The Magpies (17 page)

‘That was Paul’s dad,’ Kirsty had said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. ‘We’ve got to get to the hospital.’

Jamie’s stomach had filled with ice water. In that instant he thought he had been wrong to believe that Paul would recover. But seeing the look of dismay on Jamie’s face, Kirsty said, ‘No, Jamie, it’s good news. They think he might be coming out of his coma.’

They turned in towards the hospital car park. Some idiot in a blue BMW was blocking the entrance. Jamie thumped the horn, leant on it, gestured angrily at the other driver. After an agonising wait for the BMW to pull out of the way, with hostile looks exchanged between the two drivers, Jamie shot into the car park, straight into an empty space.

They ran into the hospital. Through reception – Kirsty waving quickly to the girl on the front desk – dodging a porter with a laden trolley, up the stairs, down another corridor to Paul’s room. Puffing, they entered the room. Jamie had half-expected to see Paul sitting up in bed, drinking a cup of tea, saying, ‘Where am I? What happened?’, but he was still lying in the same position, the same bip-bip-bip providing the rhythm to this drama’s soundtrack.

Paul’s parents and Heather stood close to the bed, looking down at Paul, who was being examined by Doctor Meer. Heather turned round.

‘He said my name,’ she said.

Her cheeks were shiny and smeared with mascara where she had been crying. She was wearing her nurse’s uniform. ‘I was sitting here, talking to him, just talking away as usual, telling him about my day, when he suddenly spoke. He said my name!’ She grabbed Kirsty’s hands. She was shaking with excitement. ‘He said “Heather”. And at first I thought I’d imagined it, that it was wish-fulfillment, but then he said it again. So I rushed off and grabbed Doctor Meer.’

‘And has he said anything else?’ asked Jamie.

‘No. But Doctor Meer says he’s coming out of the deep coma. He says that Paul is now merely unconscious and that he could wake up any minute.’

‘Or he could slip back,’ said Paul’s dad. Reacting to their shocked looks, he said, ‘Somebody has to be cautious here. It might be a false–’

‘I think he’s waking up,’ said Doctor Meer from his position beside Paul’s pillow.

They stopped and stared. Paul looked like a man who’s been out on the most incredible drinking binge of all time and had passed out… had been passed out for a long time. His skin was colourless, there was a trail of saliva emerging from the side of his mouth. But as they watched, his eyelids flickered and, a second later, opened. His mother gasped and they all inched closer to the bed, like pilgrims moving tentatively towards a miracle. Doctor Meer had to stretch out his arms to prevent them getting too close. Jamie’s mouth went dry. Kirsty gripped his hand hard.

Paul focused his vision, looked at them, opened his mouth. He croaked and licked his lips.

‘I feel…’ he whispered.

They leaned closer.

‘…like shit.’

Doctor Meer had sent them out of the room while he and another doctor conducted a number of tests on their newly-awakened patient. Jamie, Kirsty, Heather and Paul’s parents walked towards the canteen in a daze. Heather and Paul’s mother were both in tears. Jamie and Kirsty were silent. Paul’s father kept rubbing his beard, dragging the palm of his hand across his face. None of them wanted to cheer or whoop or celebrate. They were all too worried that something might still go wrong – that Paul would not be the same as he was before the accident. Although nobody spoke them aloud, two words featured prominently in all their minds: brain damage.

He might have lost the use of his limbs. He might be suffering from amnesia. He might not be able to speak properly, although that didn’t seem to be too much of a worry. Eventually, Paul’s waking sentence would become a thing of legend among those who knew him.
I feel like shit
. It was so classic, so quintessentially Paul. Jamie knew that Heather, though, would always remember that his first very word upon waking had actually been her name.

They bought tea and coffee and sat around a table in the centre of the canteen.

‘I knew he’d wake up,’ said Jamie. ‘I always knew it. We just had to give him time.’

‘It was our prayers that did it,’ said Paul’s mum. ‘Our prayers and our faith.’

‘It was time,’ Jamie repeated softly.

‘What did Doctor Meer say about keeping him in the hospital?’ Paul’s father asked Kirsty.

‘He said that first of all there was no guarantee that Paul would stay awake. But if he does, they’ll have to keep him in for a while for observation. His body’s undergone a severe trauma. His muscles have been unused for so quite a while, so he’s going to be ever so weak. He’ll have to have a lot of physio. It won’t be easy. Plus they have to check his brain, make sure there isn’t any lasting damage. Even assuming he’s all right, he’ll probably be disorientated and confused. We can’t expect him to be his normal self – not straight away, anyway.’

