that she hadn’t eaten anything substantial since she and Beth had walked through Chinatown, which now seemed such a long time ago. An incident like this put all your usual structures out of kilter; drinks and food were grabbed randomly through necessity at any time of the day or night, hours passed and time lost any meaning. Carly had a very real fear that something might happen, good or bad, when she was away from the bedside, which had become an overwhelming power that made her not want to leave. She had gone hours between toilet breaks in case something happened while she was away.
Rosemary pushed the remains of her sandwich back into the carton. ‘Would you mind if I stayed with you when Cormac goes home?’ she asked, and Carly’s eyes shot up from her soup, a spoonful suspended en route to her mouth. ‘It’s just that I’m none too keen on staying in a hotel on my own, you see.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Carly, recovering herself. ‘It’ll be company for me too.’ What else could she say?
‘Now, you’re sure you don’t mind?’
Carly’s mind flashed back to the flat. She had barely noticed anything when she had gone back to change but she knew the sofa was still a made-up sofa bed that Beth had slept on. Their bedroom was chaos; she had flung her clothes on the bed on top of the numerous outfits she had previously left there when she had been deciding what to wear to her engagement party and there was definitely no milk in the fridge. Rosemary was waiting for a response.
‘I don’t mind, but you might. It’s a bit of a tip because …’ She suddenly wanted to tell her about the engagement because if she didn’t tell her now when would there ever be a right opportunity? Her hand instinctively went to her pocket to check the ring was still there and it was; the shape of it under the fabric of her jeans reassured her.
‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I quite like to tidy up, that’ll be something I can do to help you,’ said Rosemary, leaning across and laying her hand on Carly’s. ‘Perhaps we could have a rota so there’s always someone with Fergus.’
Carly wrestled with her conscience. Fergus wanted to tell his parents about the engagement face to face, she knew that, but when would that be? Beth came into her mind. She knew what Beth would say. She would tell her to stop and think. And she was right, now was not the time. Any pleasure at sharing the engagement news would be short-lived because Fergus wasn’t able to celebrate with them. She’d have to wait. She turned the ring over in her pocket and left it there as she put her hand back on the table.
When they returned to ICU Cormac pretended that he hadn’t recently woken up. Carly noticed the curtains were drawn around a nearby bed where a teenage motorcyclist had been since last night. She could hear muffled sobs from his family and feared the worst. The thought that at any moment that could be them struck her like a falling tree.
Rosemary retook her place next to Fergus and Carly stood totally still, staring at the drawn curtains. ‘Are you all right?’ Cormac asked, looking concerned.
‘No. There must be more we can do. We can’t just sit here waiting for him to …’ She knew there were two ways she could end that sentence. ‘You said there was always something!’ She jabbed a finger at Cormac although she knew he wasn’t the source of her frustration. They shouldn’t have to be working out where Rosemary was going to stay or how she was going to speed-tidy-up the flat so that his mother didn’t think she was the slovenly sort. They should be planning a wedding and arguing over guest lists and seating plans, not working out a rota of who was going to sit with Fergus in case he woke up or … She felt crosser than she ever had before, with the possible exception of the time when Fergus was juggling with the flat keys and managed to drop them down a drain. She wanted Fergus back and she wanted him back now.
‘Is there something you want to do?’ asked Cormac gently.
‘Yes, I want to do something! Argh!’ Carly was tired and beyond frustrated. She marched round to her side of Fergus’s bed thinking that she and Rosemary must look like a pair of statues or, worse still, gargoyles.
She picked up the iPhone and scrolled back to the teenage Fergus playlist they had put together earlier, selected ‘The Ketchup Song’ and pressed Play. She took Fergus’s limp fingers in hers and spelled out the track for him. She squeezed his hand but he didn’t respond. She clutched it tightly and tried her best not to cry.
Cormac was watching her closely. He walked round to her and crouched down. ‘You’re a lovely girl, Carly,’ said Cormac, his face sincere. ‘You’ve brought back the old Fergus.’ He spoke slowly and melodically while Carly stared unblinking at Fergus. ‘After the illness he wasn’t himself, he took the hearing loss hard. In shock he was, to tell the truth. Lost his job and his self-confidence. Terrible thing to watch something like that happen to your child.’ Cormac shook his head as if remembering. ‘And then you came along with your kick-up-the-bum attitude and he was determined to learn sign language so that he could talk to you.’
Carly turned to Cormac, still crouched at her side. ‘Did he say that?’ she asked, engrossed in the alternative side of the story she knew so well.
‘He did. You put the fire back in his belly, so you did. We couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend for our boy.’ Cormac opened his arms and Carly leaned in for a hug. She didn’t mean to cry but she didn’t seem entirely in control of the tears; at the moment they came and went at will as the emotions ebbed and surged.
A strained voice from the bed made them spring apart. ‘Fiancée. She’s my fiancée.’
Jack was sitting on the back step of the ambulance when Rhonda pushed past the police and ran to him.
‘A customer came in and said there was an ambulance, a fire engine and police.’ She waved her arms about, just missing Jack’s head. ‘What the hell has happened here?’ continued Rhonda, scanning the front garden and taking in Jack’s naked torso. Jack went to lift up his mask and Clark wagged a finger at him so he left it in place.
‘It was the boiler. It must be faulty and it’s poisoned Beth,’ he said. Rhonda’s hand shot to her mouth and she looked back at the cottage. ‘They’ve taken her to hospital. Petra went with her. They tell me she’ll be fine.’ Jack gave a sideways glance at Clark, who saw his cue to join in the conversation.
‘Proper hero he is. Saved her life, risked his own. Mind you, that wasn’t so smart.’ He handed Jack a clipboard and paper. ‘There you go, you need to sign that if you really won’t let me take you to hospital.’ Jack scrawled something similar to his signature on the bottom of the form.
‘If he says you need to go to hospital, you should go!’ said Rhonda, putting her hands on her hips.
‘Leo is missing,’ said Jack, his voice anxious.
Rhonda looked like someone had slapped her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘He was with me at the pub but he wanted to put his big Easter egg somewhere safe at home. I should have walked him to the door instead of watching him because once he was past the willow tree I couldn’t see him and I assumed—’
‘It’s not your fault,’ said Rhonda, cutting him off. Her eyes alternated from his face to his ripped torso.
‘It is my fault,’ said Jack, standing up. He held on to the ambulance until he was sure of his steadiness.
‘Go to your GP tomorrow, ask for a blood test to check your carboxyhaemoglobin level,’ said Clark. ‘Take this with you.’ He tore off a carbon copy of the form and handed it to Jack.
