Falling Away (19 page)

When I return the doctors are talking earnestly with Mum and Ben. They ask about resuscitation, Dad’s wishes. If he was to go into cardiac arrest, what would he want? To come back? For everything possible to be done? Hell yeah, that’s what he’d want. Considering his age, they’ll do whatever they can.

Forty-eight! He’s only forty-eight! Don’t let him die...

Jack encloses me within his arms. It’s the only thing holding me here. Him. Without him ...

“Sam,” Ben says, breaking into my flittering thoughts. Scattered.

Jack releases me and I sit back. “Yeah?”

“We can go in. If you want to. Mum’ll go in after.”

I nod, standing shakily from the blue plastic seat. Jack tells me he’ll be here, waiting. Hearing those words is a relief.

I walk behind Ben, bracing myself. Not feeling strong but needing to be. Wanting to run away but knowing I have to face this. Seeing him like this.

We reach the door and Ben stops. Looks down at me.
You ready?
We don’t need words.

ICU is dark. And really quiet. Too quiet, like I don’t want to breathe too loud or else they’ll hear me. Lights blink amid the soft whir of ventilators. Pumping air and life into lifeless bodies. The rise and fall of pale chests the only visible movement.

My heart constricts when I see him. Deceptively peaceful, hooked up to machines with tubes and sticky tabs and cannulas. He has an oxygen mask disguising his pallid face. I want to rescue him. Pull it all off and take him. Away from here because this can’t be real. My father is
not
here.
Not
like this.

I reach for his arm and his skin is cold. Not just cool, really cold. A
cold-to-the-bone
kind of cold. I pull the blanket as far as I can across him without disturbing the paraphernalia attached to his body. Apparently it’s keeping him alive.

“Dad,” I whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Dad?”

More nothing.

But then he wiggles his fingers indistinctly under mine. I squeeze them gently, willing him to wake up.
Let him wake up.

“Did you see that?” I murmur to Ben. “He moved his fingers.”

Ben nods, raising his eyebrows in some semblance of relief. He leans down, closer to Dad. “We’re here, Dad. All of us. You need to get better.”

Dad makes an inaudible sound. Words too muffled to hear.

“He’s heavily sedated,” a nurse says, writing on his chart. “Don’t stay too long now. A few minutes will be enough.”

Part of me is filled with relief. I need to escape. Although I want Dad to know I’m here, this is torture. Watching this. Being here.
Let. Me. Out.

“We should go,” Ben says. “Mum wants to see him too.”

I pat Dad’s ice-cold arm. “Bye, Dad. We won’t be far away.” I place a kiss on his forehead. He feels waxy and cold.

When I walk from the room I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see him.

Jack and Mum are at opposite ends of the waiting room. She brushes past, down the dimly lit corridor with pale fluorescent tubes lighting the lino floor in mild stripes of white. Her anger burns holes beneath her feet. She stands at his door, bracing herself, softening when she spots him.

Jack stands up to meet me at the door. “How is he?”

“Sedated,” answers Ben, running a hand through his hair. “Not sure if he was aware of us being there.”

“I think he knows,” I say, wanting to believe.

A leaden silence descends. I need to eat and am relieved when Jack suggests breakfast. I need something greasy but have lost any appetite. A hangover intrudes, causing my stomach to roil.

“Yeah, let’s get some food. You coming, Ben?” I ask.

He hesitates. “Nah, I’ll wait.”

I nod, understanding. He wants to make inroads and make it ok. He needs to heal it. Fix it. She’s always fighting, criticising, complaining. She’s my
mother
, for God’s sake. Can’t bitterness be cast aside just for today?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The omelette resembles cardboard, both in appearance and taste. I regret it instantly, and every mouthful after that. The coffee’s not bad, although it’s cold.

Jack’s eyes appear darker. The golden flecks have diminished. And then it hits me. How can I expect him to be here, supporting me, when he carries pain of his own? I’ve watched it settle in his face.

I shudder, glancing around the half-empty room. Sadness grips the faces of people here. Everyone has a story, each one cheerless and full of poignant gloom. My mind reaches constantly for Dad in ICU. That room where the soft buzz of machinery offers second chances. The allotted beds and quiet murmurs. The place where darkness snaps at denial.