‘He’s back,’ said Paul’s mum. ‘For now, that’s all that matters.’

‘I’m going to ask him to marry me,’ said Heather.

All heads swivelled towards her.

‘We could make it a double wedding,’ said Jamie. Attention turned to him. ‘Kirsty and I decided last night that we’re going to get married. And we’ve got some other news.’

Kirsty shot him a look. Shit. He’d forgotten, in his excitement, that he was supposed to wait till she was twelve weeks. Before he could think of some other news to share – we’re buying a new sofa, for example – Kirsty said, ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Oh Kirsty!’ Heather leaned across the table and kissed her. ‘That’s excellent news.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Paul’s dad.

‘It’s been a somewhat overwhelming twenty-four hours,’ said Jamie.

Kirsty stood up. ‘I need to go to the loo.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Heather.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

Jamie said, ‘Have you still got a bad stomach?’

‘Yes.’ To prove it, she hurried off.

‘We had an Indian last night,’ Jamie explained to the others, ‘and we were both sick this morning.’

‘Oh.’ Nobody was very interested. Paul had woken up. That was all that mattered. The news about Kirsty’s pregnancy was secondary right now. They were itching to get back to Paul’s room. They needed to know how he was.

Kirsty came back looking pale, and a few minutes later a nurse appeared. ‘Would you like to come back now?’ she said.

‘How is he?’ asked Paul’s mum.

The nurse smiled. ‘Why don’t you come and see for yourself?’

They filed back into the room. Doctor Meer was standing beside the bed, looking pleased, hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat. Paul was propped up with a pillow behind his back. He looked like the living dead, his eyes open but empty of feeling. Jamie wanted him to smile – wished his face would light up with that boyish grin – but he just looked at them, impassive. Heather, Kirsty and Paul’s parents each went up to him and hugged him. He didn’t reciprocate; his arms hung loosely by his side, his hands concealed beneath the sheets. When Heather pulled away Paul looked at her as if she was a stranger.

Amnesia, Jamie thought. He stepped forward, a cautious smile on his face. ‘Alright, mate?’ he said.

Paul nodded, still expressionless.

‘You do remember who we all are, don’t you?’

The others exchanged worried glances.

Paul looked at them all. After a long pause, during which Jamie noticed how silent it was in here without the constant bip-bip-bip of the heart monitor, he said, ‘Of course I remember. Mum. Dad. Jamie. Kirsty. And Heather.’ He pointed at the doctor. ‘I don’t think I’ve been introduced to this guy though.’

Doctor Meer stepped forward and told Paul his name.

‘And you’ve been looking after me?’

‘Not just Doctor Meer,’ said Paul’s mum. ‘All the nurses here, and your dad and me, and Heather and Kirsty and Jamie. We’ve all sat with you, Paul, waiting for you to wake up.’ Tears bubbled to the surface again, and she produced a damp tissue and blew her nose.

‘So I suppose I owe you all my thanks.’

‘You don’t owe us anything, son,’ said Paul’s dad.

‘We’re just so pleased to have you back,’ said Heather.

Paul brought his hands out from beneath the sheet and studied them. His voice was hoarse. ‘I feel so weak. All my muscles – I feel like a newborn kitten. It feels horrible.’

‘We’re going to have to build you up again, Paul,’ said Doctor Meer. ‘We have a program of physical therapy already planned out for you. It’s going to be hard work – but soon you’ll be back to peak fitness.’

Paul rubbed his eyes. ‘God, I had such dreams.’ He looked up, cast his gaze over each of them in turn, finally settling on Jamie.

‘I want to talk to Jamie,’ he said.

‘No, you need to rest,’ said the doctor. ‘Jamie can come back later.’ He turned to the group. ‘Paul’s not ready to talk to all of you yet. He needs time to adjust to being back among…the living. I know you’re all desperate to talk to Paul, but I have to put his well-being first.’

‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ Jamie said, as Doctor Meer ushered them out again.. As they left the room, Jamie looked back over his shoulder. Paul had already closed his eyes.

Over the next seventy-two hours, they were allowed in to see Paul one at a time. Jamie had to wait until Paul’s parents and Heather had taken their turn. The waiting was agony, but made bearable by the fact that Paul was now conscious: that he was back among the living, as the doctor phrased it.

