Maybe the bottom line here is actually very simple.
I deserve all of this.
CHAPTER 53
THE MOTHER
My eyes hurt nearly all the time now. Ed says I’m not blinking enough; that I’ve developed the habit of staring at Gemma, afraid to close my own eyes even for a nanosecond, in case I miss her waking up.
The hospital atmosphere is dry enough, to be frank, so it’s small wonder this is making it worse. I’ve tried putting drops in my eyes to soothe the itching, and I pointedly look away from Gemma as often as I dare to try to prove to Ed that I’m not obsessing.
It’s wasted effort. I am obsessing and he knows it but we’re trying to be kinder to each other. To get past the lies, the half-truths and the strain and to put all our effort into Gemma now. It’s more than twenty-four hours since she opened her eyes and there’s been no change since. The doctor came to talk to us last night. He confirms it’s a good sign but there’s no way of knowing if she’s about to wake up for sure. They’re monitoring her even more closely, but we just need to carry on waiting.
I didn’t sleep much. Never do. So I’ve already read her two more chapters of The Mill on the Floss but my voice is croaky – the tiredness, I guess, so I’ve popped the headphones back on with some gentle music. I do hope she can hear it.
I reach out to sip my coffee, badly needing the caffeine, but it’s still scorching. Ed’s standing at the window of our cubicle, looking out on to the main ward. He has asbestos fingers and an asbestos tongue and is drinking his own coffee without even wincing.
‘That’s odd,’ he says suddenly. ‘Have you noticed they seem to be moving the other patients out?’
At first, I wonder what he means. We’re used to patients being moved in and out. This has always seemed to be some kind of transitionary unit between theatre and the main wards. Maybe overflow? The number of other patients varies from day to day. I’ve even heard some visitors mumble complaints about being in the same space as Gemma, once they spot the guard. Is it safe? Do we have to be here?
The nurses always reassure them and no one seems to stay here long. But there tend to be two or three other patients overnight.
Ed looks really puzzled and so I stand up to get a better view over Gemma’s head. He’s right. The two beds opposite are already empty but the remaining beds – with patients in situ – are being wheeled out by porters with staff juggling the drips and paraphernalia. This much bustle hasn’t happened before. So many moved out on the same day.
‘You’re right. There’s something going on.’ My voice is low and I can feel anxiety creeping back into my stomach. ‘Ask the police guard. Or one of the nurses.’
We can both see that our guard’s on his radio. Ed moves to the door, opens it and calls out to one of the nurses. ‘Excuse me. Can you tell us what’s happening?’
She looks flustered, glancing at the police officer. ‘Probably best you speak to the police. Just a precaution. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’
The guard hears this and lifts his hand to signal for us to wait a moment before turning away to continue talking on his radio. Infuriatingly we can’t hear what he’s saying.
I’m remembering the horrible scene that Alex caused. The shouting and the smashed glass. But Alex is in custody. Surely they won’t give him bail again?
‘Do you think this is about Laura? They said she’s in the country. You don’t think they suspect she’s coming here, do you?’
‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’ Ed’s still in the doorway, one arm now craned over the top of his head as he waits.
At last the police officer turns to us, gesturing for us to move back into the cubicle together. He shuts the door.
‘Can I ask if you’ve let anyone know about Gemma’s condition? About the fact she opened her eyes yesterday?’
‘I texted a friend.’ I don’t tell him who. Wonder why he wants to know. ‘Well not texted. I told her on WhatsApp. Why?’
‘Can you please message her now to keep that confidential? Did you tell anyone else?’
‘No. No.’ I feel flustered and confused as I take my phone from my pocket and fumble a quick message, trying not to sound too desperate. Just an issue of confidentiality. Not wanting the media to know.
When I’ve finished, the officer signals for us to sit but I shake my head. ‘Please just tell us what’s happening. Is it Laura? Ed’s ex-wife?’