With This Man Page 6

  I dial Kate without thinking, so when she answers, I’m totally unprepared for what to say and my throat closes up on me, leaving Kate calling my name repeatedly in prompt. What do I say? Where do I start?

  ‘Jesse, are you there?’ she asks, now full-blown worried. ‘Hello? Jesse?’

  PC Barnes gets into the car beside me and looks across at me, where I’m static, my phone hanging limply in my hand.

  I cough, clearing my throat, but no matter how hard I try to speak, nothing comes. I can’t talk. Can’t speak the words. Can’t tell Kate that her friend looks like she’s at death’s door. The blood. So much blood. ‘It’s Ava . . .’ My words fade, my eyes clouding over again. ‘I . . .’

  PC Barnes takes my phone and switches on her sympathetic, professional tone, speaking calmly as she explains to Kate without too much detail that Ava has been involved in an accident and the twins need to be picked up from school. I hear Kate’s gasp. I hear her agree without question or prying into details of Ava’s condition. She knows.

  ‘Ask her to call Ava’s parents,’ I mumble. ‘And tell her to tell the twins that Mum’s okay.’ I look across at the ambulance when the sirens come to life and invade my ears. ‘She’s going to be okay.’

  After following my request, PC Barnes hangs up and starts the car, pulling out quickly and tailing the ambulance. I just stare at the back doors the whole way. It’s the longest journey of my life.

  Chapter 6

  Touch and go.

  The words whirl around in my head as I pace the corridor, desperate to be with Ava. If not for John holding me back, I would have burst through the doors into the operating room just to threaten the doctors with their life if they don’t save her. Her parents have remained quiet and in shock, sitting on the hard plastic chairs in the corridor, Joseph comforting his wife each time the tears creep up on her and she falls apart. With each second that passes with no news, the ache in my heart intensifies. Such a deep ache.

  I stop pacing and fall back against a wall, looking up to the tubular lighting of the corridor. She’s been in there for hours. How much longer will they be? What are they doing that’s taking so much time?

  A hand lands on my shoulder, and Joseph offers a weak smile. ‘Kate’s just texted. The twins are fine. She and Sam have been vague with them until we know what’s going on. Kate said she’d keep them overnight and take them to school in the morning. I think it’s best to try and keep things as normal as possible for now.’

  I nod, a barrage of guilt grabbing me. My thoughts have been so consumed with worry for Ava, I’ve hardly thought about the kids. What they must be thinking. How they must be feeling.

  ‘Thanks, Joseph.’

  ‘Are you going to call them?’

  Call them? Speak to them? I can’t trust my voice to remain strong, and if I did, what would I say? ‘I’ll text them.’

  He nods, understanding. ‘Elizabeth and I are going to get some fresh air and drinks. Do you want some water?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Get him some water.’ John intervenes, and I don’t argue. I don’t have the strength.

  After Ava’s parents have left us, John drags me over to a chair and forces me down to the seat. I land with a thud and feel immediately restless again. I need someone to come and tell me what the fuck is going on.

  ‘She’ll be all right.’ John’s usually booming voice is soft and reassuring, though I take no reassurance from it. He didn’t see the blood, her pale face, the wreck that was her car.

  I drop my elbows to my knees and bury my face in my palms. ‘She has to be, John. Because if I don’t have Ava, then I may as well be dead, too.’

  ‘Stop that, you stupid motherfucker.’ He physically shakes me by the shoulders. ‘You need to be strong. For the kids and Ava. Are you listening to me?’ His voice gets louder until it’s back to its usual penetrating rumble.

  I nod. It’s pathetic. But before I can respond, the doors to the operating room swing open and I’m up out of my seat like lightning.

  ‘Doctor.’ My heart starts racing, my stomach doing somersaults.

  ‘Mr Ward, I’m Dr Peters.’ His expression is solemn. ‘Please, take a seat.’ He points to the chair I’ve just vacated.

  ‘No.’ I refuse point-blank. ‘I don’t need to sit down.’ I hold my breath, begging to God that I really don’t need to sit down. That what he’s about to tell me won’t rip my world apart, and therefore rip me apart.

