Heartbeat Away (16 page)

Then an elderly lady's voice calls out, ‘Something terrible must have happened.'

As the long minutes pass, and no lights come back on, rumours of fires and bomb attacks start to spread around the carriage. Moment by moment, the air in the carriage feels hotter, stifling. Unbearable. A man near me mutters that he has to get out. Further down the carriage, I can hear someone banging on a window.

Then, just when I think I can't bear it any longer, out of the darkness and the chaos around me, I suddenly hear a voice I recognise.

Someone clearly says, ‘Everything's spangles.'

It's the same voice I heard in the hospital, the night I almost died. The voice that, until this moment, I was sure belonged to one of the nurses. A wave of relief washes over me, and I hear myself calling loudly into the blackness surrounding me, ‘Please, everyone . . . there's no need to be frightened!'

To my surprise, the whole carriage slowly quietens. Even the little toddler at the far end hushes.

‘Everything is going to be all right.'

Within seconds, the lights in the carriage come on again, and everyone peers around, blinking and half-dazed by the harsh fluorescent glare. Feelings of relief are visible on people's faces, and a self-conscious cheer goes up from a group of lads bunched in the far corner. Perhaps it's just me, but everyone seems to be smiling.

Finally, the train starts moving again. As we pull into the station some minutes later, I peer through the window, searching for Sam. There's no sign of him. The platform is empty, except for a group of Japanese tourists trundling suitcases behind them. The carriage doors open and people start getting off the train.

I'm about to follow, when something stops me in my tracks. I don't see or hear anything – I just have an incredibly strong feeling that this isn't the right place. Callum's journey isn't over here. I turn around and go and sit down on one of the now empty seats.

A little boy of about two sits down next to me followed
by a girl. It's Leah. We stare at each other in shock. Neither of us speaks for a moment. The little boy kneels on the seat beside me and bounces a small plastic dinosaur along the shelf behind. I realise he is the toddler who was so frightened earlier.

‘My little brother, Ben,' Leah says finally.

‘Last time I saw him he wasn't even walking,' I reply.

We sit side by side, in total embarrassment. Shyly, the little boy smiles up at me. I smile back.

‘I was petrified when all the lights went out,' Leah says quietly.

‘Me too.'

‘Everything all right,' says the little boy.

‘Was that you, Becky?' asks Leah. ‘I thought I recognised your voice.'

I nod.

We pull into a station. Leah picks up Ben and stands up.

‘I'm getting off here. Got to drop Ben off at my auntie's. Dad's working all next week. Where are you going?'

‘Um . . . I'm not sure.'

‘You OK?'

‘Yeah, don't worry. I'm fine. Really.'

We wait awkwardly for the doors to open.

‘See you back at school, then.'

I look up at her. ‘Bye.'

‘You take care,' she says, looking me straight in the eye.

‘And you.' I watch her get off the train and walk up the platform as the train moves off.

I look around the carriage and recognise the voice of the
old lady who thought something terrible had happened. She's talking to the young lad next to her. At the other end of the carriage, the man in a grey overcoat is offering a bottle of water to the French couple.

As we travel on, I gradually become aware that this is what Callum was doing when he went off on his own. He was riding the tube trains all day. And then I realise the truth. I no longer have my own heart, I have someone else's. I'll be connected to him for as long as I live, just as he is connected to me – but I'm not afraid of that any more.

I look around at my fellow travellers and realise that our carriage, trundling along on the rails beneath us, is just one of hundreds, each full of people whose stories interweave as they journey through life. And no matter how hard we may try to go it alone, it doesn't work – we still need one another, as we all hurtle through space on the same crowded planet.

The train pulls into the next station, my heart misses a beat and I know this is where I have to get off. I step out of the carriage and make my way through the gloomy tunnel. I hurry up the escalator and rush out of the station into the stark sunshine, then quickly text Sam and tell him I'm OK.

