She will sew it into her dress. Carry it, always, as if it’s stitched into her heart.
The doctor says some more things, mostly to Bren because Nora can’t follow, says he’ll be back soon with more information, that they should take a seat, call loved ones, if they need to, and Bren finds his voice, Bren is the one to talk first, Bren is the one who asks if she can see him, who says they are meant to be getting married, today, and the doctor says yes, but only her; only family; and Bren says he’ll wait, tells her to go.
_
How did this happen, Goose asks Nora an hour later, both of them beside the hospital bed. Machines bleeping. Shadows striped through the blinds. Robin is out of it, heavy from the anaesthetic, the near-death brain injury that he survived because he is lucky, got himself to A and E just in time, wandered to a pharmacist that morning for extra-strength painkillers and that pharmacist sent him straight to the hospital.
Nora will bake this pharmacist a cake, every year, for the rest of her life. She’ll offer to make her wedding dress, too, when she sees the small diamond ring on her left hand the day that she goes to thank her, holds her, cries, tells her thank you, over and over.
For now, though, she is sitting in her own dress with Robin’s brother by his bedside, and Bren has missed his flight andleft the hospital to make calls, gather supplies, because that is what being there for her, right now, has to look like, and there’s nothing like a near tragedy, a near miss, to show someone what kind of person they are: what kind of person they want to be.
_
You know what I like about hospitals, Goose says. Nora raises her eyes from Robin’s face, unable to conceive of an answer.
The vending machines, he says. They always have the really retro stuff you don’t ever see anywhere else.
Like what, asks Bren, who is sitting by the window. He’s pretended to be Robin’s brother, too, to be allowed in; has not left Nora’s side, other than to make the calls that she can’t. Brought her water, tea and a packet sandwich she hasn’t been able to eat, which Goose has devoured instead.
Caramacs, Goose says. For one.
Yes, Bren says. I forgot about those.
Right? And Pom-Bears.
My god.
And Nik Naks, Goose says, but the really weird flavour. Scampi and lemon, I mean, what is that.
Something that shouldn’t be in a crisp packet, Bren agrees.
And yet still tempts me, Goose says, every time.
Nora is looking at Robin’s face again, only half listening. He could be sleeping;issleeping. The machine steady, bleeping. His brain bled out, but drained clean.
Bren says he needs them in his life. Like now.
Goose asks him to get two packets. Three, if Nora wants some.
I don’t want any Nik Naks! she says, because she is astounded at the pair of them, at how they are talking about such things.
I didn’t have you down as one of those brides that wouldn’t eat anything on her wedding day, Goose says.
Stop, Nora says, her voice thin. Please.
Bridezillas, man, Goose says, to Bren. Could you get me a Lucozade, too?
_
While Bren does that, Goose takes a call from his parents, who do not live nearby, who are making their way here. Robin’s mum calls every half an hour, in case of change, and then that change comes. While Nora is alone with him, not moving. Her hand on his. The afternoon light, fading, like their supposed wedding day, when he stirs, and opens his eyes.
They are both still for a moment as Robin adjusts. Nora afraid that if she moves, she will break it, this thing that is happening, this real-life miracle, this paramount, perfect vision of him waking from sleep to look at her, the way he has done every morning for the last nine years, and will do, for years to come, and then he smiles and says hey, don’t cry.
_
He – what?
He almostdied?