  The doctor relents easily, and John gets up, coming to stand close beside me. He’s preparing. He’s preparing to catch me when I collapse. ‘Mr Ward, Ava has had a rather nasty blow to the head that has caused severe swelling on her brain.’

  I stare at the doctor’s mouth moving, his words coming slowly and clearly, each one stabbing into my flesh.

  ‘A nasty cut to her leg severed one of her main arteries, too. Between that and her head injury, she’s lost nearly eighty per cent of her blood volume, so we’re working hard to replace it in a series of transfusions over the next twenty-four hours. Right now, she’s stable but in critical condition. We’ll do another CT scan in the morning to see if there is any improvement, but the extent of the damage will only be determined . . .’ He fades off, clearing his throat. ‘When she comes around,’ he finishes meekly, and I just know he held back from saying if. If she comes around. My dark world becomes darker, my aching heart clenching painfully. ‘The rest of her injuries are pretty superficial. The odd laceration here and there, and X-rays have confirmed no broken bones. It seems her head took the worst.’

  My mind struggles to absorb the influx of information. ‘Damage,’ I whisper. ‘You said damage. You mean brain damage?’

  ‘I can’t rule it out, Mr Ward. Ava is being transferred to the ICU.’ Just as he tells me that, the doors open again and two porters, along with a nurse, push a huge hospital bed into the corridor.

  I cough on nothing, a low sob forcing me to cover my mouth.

  ‘Motherfucker,’ John breathes, shocked, his arm coming up around my shoulders to hold me upright. ‘She’s going to be all right,’ he says again, but this time I can tell he doesn’t really believe it. How could he? I can barely see her past all the tubes, wires and machinery. But what I can see makes my heart slow to the point I think it might stop. My beautiful girl is grey, the blood loss obvious. My strong, feisty wife looks weak. So small and frail. She looks as broken as I feel. I have the fight of my life on my hands.

  And I’m feeling like I’m on the cusp of the greatest loss I could ever face.

  Chapter 7

  A nasty blow to her head.

  Swelling on her brain.

  A coma.

  Brain damage.

  Blood transfusions.

  Critical.

  Each word is a stab in the chest. I’ve barely moved an inch from this chair. I’ve drifted in and out of sleep, and my hand has been in hers from the moment they allowed me into her room. It’s like a fishbowl, two walls made up of windows, allowing everyone in ICU visual access to my wife. While her skin has taken on more colour after the endless transfusions, she’s still not awake. There are wires everywhere, machines surrounding her. There’s barely enough room for me beside her bed. The CT scan yesterday evening revealed no improvement, just like yesterday morning’s scan. No reduction of swelling, and though I’m trying to be hopeful, I know it’s unlikely this morning’s scan will show any signs of improvement, either.

  It’s been two days. I need to see my babies. I have to reassure them that Mummy’s going to be okay, that she’ll wake up soon and we’ll all go home together. Even if I have no idea whether it’s true. The sting at the back of my eyes forces me to close them before any more tears can escape. I’ve stalled letting them come here, hoping and praying that the doctors will give me news so I won’t have to lie to my children. But the news I’ve hoped for hasn�
�t come, and I can’t stall any longer.

  It’s time to face my responsibilities and give my kids what they need.

  Me. Their dad.

  I’m just so fucking crushed that I can’t give them their mum, too.

  When my phone alerts me to a text from Elizabeth, I force myself to drop Ava’s hand and get up out of the chair. My muscles scream their protest, my bones cracking. After dropping a soft kiss on Ava’s forehead, I walk down the corridor to the café where I’ve arranged to meet her parents with the kids. I hear both of the twins before I see them. Two voices calling my name. I come to a stop, seeing their faces for the first time in too long. It takes everything in me not to drop to my knees. I’m fucking broken, but I can’t let them see that.

  Maddie and Jacob crash into me and throw their arms around my torso, cuddling me fiercely, each of their faces buried in my chest. The feel of them against me offers a mild comfort. For the most part, my dread has tripled, because now they’re here. Now I have to be a man and comfort my babies once I’ve delivered the blow that I know will shatter their worlds.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ Jacob asks into my chest. ‘Nan says she’s sick. Too sick to see us.’