I have no idea where I am, but this isn't going to stop me. Turning left, I start running along the street, dodging passers-by, ignoring their wary looks. The soles of my trainers strike the pavement with a satisfying thudding sound, and I give in to the urge to run faster and faster. Soon I'm sprinting flat out like a shot from a gun, and my heart is beating fit to burst. But I feel no fear. No panic. I'm totally exhilarated. The last time I felt like this was approaching the finishing tape at the cross-country race I won a few days before I got ill.

The enormity of what Callum has done for me hits me now with a force that stuns me. He thought beyond himself, his own life, his own death and reached out to help a fellow
human being. Someone he'd never even met. He's given me the precious gift of new life. How on earth could I have wasted so much time already?

Out of the blue, a sharp pain stabs into my heart and stops me dead in my tracks. As I rub my chest, trying to ease it, I glance around confused.

Then I see them. On the opposite pavement, leaning against the foot of a lamp-post are the withered remnants of a bunch of flowers. As I cross the road, I know this is where Callum died. I feel overwhelmed by sadness, but there's something stronger gnawing at me too. A terrible yearning. I'm still not at the right place. Something inside me insists that Callum wasn't being chased the night he died. He wasn't mad or bad, and he hadn't been running away from anything. He was running
towards
something.

He'd been so desperate to get to his destination that he wasn't looking, and he'd run out in front of a car. His death had been a terrible event that he hadn't seen coming. Just like my infection and Alice's heart failing, bad, unfair things sometimes happen. But because of Callum's death, I'm now alive. Unwittingly, he's saved me and I'm totally and utterly grateful. And now, I realise I need to do something for him in return.

I start walking. I have no idea where I'm going, but this is a minor detail. I just need to get there. I thread my way through the back streets. At one point, I'm about to take a right turning, but hesitate, then take the opposite turning. The one I somehow know is correct.

Ten minutes later, I stop in front of a pub. Its door is half open, and the smell of beer and cooked food comes wafting out. Puzzled, I look up, then give a surprised gasp. Painted on the sign hanging over the pavement is a white swan – the name of the pub. I know I've arrived. I'm finally in the right place.

I step inside. The room is almost empty. There's just one old man in the corner, nursing a mug of beer and the landlord standing behind the bar polishing a glass.

‘Yes, love?' asks the landlord.

I stand here not knowing what to do or say.

‘Cat got your tongue?' the old man sniggers.

‘Callum Hunter . . .' I say hesitantly.

‘Callum Hunter?' The landlord looks puzzled. ‘
Nick
Hunter, you mean?'

‘Um. Yes . . . is he here?'

‘Out the back. I'll give him a shout. You'd better wait outside – you're underage, love . . . Nick, someone here for you!' he calls as I scurry back outside and wait. Seconds later, a man appears. I feel I know him.

‘Who are you?' he asks.

‘My name's Becky Simmons.'

‘Do I know you?' He's frowning now.

‘No. But I need to tell you something.'

‘Oh yeah . . . tell me what?'

‘Callum —'

His face suddenly changes. ‘What about Callum?' he demands. ‘Look, love, if this is some kind of wind up, I don't need it, all right?'

He turns and is almost back through the pub door. I have to say something, quickly. ‘I need to tell you that . . . that . . . everything's spangles —' I blurt out.

He stops and turns to face me. His eyes search my face and meet mine. ‘Say again?' he says suspiciously.

‘Everything . . . is . . . spangles?'

He glares at me. I can feel myself blushing.

‘I'm sorry. It's just . . .' My voice trails away as I notice the tears welling up in his eyes.

‘That's what Callum used to say,' he says quietly. ‘Every time we'd had an argument. “Everything's spangles, Dad,” he'd say, and then I knew our bust-up was over and everything was all right.' He wipes his face with the palm of
his hand. ‘It was our code. No one else knew about it – not even his mum.' He stops and stares at me. ‘So how on earth do you know that and what do you want?'

I take a deep breath before I speak. ‘I had a heart transplant the night Callum died. I've got his heart and . . . I wanted to say thank you to your son for giving me my life back.'