A familiar face walks to the table. Stands there. She’s out of context though, and my brain crumbles. I can’t place her; fit the pieces of the puzzle. Jack stands up and kisses her on the cheek. It dawns on me that it’s Emily, but I can’t work out why she’d be here. It’s only eight-thirty on a miserable Sunday morning. And she’s not here for me. Of that I’m certain.

“Sam,” she says quietly, leaning down to kiss me. “Why are you guys here?”

I hesitate, looking at Jack. “Dad’s in ICU. He had a heart attack.” Jack holds onto my hand.

Emily leans down to hug me tightly in her arms. Her affection springs tears, welling like stupid glassy pools in my overflowing eyes. And I can’t cry. I have to be strong. Em’s sympathy isn’t doing me any favours so I pull away.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry. How’s he doing?” She looks from me to Jack, and we both give a half-hearted shrug.

“Not great,” I admit. “But what are you doing here?” I ask, quickly changing the subject. Perhaps I can redeem myself if the focus shifts.

Emily seems unsure what to say. She sits herself down in the chair next to mine. An awkward pause hangs between the three of us before she exhales. “Well,” she begins. “I guess you were going to find out at some stage.”

Jack and I share a glance. “Find out what?” I ask. “Is someone sick?” It dawns on me that perhaps it’s Gemma with her escalating eating disorder. She looked so terribly thin last night. So gaunt and ghostly. Almost ashen.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding slowly. “It’s Gem. She’s not well.”

“You don’t need to be Einstein to see that,” I say. “Is she worse? Was she admitted last night after the party?”

Emily shakes her head. “Uh, no. She’s um ... been here a while.”

Been here a while?
“What do you mean? Didn’t she move home with her mum? Wasn’t her mum caring for her?”

“It all got too much for her mum. Gemma got really sick and had to come in to hospital. She’s been an inpatient for the last few weeks. They let her out yesterday on day leave. I brought her back last night after the party.”

It’s my turn to shake my head, processing. “So it must be bad then. The anorexia ...”

Emily looks remorseful. “She doesn’t have anorexia, Sam.”

I look at her blankly. “Well, what does she have? Bulimia?”

She indicates no. “I don’t know if it’s my place to say. Gemma wanted ... she wanted to keep it secret. She doesn’t want people knowing.”

My worry hackles rise. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Em. You can’t tell me she’s here then not say what’s wrong. Is she okay?”

“Jeez, Sam. She’ll kill me if I tell you.” She sighs. “Just go see her. She’ll tell you herself. It’s not my place to say.”

I roll my eyes. “Bloody hell, Em. Just tell me where she is.”

***

I take the lift to level three. The doors slide back revealing a large white sign on an aubergine wall. Haematology. An arrow points to the right –
this way death and disease.
I desperately want to turn around, but something compels me forward. The lights are dim and low chatter mumbles from the nurses’ station. I count the numbers on the wall till I reach her.

I peek my head around the architrave of the private room. She’s hooked up to beeping, tube-heavy machines. IV poles with red numbers. Flashing, counting, timing. Her eyes are closed peacefully, but they snap open when I take a squeaky step on the glossy lino.

She zeros in on me with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you doing here? Did Emily tell you I was here?”

I step closer, shaking my head. “No, well yeah, kind of. But it’s not how you think.”

She rolls her eyes coldly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My Dad’s here, in ICU. He had a heart attack. I bumped into Em in the kiosk just now.”

Gemma sighs. She closes her eyes, relieving me from her frosty vision. “It was going to happen sooner or later, I s’pose. People finding out. I guess I was just hoping it would be later.” She pauses. “I’m sorry to hear about your Dad.”

“Thanks.” I give her a tentative smile. “Are you okay? And why are you here?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Em didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t say.”

Gemma exhales, rubbing at her forehead. Her fingers leave streaky red marks. “Shit, Sam. Why’d you have to come up here? This isn’t me, you know? Not really.”

“What isn’t?” Hesitation radiates from her skeletal frame. She doesn’t want to disclose it, because that’ll make it real and she’ll have to face it. This illness, whatever it is.

She shrugs. “This stupid thing I’ve got eating away at me. It totally sucks. I want it to go away.” A tear rolls over her cheek and she lets it fall.

