No Kiss Goodbye (2 page)

When Mark suggests we get off the bus a stop early and walk the rest of the way to his house, I eagerly agree. I’ve a suspicion that he’ll try to kiss me along the way. Well, I’m hopeful at least. However, had I known that the last stop was about thirty million miles from his house, I would have taken a rain check.

Blistering feet and still no romantic kiss later, I’m starting to get fed up. My hand has reached that irritatingly sticky stage, which can only be truly achieved when you hold hands too tightly with someone for the duration of a painfully awkward conversation. If we don’t release our grip soon, then we’re fast approaching full-force sweaty palms. Time for the old tried and tested ‘something in my eye’ routine.

As Mark gazes into my heavily mascara-laden eyes, I chew roughly on my extra minty chewing gum and prepare for the fairy tale kiss all teenagers dream of. I’ve waited all sixteen years of my life so far for this Cinderella moment, and I know it will be amazing.

~~~

Just as I pucker up, I feel the stinging stab of a needle in my right arm that viciously draws me back to reality. I’m back in the hospital ward and fourteen years have passed since that special kiss. There have been many more amazing kisses since then. Hundreds of happy memories flood my mind—Mark and my wedding day, finding out I was going to be a mother, being a family. My heart pinches.
What if I never wake up? What if fourteen years is all I get and now my time is up? What if Mark and I never get the chance to grow old together, or I never experience the joy of watching my kid grow up?

I’m startled by the pounding of footsteps rushing past me. I’ve become so used to everyone tiptoeing around that it’s really quite exciting to get some action. It only takes a second before the reality of the situation hits me. The doctors and nurses don’t rush around this place to test their jogging stamina; someone is in trouble, and they need immediate attention. I feel sympathy for the patient, of course I do. I haven’t turned to complete stone yet, even though some days it’s hard not to…but then, I feel relief. Relief that they’re not rushing to me. But this place, the loneliness and often near-silence, reminds me that it could be me at any moment. And maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it were.
What kind of person am I becoming?
I manage to make everything about me. I’m self-obsessed and broken. My body is shattered, but my mind is fast becoming equally as damaged. 

Morning brings a renewed stillness. The activity of last night is just a memory now. It must be visiting hours because Ava, my best friend, is here. I didn’t notice her arrive, but I’m so glad for her company and my mind smiles. Ava could talk for Ireland; I rarely get a word in edgeways. So, the one-sided conversation, as she rambles on, is actually pleasantly familiar.

Ava and I have been friends since we were six. We were in the same class in school growing up, and even though we went to colleges on opposite sides of the country, we’ve always stayed close. I know her as well as I know myself, and I love her to bits. But sometimes her ability to speak first and think later still shocks me. Like now.

‘So the guy in the room next to you kicked the bucket a few hours ago,’ Ava announced as if she was reading the news on
National Television
.

A little vomit swirls around in the bottom of my near-empty stomach. The man was a stranger to me, but his death affects me now in a way I don’t fully understand. He was someone’s son, a husband, perhaps even a father. And now he is gone, leaving a hole in his loved one's hearts where his smile once was. I’m still here, still clinging to life, but I feel that hole. That little cavity I’m burrowing into the hearts of everyone I love.

‘Seriously, Laura, this place is depressing as hell. You really need to wake up soon. I mean, I know you like your sleep and all, but don’t you think it’s time to flutter an eyelid or something. C’mon, hun. Give us a sign you’re still in there. I miss you,’ Ava says.

If I could roll my eyes and laugh, then I would. Sarcasm is Ava’s middle name, and the familiarity of one of her terrible jokes sets me at ease.

I can tell Ava is fidgeting nervously and moving around the room quite a lot. It’s a little embarrassing that the situation is making her so uncomfortable.
I wonder if my cheeks are flushed.
I wish she would sit down and relax. Her voice is jumping all over the place and making me dizzy.

‘Laura, you’ve been out of it for ages now. I have the biggest news of my life to tell you, and you’re not even listening.’

Ava pulls a chair close to my bedside and leans in. I can feel her breath falling rough and heavy on my pillow. Even with my eyes closed, I know Ava is bouncing on the spot.
