halts any and all conversation as we all brace ourselves for what is coming. I almost feel sorry for Ruairi when he opens the door and we all visibly sag, and Niamh chimes in with a quick ‘Oh, it’s only you.’
‘Cheers,’ he says. ‘Am I to assume by that warm welcome that there is no news yet?’
‘We’re still waiting,’ I tell him, getting up and giving him a rather awkward hug. Ruairi Burnside does not do hugs. Not big comforting ones anyway. He’s always been a quick, awkward bump of the shoulders kind of a hugger, preferring a good handshake, but it would be odd beyond words to shake hands with my brother in these circumstances.
The Room of Doom has reached sub-tropical levels of hot and humid by this stage, the small window steamed up. Ruairi takes off his coat, folds it over his arm and hovers awkwardly with nowhere to sit comfortably. As child of the patient, his right to a seat is inarguable, so everyone – but me, of course – stands to offer him one.
‘I’m grand,’ he says. ‘Stay where you are. It’s good to stretch my legs after the drive down.’ We nod, mumble about the benefits of the new road from Belfast to Derry before the room falls quiet again.
‘Look,’ I say eventually. ‘We don’t know how long we’ll be here for. Niamh, Laura… Conal even… don’t think you have to stay. Niamh, you’re teaching in the morning. Laura, I assume you have lectures?’
Laura nods.
‘You should go home and rest. No point in all of us enduring this.’
‘We don’t mind being here,’ Niamh says. ‘It’s not endurance. It’s supporting our friend.’
‘And I appreciate that beyond words, but Adam is here. Ruairi too.’
‘And me,’ Conal says. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Laura, this is a big week for you, sis. You look done in as it is.’
‘Cheers, brother dear,’ Laura says, pulling a face at him.
‘You know I’m only looking out for you,’ Conal says.
He’s not wrong. Laura does look done in, and obviously I know the mess that has been running around her head these last few days. Waking up to yourself is actually exhausting, it seems. She could definitely use a good night’s sleep.
And Niamh has to stand in front of a classroom tomorrow and countless semi-feral teenagers all day. She needs her rest. I love that they are both here for me. I love that they both want to be here for me, but God only knows how long I will be sitting here. Then I remember that Laura drove my car here, and her own is still parked outside McDonald’s.
‘Your car,’ I say. ‘Oh Laura, you drove me here.’