We talk for over an hour. Callum's dad wants to know everything, and so I describe as well as I can the visions and memories that have become such a big part of my life since my transplant. I tell him about going to the park and meeting Sam, and about hearing Callum's voice at the hospital and on the tube train. Most importantly of all, I tell him that I'm sure Callum wanted to see him that night.

‘When his mum and I split up, I tried and tried but he just wouldn't see me,' he says. ‘Wouldn't even talk on the phone. He hated me.'

‘No. He loved you,' I say firmly.

‘Charley phoned me late that night. When I got to the hospital, he was already dead.' He gives a long, deep sigh. ‘They let me see him. He was just lying there . . . peaceful. But I was too late . . .' He looks up at me, haunted. ‘I was too late.'

‘I know Callum loved you, because that's why he was coming to see you that night. He desperately wanted to
make everything all right again between you both. He just never arrived.'

Callum's dad hides his eyes behind his hand. It's a few seconds before he speaks. ‘We knew he'd signed up for the donor scheme a couple of years ago, but we never thought . . . He was just a kid! But when the doctors talked to his mum and me about taking his heart to save someone else's life, there was no way we were going to refuse. We both knew it was what Callum wanted. He was a good lad. The best.'

Callum's dad takes me back to the tube station and we say goodbye. As I make my way down the escalator and back onto a train, I realise I'm not frightened any more. I'm thinking about Callum and his family. Before I know it, I'm stepping out of the tube station near to the park. Sam's standing at the entrance waiting for me.

‘Are you okay?' he asks anxiously, as he hurries over and hugs me. His arms feel warm and safe.

‘I'm fine. Really.' And for the first time in two years, I actually mean it.

‘I got out at that next station and waited for ages . . . but you never came. What happened?'

We walk back through the park and sit on a bench at the far corner of the lake. It's warm in the sunshine and it feels good to be sitting by the water. I start telling Sam everything that happened since we got separated.

‘So Callum really spoke to you?' he asks quietly.

‘I don't know. It was strange. It was as if I could hear his
voice inside my head, and it calmed me down. And from that moment on everything felt different. I knew I didn't need to be afraid any more.'

When I finish my story, I can see Sam is struggling to take it all in. He looks up and stares at me, his puzzled eyes searching my face. Then his expression changes; his eyes widen and he takes a sudden sharp in-breath.

‘What is it?' I ask.

He hesitates, then slowly says, ‘Do you think all this could be like . . . well like . . . destiny or something?'

I look at him blankly. ‘What do you mean?'

He shakes his head. ‘Something happened years ago. I don't know . . . Callum. Callum told me about this girl he'd seen. I can picture him now, going on about her. I remember him insisting there was something about her. She was special, he said. She was special. But he couldn't explain what he meant and I didn't understand at the time.' He frowns slightly and his voice slows. ‘We were only about ten, and he'd been on his way home from some hockey match with his team. She'd nearly got run over by the minibus they were in.'

My heart slips a beat. ‘What did she look like?' I ask, hardly daring to breathe.

‘Long, dark hair, a pale face and the saddest expression he'd ever seen.'

I meet Sam's eyes, remembering the small, dark-haired girl I'd seen crying in the snow. A lump rises in my throat. Of course I knew who she was . . . who she is. I just hadn't realised until now.

‘It was me,' I tell him. ‘That little girl Callum saw was me.'

‘I knew it,' Sam whispers.

‘I'd run off . . . my dad had left home a few weeks before. I missed him like crazy. It was like the end of my world.'

Sam takes a long, slow breath then exhales. ‘So you did meet Callum.'

I cast my mind back all those years. I remember standing in the snow, looking up at the minibus that almost killed me and seeing the face of a young boy staring out through the window, meeting my eyes, holding my gaze.

‘Yes. . . that was him.' A shiver goes right through my body. ‘We did meet . . . before.'

Sam takes my hand and cradles it in his, and we sit side by side, by the edge of the lake, thinking about Callum.

Suddenly the water a few feet away begins to bubble. We stare into the lake as a huge fish surfaces and begins to gulp flies out of the air.