God, I really wish she hadn’t had garlic for lunch.

‘Okay,’ Ava stammers. ‘I’m just going to spit it out.’

I wonder what the massive earth-shattering news is now. Maybe Ava snapped a stiletto and will be admitted to the bed next to me suffering from shock or even more seriously perhaps she has lost her Prada purse somewhere in the waiting room. That kind of thing could cause a coronary.

I don’t like this version of myself. A good gossip with Ava is usually one of my favourite things but not today. Today it reminds me how life goes on for everyone else while I’m trapped in here.

Ava slurps in a huge gulp of air and blurts out, ‘I’m getting married.’

A long pause follows and I wonder when Ava is going to start laughing and tell me that she’s joking. I know her hands are twitching at the edge of my bed, and I guess she’s spinning a ring on her wedding finger.

‘Now, I know what you’re going to say. Or at least I know what you would say…you know, if you could and all that…’ Another awkward pause follows and then a loud clearing of Ava’s throat. ‘But Adam loves me. He’s completely over his commitment issues. His proposal was so romantic. Much better than Mark’s attempt. Blurting out, ‘let’s get hitched’ between mouthfuls of Coke and a bite of double cheeseburger is never the romantic gesture you make it out to be, Laura.’

Ava was right. Mark’s first proposal was laughable, and I couldn’t take him seriously, even if he was generous enough to offer me a bite of his burger while I thought my answer over. But we were only eighteen at the time, and although it was a bit of a whirlwind, I always knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I did have to wait a few years for the big sweep-me-off-my-feet proposal of my dreams. A romantic proposal by candlelight meant I had almost said yes before he’d had a chance to ask the question.

The atmosphere is stagnant as Ava hovers over me. I can’t figure out what she is waiting for. Does she think I’m suddenly going to spring to life and congratulate her on a ridiculous decision? I’ve always kept my opinion of Adam to myself. But Ava can read me like a book, and I know I didn’t have to actually
say
anything. Their relationship dramas are more intense than all the episodes of daytime soaps added together.

Ava never seems to grow tired of defending Adam. She loves to tell people they are just like the original Adam and Ava. We all know she means Eve, but no one has ever taken it upon themselves to correct her. We all like our heads attached to our bodies too much. Just as the biblical couple fell in love in the Garden of Eden and had all that trouble with the apple of temptation, Ava and Adam met in Molly Keogh’s back garden at the neighbourhood summer barbecue. When the sleeve of Ava’s cardigan caught fire, Adam had thrown his pint of cider over Ava without haste or sober judgment in an attempt to quench the blaze. Now maybe Adam never knew, or just momentarily in a fit of blind panic forgot, that alcohol tends to have the opposite of the desired effect when trying to put out a blaze. And so began a not so beautiful relationship. Ava insists that fate brought them together. The rest of us put it down to barbeque lighter fluid and a little stupidity. But one thing is certain, Ava Cassidy and Adam O’Rourke will always be remembered for their trouble in the garden with apples.

Mark’s arrival interrupts my trip down memory lane. I’m concentrating hard on trying to smile. I can feel twitches somewhere near my ears, and I’m almost sure they’re the same muscles that make my mouth move. I’m determined today will be the day I let him know I can hear him, but I’m distracted by a female voice entering my room.

After a few moments of everyone chatting among themselves, and me becoming incredibly frustrated, Mark finally gets around to an introduction.

‘Laura, honey, I told you I had a surprise.’

My heart is racing…
the kids, he’s brought the kids.

‘Well…here she is,’ Mark announces, maybe pointing at something, I can’t tell.

I hold my breath and wait to hear Katie coo.

‘Hello, Laura,’ the woman’s voice chirps.

‘Nicole wanted to come see you. Isn’t that a nice surprise?’ Mark says.

My heart sinks into my ankles. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen the kids. They are the only surprise I want. Not Nicole. Not this bitch. How could Mark bring her here? He knows how much I hate her. I’ve spent half my life bitching about her.
What the fuck was he thinking?
God, I just want to cry. Everyone is silent for a moment, but there is an excited buzz in the room. I just know Mark is smiling. It makes me even angrier.