  I close my eyes, clenching them tightly. ‘She’s going to be okay.’ I grate the words, not just for the twins, but for me, too. ‘Trust your daddy. She is going to be okay.’

  ‘I want to see her.’ Maddie breaks away from me, her face blotchy from tears. ‘Please, Daddy.’

  This suddenly doesn’t feel like a good idea. Ava doesn’t look like herself. She doesn’t look like their mum. I crouch down in front of her, taking my little girl’s hand. ‘Darling, I don’t think . . . she’s . . .’ I clear my throat, pulling myself together to get the words out even and strong. ‘Mum’s not herself. She lost a lot of blood, so she’s very pale. Very weak.’

  Maddie’s chin trembles, and I look to Elizabeth, shaking my head. I can’t let them see her like that. Look what it’s done to me. I’m barely holding myself together.

  ‘You can’t stop us,’ Jacob yells, stepping back. ‘She’s our mum.’

  My exhausted body lets me down, and before I can stop him, Jacob takes off down the corridor, Maddie quick on his heels. I drag myself up, watching as my boy slows to let his sister catch up before taking her hand and leading her on. The fact that they don’t know exactly where Ava’s room is won’t faze my babies. Like their father, they are determined. They have a sixth sense when it comes to Ava, too. They’ll sniff her out in no time at all.

  I slowly follow, rounding the corner to find them standing at the glass window, staring into Ava’s room, holding each other’s hands. I study them silently, each of their faces a picture of pure shock. Then Maddie breaks down and Jacob turns into her, grabbing his sister and hugging her. The sight could bring me to my knees, and I once again have to find strength from somewhere to remain upright. It’s in this moment that I realise my babies aren’t really babies any more. My eleven-year-old son is holding his own emotions in check so he can comfort his sister. My eyes well, and I quickly and roughly brush at them to clear my vision.

  Elizabeth approaches, looking up at me with tightly pressed lips. I shake my head mildly, showing her the despair I’m fighting to hide from my children, and make my way over to them. My arms circle their shoulders, and I hold them tightly, absorbing the jerking of Maddie’s body. I kiss the tops of their heads one after the other, over and over. ‘She’ll be okay.’ I only just hold myself back from tagging I promise on the end, and it kills me to accept that my unwillingness to make that vow is because I never want to break a promise I make to my children. ‘Are you two listening to your dad? She will be okay.’ Those words, they’re stupid but unstoppable. They are as good as a promise to my kids. Because Dad said so.

  ‘Mr Ward?’

  I look up over the twins’ heads. ‘Dr Peters.’ With my kids still held securely in my arms, I cock my head, silently asking him if we need to be alone.

  ‘It’s good news, Mr Ward.’

  Good news? I look through the window to Ava’s lifeless body on the bed. She looks exactly the same as she has since coming out of surgery. Unresponsive. No improvement. Good news?

  ‘The scan we did this morning has shown the swelling has subsided considerably over the past twelve hours.’

  My head swings back towards him, the kids breaking away from me. He says it’s good news, so why does he still look so serious? ‘And?’ I question.

  ‘It’s still early days, and the extent of the damage won’t be clear until she comes around. But it’s a step in the right direction.’

  I know I should feel relieved, but the word damage is a constant in my mind, like they’re priming me for something. ‘Thank you, doctor.’ I end the conversation there, refraining from asking the questions I need to. Not in front of the kids. I look to Elizabeth, who moves towards us before I ask.

  ‘I’ll take them in,’ she says, steering the kids to the entrance of Ava’s room.

  ‘They should talk to her,’ the doctor suggests. ‘Quietly, but they should talk to her.’

  Elizabeth takes the children into the room, leaving me alone with the doctor. ‘Damage,’ I say, returning my attention to him. ‘Tell me honestly, what’s the probability?’

  ‘It’s impossible to say until she’s awake. While she’s in a coma, her brain is resting, giving it the best chance to heal.’

  I don’t want to ask, and I won’t. She will wake up. Of course she will wake up. ‘So what are you doing in the meantime?’ I ask, unable to keep the curtness from my tone. It’s all a load of ifs and buts. That’s all I’m getting.

