Rising Star (16 page)

Chapter 25

As Adam leads me down to the hotel car park, I’m still trying to digest things.

Ben. In a coma.

Just saying the words in my head brings tears to my eyes.

Less than half an hour ago, everything was normal. Now my whole world has fallen apart.

Whilst I dressed Adam was like a miracle. He sorted everything out with the show, and even rang Tammy and George for me.

“They didn’t mind?” I ask, as Adam leads me to a silver E-type Jaguar, and opens the door.

“Of course they didn’t mind,” he says. “Summer, you have to realise. People care about you. A lot.”

“Where’s your bike?” I ask, registering the car in confusion.

“I had the hotel arrange a car,” he explains. “Better than a bike for a long journey.”

“Nice choice,” I say with a weak smile, as he guides me into the passenger seat.

“
The best I could do at short notice,” he says, fastening my seatbelt, before walking to the other side.

As we spin out of the car park and into the London streets, the wordless tears start to flow again.

Adam glances at my face.

“My poor baby,” he murmurs sympathetically. “We’ll be there in a few hours. Your nephew will be right as rain. You’ll see.”

I nod, but the tears keep flowing.

“I can’t believe I was so caught up in Sing
-Win,” I blurt. “It all seems so stupid now. I should have been to see him…”

“Shhh,” says Adam. “Don’t think like that.”

He turns to me for a moment, before returning his eyes to the road.

“Why don’t you tell me about your nephew?” Adam asks gently, as he pulls onto the main road. “I’ll bet he’s a happy healthy little boy.”

I nod fiercely.

“He is,” I say. It’s easier to deal with things, talking about Ben like this. I cast Adam a grateful glance for being so understanding.

“Ben’s a little whirling dervish,” I add, with an affectionate smile. “He’s always climbing on stuff, racing round like a mad thing.”

I find myself smiling wider at the memory.

“He’s school age now?’ asks Adam.

I nod.

“Yeah. He loves it. Well. He loves running around with his friends.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “He’s not too good at concentrating on his lessons,” I admit.

Adam smiles.

“Just like me when I was a lad,” he says. “Too much energy to sit still.”

“Yeah.”

I’m feeling a lot better, just talking about Ben. I guess Adam knew exactly what to do, to help.

“Little boys like that are indestructible,” says Adam. “You’ll see Summer. He’ll be back giving his teachers hell before you know it.”

I smile.

“Yeah,” I agree. I can’t see Ben succumbing to his accident. I just can’t. “He’ll pull through.”

Already I have a surge of optimism rising up. Of course Ben will be ok. There’s no doubt in my mind.

Adam makes it along the motorway at record speed. And before I know it, we’re approaching the hospital.

During the journey I’ve already fielded many calls from my sister and my mum. The news is that Ben’s circumstances haven’t changed.

My phone rings again, and my mum’s name flashes up.

“Summer,” she says, her voice fluttering with worry. “When does your train get in? Shall we come pick you up?”

“Ah, actually I’m getting a lift,” I say, aware I need to explain the Adam situation.

“Oh,” says my mum. “Who’s driving you down?”

“A friend,” I say, flashing Adam a glance. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I add, to cut off this line of questioning. Right now, I just want to think of Ben.

I hang up, and Adam shoots me a quizzical glance.

“A friend?”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” I admit. “I haven’t told them about you.”

“Well you can tell them now,” he decides, pulling into the hospital car park. “Say your boyfriend drove you down.”

Despite everything that’s happened I still feel a little shiver to hear him describe himself this way.

Adam Morgan. My boyfriend.

Adam parks up the car, and gently unbuckles my seatbelt.

“You want me to come inside?” he says. “I can stay out here if it’s easier for you.”

Any resistance I felt to Adam’s presence here has long dissolved.

“I want you there,” I say.

His blue eyes fix on mine.

“Good,” he says. “And introduce me as your boyfriend please. None of this friend nonsense.”

He steps out of the car, opens my door for me, and guides me out.

I grip his hand tightly, and he grips it back.

“It will be
ok,” he says. “You’ll see.”

We walk inside, and I feel my legs resist as the disinfectant hospital smell hits. I desperately want to see my nephew. To assure myself he’s still here, living and breathing. But I’m so frightened too. Seeing Ben unconscious on a hospital bed will make it real. And I’m still hoping to wake up from this nightmare.

Adam’s fingers are warm and firm around mine, and I feel as though he is a wall of strength leading me on.

We navigate the maze of hospital corridors, and then we’re passing colourful pictures and paintings, entering the children’s ward.

The nurse at reception is virtually open-mouthed in amazement to see Adam Morgan entering her hospital ward. And then her professionalism kicks in, and she greets us with an expectant smile.

I explain to the nurse that we’re here to see Ben Evans, and her face draws in sympathy.

“The doctor’s just finished examining Ben,” she says. “The other relatives are at his bedside.”

“What did the doctor say?’ I blurt. “Is there any change?”

The nurse shakes her head.

“There’s no change yet,” she says. “He’s a healthy little boy, and we’re all hopeful he’ll rally. But he’s had a bad bump to the head.”

The tears rise up again, as I nod in thanks. And then the nurse leads us along to the row of children’s beds.

My eyes drop to a clipboard at the end of a curtained bed, and I see the name ‘Ben Evans’. Just seeing him written in black and white threatens to overwhelm me.

Then the nurse draws the curtain slightly, to reveal my mother and sister, their faces stricken.