‘Nicky has been amazing helping out all week. I don’t know what I’d have done without her. She’s been so worried about you.’

‘We’ve all been worried, Mark,’ Ava adds dryly.

Ava has my back, just like always. I think I smile, but everyone is too preoccupied to notice.

Mark ignores the remark. ‘I suggested Nicky come and see your progress for herself.’

Progress! What progress? I’m only half-alive. And it’s Nicky now, is it?
When did they progress to nicknames? My head hurts.

I’ve never trusted Nicole. I don’t believe her intentions are anything less than selfish. I’m certain she’s less about helping out and more about edging in on my family as soon I’m out of the picture. She’s the same age as me, give or take a few months. She is also slim and glamorous…and conscious. I’m none of the three.

I also can’t believe Mark would leave me alone with that woman.
Where has he gone now?
Houdini has nothing on that man lately.

For about forty minutes or so, I tolerate Nicole’s ramblings about how she’s cleaned the house so it will be nice and tidy when I get home. Did it ever dawn on her that maybe it was messy for a reason? Maybe I like messy. I ignore her speech about getting fifty euros off because she batted her eyelashes at the mechanic when she took the car for a service. I even cope when she praises herself for having my in-laws over for a healthy family meal. If she’s trying to hit me when I’m down, then she’s doing an excellent job. I got it. By all accounts, she’s much better at being me than
me
.

I struggle to find five minutes in the day to grab a shower, but wonderful, amazing, super Nicole managed to have a surplus of time to hand stitch a new tablecloth that I imagine is sitting proudly on my now finely polished dining room table. I could handle all that, really I could. But I finally see red, or more like neon scarlet, when she explains how Mark has enjoyed some homemade soup because he was badly in need of some nourishment.
My arse!
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the years Mark and I have been together, it’s that the way to his heart is definitely through his stomach. Buy him a burger and chips and he’ll be your best friend for life.

My temper pounds in my temples, and I visualise myself leaping forward and wringing Nicole’s very thick neck.

Nicole gasps dramatically. ‘Laura! Laura, can you hear me? Did you just move? Laura?’

Oh God…
I moved. I really did. I’m still working. I forget everything that has happened in the previous days, and all I care about now is doing it again.

‘Oh my God, this is fantastic. Wait there. Don’t move. I mean do move, move as much as you can.’ Nicole is hard to understand because she’s speaking so fast and moving away from me.

And then there’s complete silence. That damn silence that I’ve grown to hate. And I know I’m alone again.

Noisy footsteps pound the corridor and thoughts of the last time the ward saw this much activity rushes into my head. But this time, the footsteps are rushing towards me.

‘Laura, Laura, can you hear me?’ Mark asks struggling to catch his breath.

Mark’s voice is shallow, and for the first time, he’s not making an effort to hide his exhaustion. I want so badly to reach out to him and wrap my arms around him. I want to hold him so close we’re just like one person.

‘Laura…’ He pauses, as if waiting for me to answer. ‘I’m holding your hand. Can you feel me, princess?’

Without thinking, my fingers flex and attempt to grip his. There’s a piercing squeak from the steel legs of Mark’s chair as they are forced backwards along the highly polished tiled floor. My heart pounds. Maybe I’ve scared him.
Is he in shock?
I hear him shouting in the corridor, but I can’t make out what he was saying. My heartbeat is deafening.

‘She moved, Doctor. I felt her. Laura held my hand. She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?’

Ava paces around the room like a greyhound on steroids. She stops every so often to fidget with some poor defenceless bouquet of flowers perched on the cluttered table beside my bed. I wonder why she’s so nervous. It’s rubbing off on me. The butterflies in my tummy are rocking out to their own Zumba class.

‘How are you feeling?’ Ava asks.

‘I’m fine,’ I snap. ‘I was fine when you asked five minutes ago, and I’m still fine now.’

I notice Ava’s cheeks flush, and I feel awful. It’s not fair to take my wobbly emotions out on her. Ava is watching every word out of her mouth, and it disappointments me that making conversation is this difficult for us. I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come. The accident has left its mark on me; it doesn’t get to leave a mark on our friendship, too. I have to make sure of that.