  Through my fog of growing fury, I notice the doctor looking a little wary all of a sudden, backing up, and I realise I’m glaring at him, my jaw ticking, my body moving forward.

  ‘Mr Ward, we’re doing all we can.’

  ‘And what if it’s not enough?’ Just as I utter the words, I hear the shrill shriek of Ava’s mother, and I’m flying into the room like a bull, the doctor hot on my heels. I don’t know whether to be elated or terrified by what I find. Ava is squirming around on the bed, sobbing and distressed.

  ‘Mum!’ Maddie cries, getting tugged back from the bed by an alarmed-looking Jacob. ‘Dad, what’s wrong with her?’

  I hadn’t noticed the doctor passing me at the end of the bed, but he’s now by Ava’s bedside, pressing buttons, shifting machinery, hands working frantically around my girl. ‘Ava,’ he says urgently. ‘Ava, can you hear me?’ He looks across to me, then nods to the children.

  I understand his silent order, but I’m damned if I can move to follow it. My heart is going crazy in my chest, my legs full of lead. She looks like she’s having the worst kind of nightmare. Or a seizure. Is it a seizure?

  ‘Mr Ward!’

  The sharp snap of my name shocks me to life, and I grab my kids’ hands, pulling them out of the room with me. I can’t see Ava like this knowing there’s fuck all I can do about it. I feel more helpless now than when she was unconscious.

  I look back through the glass in a state of total shock.

  ‘We should get coffee,’ Elizabeth suggests in an attempt to keep me busy while the doctors work on Ava.

  I look down at each of my children in turn, Maddie first, her face tear-stained and red, and then Jacob. He’s looking up at me, squeezing my big hand in his small one. They realign me, bring me back to where I should be. I stand taller and swallow down my shock. ‘Yes, let’s get something to drink while the doctors do what they need to.’

  ‘Well, what are they doing?’ Maddie looks back to Ava’s room, and I quickly pull her back around, giving her a warning look. ‘Helping Mum.’ It takes everything in me not to look back myself. What I’ve already seen will haunt me for ever.

  *

  After I force the kids to have some water and a sandwich, we go back to the ward in silence,
my mind caught between dread and hope. I have no idea what I should be bracing myself for, what I should expect. And that scares me to death. The unknown. The lack of control.

  When we arrive at Ava’s room, the doctor is outside making notes. He looks up and smiles mildly, and the hope takes over the dread. ‘She’s settled,’ he says. ‘Her eyes are open, she is perfectly aware of her surroundings, and she told me her name and date of birth.’

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ Elizabeth grabs my arm and squeezes, while I have to close my eyes to stop the tears of relief escaping.

  Once I’m sure they’re under control, I look down at my smiling babies. ‘What did I tell you?’ I ask them seriously. ‘Always listen to your dad, you got that?’ They both nod, cuddling into my chest as I mentally yell at myself for ever doubting it. I knew she wouldn’t leave me. I knew she’d fight for me and the kids.

  ‘She’s just having some water and getting a few tubes removed,’ the doctor says. ‘We can go back in once the nurse has taken her vitals. I just need to run a few more tests, but you’re welcome to join me in the room.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I breathe, squeezing the kids into me. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mr Ward.’ He looks to the door when it opens and a nurse exits. ‘Shall we?’

  I take a deep breath, suddenly a bit apprehensive. I haven’t looked into my wife’s eyes for nearly two days, and the thought of doing it now is making me a pathetic, nervous fool. What’s wrong with me?

  The nurse looks to Elizabeth as she passes us and smiles. ‘She’s asking for her mum.’

  Elizabeth’s hand goes to her chest on a mild whimper as she takes the lead, rushing to her daughter’s bedside. A small part of me is happy for her. For the most part, I’m hurt that she hasn’t asked for me, her husband, but I quickly put the silly slight aside and follow Elizabeth in with the children. I find my mother-in-law hunched over Ava on the bed, trying to hug her as best she can around the wires and tubes. I can hear the quiet sobs, and when I hear Ava’s voice, I smile, not just because she sounds like my wife, if a little rough in the throat, but because she sounds totally with it.