I move closer and can’t help reaching for her, drawing her into a hug. She sobs in my shirt. I still don’t know what’s wrong or why she’s here. None of this makes sense.

She pulls back, embarrassed. “So I guess you want to know why I’m here, huh? Settle that curiosity you’ve got going on?” she says, waggling her index finger in circles at my face. She makes my heart race with adrenaline-nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me. Not if you don’t want to. I heard you were here, and I was worried. That’s all. If you want to be on your own, I’ll go.”

She closes her eyes. Squints them slightly as if in pain. Runs a hand through her thinning hair.

I get up to leave, moving toward the door.

She panics. “No, Sam. Don’t go. I want you to stay. I’m sorry.”

I don’t know whether to believe her, so I hesitate.

“Sam, I have leukaemia. That’s why I’m here.” She looks away. Fiddles with her hands in her lap.

Fuck. Leukaemia? I had no idea. Absolutely no clue.
“Oh my god, Gem. That’s awful.” My face must scream more but she just nods. I’m speechless. This girl; the one who had it all. And now she’s here like a withering flower, fading away like a sunset.

“Sorry I was such a bitch. I’m not sure how to deal with this,” she says.

“Don’t apologise. I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

“You wouldn’t want to.” She wraps her arms across her chest. “I want to get out of here, Sam. Leave. But I can’t. I need more treatments, which are hell, they make me feel worse. And my hair, it’s all falling out. By the end of the week I won’t have any.”

I look at her hair, which is thin. Just like her. A watered-down version, full of frailty.

“Yeah, you better look now, because by Friday you won’t see any.” She pauses. “Hair, that is. But then again, maybe you won’t actually see me, either. Maybe I’ll be gone, too.”

I glare at her. “Stop it. You’re young, Gem. And strong. You’ll fight this. And win. There’s no way this’ll beat you.”

She sniggers. “You think?”

“Yeah, I do think.”

“You and Em both, then. And Mum.”

“So maybe you should listen. You can’t give up.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m realistic. This thing is nasty. Insidious. Took me by surprise, and by the time I realised it had me by the bones I’d already vanished. Because that’s how it feels, you know? Like I’m fading away, and the parts of me I liked, the parts that were worth something, have already moved out. Disappeared. I don’t know if I’ll ever get those back. They’ve gone. Probably for good.”

“They’re still there. You’ve got to fight this, otherwise you’re giving in. The Gemma you reckon’s worth something wouldn’t give in. She’d grab it by the balls and wrestle with it, battle till she’d won. That’s you, Gem. That’s who you are. Don’t give me this insipid crap.”

A single tear drops across a pale cheekbone. “Thanks. I think.” She smiles like a child.

I laugh gently. “You’re welcome.”

She looks at her watch. “Mum’ll be here soon. Every single day, she’s here at nine. Just sits here, like she’s waiting for something.”

I look right at her. “For you to get better. Just fight it, Gem. Okay?”

She nods.

“I’ll be here seeing Dad, so I can come back ... if you want me to?”

She smiles. “I’d like that. Apart from anything else, I’m hellishly bored.”

“I’ll bring you some mags,” I reply, and back out of the room, numb.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

My head’s spinning. I ring George to convey the unwelcome news I won’t be in. I tell him I’m not sure when I’ll be back and choke on the aching words coming unstuck in my throat. Surprisingly, he understands. Gemma’s already off work, and now me too. I don’t tell him about Gem being here. I figure that’s her call. George kindly tells me to take as much time as I need, relieving the sting that smarts in my chest.

“Hey,” Jack says, reaching for my hand.

I give him a scarce smile, seeing the worry lines crease between his eyes. A little voice whispers,
No! Don’t do this to him. Look! Just look at him. He’s feeling the pain. You can see it in his face.

“Do you want to go?” I ask. “We’ve been here all day, and there’s been no change. Go if you want. I can get home with Ben.”

He looks a little hurt. “Trying to get rid of me, huh? Already?”

“No, not at all. It’s just you’ve been so great. I couldn’t have done this without you. But it’s been a really long day.”

“I’m fine, Sam. I want to stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

I sigh, leaning in to him. I’d really like to spare him. This. He doesn’t need it. Me. Here, waiting for Dad to return. Consuming every heart-beating moment. Willing him to wake. To speak. To open his eyes.