‘I’m sorry, Laura,’ Ava says, hanging her head sadly. ‘I’m useless at this kind of thing. I keep thinking of things to say, but then I stop myself because I’m sure you don’t want to talk about anything.’

She has a point. I’m not exactly little Miss Chatterbox lately. If I have to listen to one more friend or relative make small talk about the weather or politics, then I’m going to scream.

‘We could always bitch about Nicky?’ Ava suggests.

I smile.

Ava mirrors my expression and pulls a chair over to sit beside me. ‘I love you, you know.’

‘I do know. Thanks.’

‘You must be the strongest person in the world,’ Ava says, as she lovingly knocks her shoulder gently against mine.

‘No, I’m not. I’m so not.’ I shake my head. ‘If I was, then I wouldn’t have marshmallow legs and I wouldn’t need that fucking wheelchair.’

Ava doesn’t move from staring at her shoes and I regret making things even more awkward.

‘I will walk again, you know. They say it’s just a matter of time. Did I tell you that I’m getting more and more feeling back all the time?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, you said that…’

‘Oh, well, yeah I am. It still sucks arse at the moment, but by this time next year… I’d say I’ll be flying it.’

‘Yeah. Of course. I bet you will. And, in the meantime, you can enjoy everyone waiting on you hand and foot. We’re all here for you, Laura.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I mumble. It’s my turn to gaze motionless into space.

Ava sees Mark peer around the door just before I do, and she beams brightly. ‘Your knight in shining armour is here,’ she says turning to face the door.

‘I think I’m the one in shining armour,’ I joke, pointing at my very shiny, silver wheelchair that’s eerily lurking in the corner.

Mark and Ava look disgusted. It’s actually kind of funny.

‘Ah c’mon, don’t look at me like that. The jokes have got to start sometime.’

Trying to lighten the atmosphere isn’t really working. I want them to laugh. I need them to. If we laugh, then maybe they won’t see through my crumbling exterior.

‘I have to wait for the discharge papers and then we’re good to go,’ I explain as if the doctor hasn’t already told Mark all this. I overheard them talking, so I don’t know why I need to say it again. But I’d say the alphabet backwards on repeat if it drowned out the silence.
The damn silence.

‘I can’t wait to get you home,’ Mark says as he bends down to kiss my forehead softly.

His lips feel warm and comforting against my skin, and I want him to do it again.

‘The house has been way too quiet…’ He stops himself abruptly mid-sentence and forces a loud, almost tearful, cough. He changes the subject to something trivial, wondering where we would put all the flowers when we got home.

I hate this. I hate all this damn tiptoeing around me; everyone is afraid of saying something that might upset me. Why don’t they realise all the pretence is hurting me the most?

Mark leans over the edge of the bed, and I know the routine. I wrap my arms around his neck and smell his yummy, citrus aftershave as he lifts me into his arms.
Damn, I’m self-conscious.
Mark has picked me up plenty of times before. Like the time he carried me up the stairs the night of my cousin’s wedding because I was so drunk I wanted to sleep on the bottom step. But this is different. He’s never before lifted me because I’m simply incapable of doing it myself. 

‘Jeez, Laura how many of those hospital desserts did you eat?’

I glare wide-eyed at my husband.

‘Oh, I see how it is. It’s only okay for you to make jokes.’ Mark smiles.

I tuck my head under his chin. I felt safe in his strong arms, so I close my eyes and relax.

I’ve a crick in my neck, and I try to stretch out without elbowing Mark in the face. I’m still wrapped in his arms, but we are both sitting back against the pillows at the head of the bed now and my legs are draped across his knees. I glance out the window; it’s dusk. I’d expected to be discharged ages ago. Hours have passed, and I must have fallen asleep. Ava has left and my cheeks flush as I realise I had dozed off and didn’t say goodbye.

‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,’ Doctor Hammond says as he comes into the room and takes his usual position of standing at the foot of my bed.

‘S’okay.’ I shrug.

Realising I’m awake, Mark wriggles out from underneath me and stands up. I’ve grown quite familiar with Doctor Hammond over my rehabilitation but I know his presence always put Mark on edge.

They are both staring at me.
What are they waiting for?