Jamie grabbed the plastic chair he had sat on so many times and pulled it close to the bed. Paul looked a little better now, the effects of the long sleep fading from his face. He was still on a drip, but that awful bip-bip-bip noise had gone. There were magazines piled up by the bed, which Paul hadn’t touched.

‘What happened?’ Paul asked. ‘Heather told me the details but I can’t quite get my head round it. I want to hear it from you.’

‘You don’t remember it?’

‘I remember the go-kart race. I know I won. But the last thing I recall is crossing the finishing line.’

‘One of the other racers crashed into the back of your kart. I didn’t see it, but we were told that Chris braked too quickly in front of the other racer, making him swerve into you.’

‘That’s what Heather said. Poor Chris. I bet he feels really guilty.’

‘What? Why did you say poor Chris? He’s not the one they carted off in an ambulance.’

‘But to cause an accident like that, especially after we’d been getting on so well. He must have felt so…what’s the word? Oh, my head feels fuzzy.’ He concentrated. ‘Remorseful.’

Jamie shook his head. ‘He hasn’t exactly shown it. Paul, you don’t know what’s been going on while you’ve been in here. Chris and Lucy have turned into the neighbours from hell. I’ve been trying not to think about it while you were in the coma, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Chris had done it on purpose. They’ve been writing us letters, taping us having sex, joining us to endless clubs. You wouldn’t believe what…’

Paul yawned, the high-pitched noise drowning Jamie out. He realised Paul hadn’t been listening to a word he said. ‘You’ll have to tell me about it some other time. I’m too tired to concentrate.’

Jamie nodded. He didn’t want to upset Paul or do anything to hinder his recovery. ‘Do you want me to go already?’

‘Not just yet.’ He yawned again, and then a smile crept across his lips. ‘I gather everyone was heartbroken and worried that I wouldn’t come back.’

‘You could say that.’

Paul’s smile widened. ‘That’s good.’

Jamie was shocked. ‘I don’t think it’s something to be pleased about. We’ve really suffered, Paul.’

‘Oh come on, wouldn’t you be pleased to hear that everyone was really worried about you? It’s like going to your own funeral and seeing everyone crying over you and saying what a good bloke you were.’

Jamie shook his head. ‘You’re obviously not feeling yourself at the moment.’

Paul didn’t say anything.

Jamie looked around the ward, at the flowers beside the bed, the MP3 player in the corner so Paul could be played his favourite music. ‘The other day, you said something about having dreams.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes. Before Doctor Meer asked us to leave.’

‘Of course I’ve had dreams. I’ve been asleep for a long time.’

‘What kind of dreams?’

Paul closed his eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe I’ll tell you later.’

‘Were they bad dreams?’

‘I said I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘OK.’ He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. He was cold beneath his pyjamas. ‘OK.’

Paul tried to smile. ‘What have I missed while I’ve been away?’

‘Oh, quite a bit. Kirsty’s pregnant.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Heather told me. Congratulations.’ There was little sincerity in his voice.

‘And we’re going to get married.’

Paul rolled his eyes.

Undeterred, Jamie said, ‘Maybe it will be you and Heather next.’

‘I don’t think so somehow. God, I don’t even know what she’s been up to while I’ve been in here.’

Jamie exhaled. ‘She’s been absolutely grief-stricken. She’s been coming here every day to sit by your bed. Every time I see her she ends up crying. For some bizarre reason – and don’t ask me what it is – she loves you.’

‘I suppose it’s quite romantic, having a boyfriend in a coma. I bet it makes her feel really noble and worthy. It’s a great way to get sympathy.’

‘Paul! I can’t believe you can think that.’

‘Yeah, well. We’ll see if she’s still so keen now I’m back in the land of the living.’

All of a sudden, Jamie wanted to get out. He wanted to talk to Paul again after he’d had more time to adjust to what had happened to him. He knew this wasn’t the real Paul talking. This was someone who’d just woken up after a long time in another place.

‘I’d better go,’ Jamie said. ‘You need to rest.’

Paul nodded and Jamie stood up. He felt like he ought to be blissfully happy. His girlfriend was pregnant, he was getting married and now his best friend had come back from the dead. He ought to be ecstatic, but instead…

He shook away the feeling of foreboding and looked back at Paul, who was studying his hands again, flexing his fingers, casting shadows on the whitewashed walls.