My mum looks like she’s shrunk a size. Her petite frame seems to sag inside her floral dress. And without her apron she looks strangely lost. Her dark hair is escaping from its pins, and her brown eyes – which always look slightly puppy-dog – are dipped even lower at the corners, with an infinite sadness.

Sam looks far more like my mum than I remember. They look like carbon copies of one another. Young and old. Though Sam’s shoulder-length hair hangs unwashed, and she’s a head taller than Mum. Her jeans and T-shirt are crumpled as though she slept in them, and I feel a wave of unbearable pity for her.

“Sam!” I grab her in my arms and hug her tight. Then I hug my mum.

“Hello love,” says my mum. “Dad’s at home,” she adds, in answer to my unspoken question. “He’s getting some food and clothes together for Sam. She might be staying the night.”

“Summer,” says Sam, her voice barely a whisper. “There’s no news. He’s…”

I pull her close again.

“It will be ok,” I say fiercely, “he’ll be ok. You’ll see. He’s a strong little boy.”

But as I release Sam, my gaze catches my unconscious nephew, lying on the hospital bed.

Ben. Oh Ben!

My heart squeezes tight in my chest.

The last time I saw my nephew he was running around wreaking havoc. Now his little body is laid out with tubes in his nose and monitors beeping his heart rate.

“It doesn’t look right,” I say, my voice coming out strangely. “He hates lying still.”

I turn to Adam, who envelops me in a deep hug.

“He’ll be running around again soon,” promises Adam, and the way he says it makes it sound true.

My sister and mum register Adam for the first time. Sam’s eyes grow wide in confusion. I can tell she’s struggling to compute that a mega star is standing a few feet away.

Adam ducks forward neatly, and takes Sam’s hand in a warm handshake.

“I’m Adam,” he says, “Summer’s boyfriend. I’m so sorry I had to meet you in these circumstances.”

He takes my mum’s hand next, shaking it, and murmuring his heartfelt hopes for Ben. My mum seems a little mesmerised by Adam, but I’m not sure she knows who he is – besides a handsome charismatic man who has turned up with all the right words of comfort.

Sam knows, of course. She recognised him instantly. But right now, I’m guessing she really doesn’t care that a pop star has showed up to her son’s bedside.

There’s a polite cough, and I suddenly realise the nurse who led us to Ben’s bedside is still here.

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit,” says the nurse, holding the curtain. “The doctor will be back in another few hours.”

She smiles at me shyly.

“You’re the girl who sings on TV aren’t you?” she says. “I saw your band last week. Perhaps you could sing to Ben? They can sometimes hear things, even in
a coma.”

She smiles again, and then retreats tactfully, drawing the curtain behind her.

My eyes drop to my prone nephew, and my throat feels swollen shut.

“You should,” whispers Sam. “You should sing to him. Ben always loved your voice Summer.”

Slowly I move forward, and take Ben’s little hand. It feels warm – full of life – and I feel a burst of hope.

He’s going to be ok. He’s got to be ok…

“You liked being sung too,” I whisper, “when you were a baby. Do you remember? Your Aunty Summer used to sing you to sleep?”

The tears are coming again, and my voice is caged in my throat. I try to sing but the words won’t come. They’re stuck there, deep in anguish.

Behind me, I feel Adam’s warm presence wrap around me. I lean back onto him gratefully and close my eyes. Tears cascade down my cheeks.

I open my mouth, but the words won’t come.

“I can’t sing to him,” I gasp. “I can’t do it.”

I look at Adam and he nods in understanding.

Then slowly, his hand closes over mine, so that we’re both holding Ben’s little hand.

Then Adam takes a slow breath, and begins singing quietly.

His voice is low, soft and soothing.

I close my eyes, and let the music and words drift over me.

Will you come to the bower o'er the free boundless ocean
,

Where the stupendous waves roll in thundering motion, 

Where the mermaids are seen and the fierce tempest gathers, 

Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower?

It’s an Irish folk song, I recognise. The words are about lakes and nature, and all the wonderful things in the world.

You can see Dublin city,
and the fine groves of Blarney,

The Bann, Boyne, and Liffey and the Lakes of Killarney, 

You may ride on the tide on the broad majestic Shannon, 

You may sail round Lo
ugh Neagh and see storied Dungannon,

Will you come, will you, will you, will you come to the bower?

It’s like a siren call, to tempt Ben back to the land of the living. I can’t think of a more perfect song.

As Adam sings, I feel my tears dry, and my faith rise. Then my throat is suddenly freed. And for the last chorus I sing along, gently harmonising, calling Ben back.

We both finish on the same note, and the atmosphere has changed. Sam’s face is calmer. My mum is looking lovingly at Ben.

“Do you think he heard us?” I ask, looking at Adam.

“I’m sure he did,” says Adam, kissing the top of my head.

“I’m sure his heart rate moved,” says Sam hopefully. “Maybe he did hear.”

Her face crumples in grief again.

“My little boy…” sobs Sam, her head falling into her hands.

In a moment, Adam has enveloped Sam in a deep hug. She leans against his body gratefully, sobbing her heart out.

“Let it all out,” advises Adam,” it’s all going to be ok. He’ll be up and giving you hell before you know it.”

Sam makes a hiccupping kind of laugh through her sobs.

“Do you think so?” she asks. “He looks so helpless. I feel so helpless…”

Adam releases her gently.

“He doesn’t look helpless to me,” he assures Sam. “He looks like a strong little boy. Look at the colour in his cheeks. He’s pulling through. I promise you that.”

Sam looks gratefully at Adam and then bursts into tears again.