It’s weird and uncomfortable, and I don’t like it. I feel like some wild animal being stalked by a predator.
Stop it.

‘What?’ I finally snap.

‘You fainted again, Laura,’ Mark says softly.

‘Again?’

‘Yes, Laura, you have fainted a lot recently,’ Doctor Hammond adds.

My eyes narrow and dart towards my doctor. He has a habit of saying something simply to analyse my reaction. Like he’s always testing me. And even though I know it’s his job – he’s a psychiatrist, after all – it still wrecks my head. After a traumatic experience, counselling is heavily suggested by the hospital. I’m not interested, but I know my going makes Mark feel better. After everything I’ve put him through, if talking about my feelings for an hour twice a week gives him peace of mind, then it’s the least I can do.

‘Any more bad dreams this time?’ Mark asks. He’s so soft spoken it’s almost irritating.

‘No.’ I shrug.

‘You were out of it for a while this time.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Mark nods. ‘You were saying some stuff about how sorry you were.’

‘Sorry for what?’

Mark is speaking to me in the tone he saves for when the kids do something naughty. I wonder if he’s talking about the accident. But I’ve already apologised. Over and over. I suspect the car is a write-off, but I haven’t asked. Mark hasn’t mentioned the car, either. Maybe he’s angry with me for destroying it. But with everything that is going on, why would he care so much about that? The insurance will cover it, and we’ve been talking about getting a new car for a while anyway. I press my fingers into my eyes, hoping it’ll help the headache I feel coming on.

‘Doc, maybe if you leave us for a while…’ Mark suggests. ‘Laura might feel more comfortable speaking to just me about this,’ Mark whispers, as if I’m not right there beside him.

I shake my head. ‘There is nothing to talk about.’

Mark and the doctor stare at me anxiously. It’s really uncomfortable.
What the fuck do they expect me to say?

‘I don’t remember any dreams,’ I reiterate.

‘Any flashbacks of the accident?’ Doctor Hammond elaborates.

‘No.’

‘No, you don’t remember? Or, no, you don’t want to?’ Doctor Hammond asks.

‘I. Don’t. Remember,’ I hiss. I want to slap the doctor across the face – hard!
Is this guy for real?
I understand he’s doing his job, but seriously, he needs to work on his bedside manner. I glance at Mark, avoiding eye contact. He seems annoyed, too. His fingers twitch speedily and sweat visibly rests on his palms. I hope it’s because he’s anxious to get me home and away from this constant reminder of the nightmare that our lives have faced.

Doctor Hammond continues to pry, increasing Mark’s distress. And mine. If there was ever a time when I wanted to storm out of a room and slam the door dramatically behind me, then this is it. But, of course, my stupid legs won’t budge.

Finally, the doctor concedes to the mounting tension and moves a comfortable distance away from my bed. ‘The guards are outside. They’re hoping to run through the accident with you, Laura. Do you feel up to that?’

I’m nodding, but Doctor Hammond doesn’t notice me. He’s looking at Mark, who is shaking his head furiously.

‘No. It’s too soon,’ Mark stutters. ‘She’s not ready. Jesus, Doc. Give her a break.’

‘The guards just want to get a few things straight, Mr. Kavanagh. They need something. Anything.’

‘I said it’s too soon.’

Mark’s eyes are bulging and a very unflattering red appears around his cheeks and nose.

‘It’s okay.’ I stroke Mark’s arm. ‘I don’t mind talking to them.’

‘Good girl.’ Doctor Hammond smiles as he leaves the room.

I wonder if the exaggerated stomp of Mark’s boots against the floor tiles as he storms away is an echo of his pounding heart. He’s furious. And I feel it’s reasonable. I know Mark just wants to protect me, but without my help, the bastard responsible for the crash is still out there.

Angry voices filter into my room from the hall. Mark rarely swore but a seasoned rapper wouldn’t use as many profanities in a number one hit as Mark is throwing at Doctor Hammond. I feel my cheeks redden – mortified. This is so unlike Mark. I decide to hold off on speaking to the guards. Deep down, I’m grateful for Mark’s outburst. I can’t even think about what happened, so how would I even begin to talk about it?