He laughed, then grimaced, as if laughing were painful.
I fussed around a little while the nurses were seeing to him, doing the things that people do at patients’ bedsides when they’re simply looking for an excuse to hang around; I put out some fruit, disposed of a tissue, organized some magazines that I knew he wouldn’t read. And then it was time to go. I had made it as far as the door when he spoke. ‘I heard you.’
My hand was outstretched, ready to open it. I turned.
‘Last night. When I was bleeding out. I heard you.’
Our eyes locked. And in that moment everything shifted. I saw what I had really done. I saw that I could be somebody’s centre, their reason for staying. I saw that I could be enough. I walked back, took Sam’s face in my hands and kissed him fiercely, feeling hot tears fall unchecked onto his face, his arm pulling me in tightly as he kissed me back. I pressed my cheek against his, half laughing, half weeping, oblivious to the nurses, to anything except the man before me. Then, finally, I turned and walked downstairs, wiping my face, laughing at my tears, ignoring the curious faces of the people who passed.
The day was beautiful, even under strip-lights. Outside birds sang, a new morning dawned, people lived and grew and got better and looked forward to getting older. I bought a coffee and ate an over-sweet muffin and they tasted like the most delicious things I had ever had. I sent messages to my parents, to Treena, to Richard, telling him I would be in shortly. I texted Lily: Thought you might want to know Sam is in hospital. He got shot but he’s okay. I know he’d love it if you dropped him a card. Or even just a text if you’re busy.
The answer pinged back within seconds. I smiled. How did girls of that age type so quickly when they did everything else so slowly?
OMG. I just told the other girls and I’m basically now the coolest person they know. Seriously though give him my love. If you text me his details I’ll get him a card after school. Oh and I’m sorry for showing off to him in my pants that time. I didn’t mean it. Like not in a pervy way. Hope you guys are really happy. Xxx
I didn’t wait to respond. I looked at the hospital cafeteria and the shuffling patients and the bright blue day through the skylight and my fingers hit the keys before I knew what I was saying.
I am.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jake was waiting under the porch when I arrived at the Moving On Circle. It was raining heavily, dense clouds the colour of heather abruptly unleashing a thunderstorm that overwhelmed gutters and soaked me in the ten seconds it took to run across the car park.
‘Aren’t you going in? It’s filthy out –’
He stepped forward, and his lanky arms enfolded me in a swift, awkward hug as I reached the door.
‘Oh!’ I lifted my hands, not wanting to drip all over him.
He released me and took a step back. ‘Donna told us what you did. I just – you know – wanted to say thanks.’
His eyes were strained, and shadowed, and I realized what these last days must have been like for him, so close to having lost his mother. ‘He’s tough,’ I said.
‘He’s bloody Teflon,’ he said, and we laughed awkwardly, in the way British people do when they’re experiencing great emotion.
In the meeting, Jake spoke unusually volubly, about the fact that his girlfriend didn’t understand what grief was like for him. ‘She doesn’t get why some mornings I just want to stay in bed with the covers over my head. Or why I get a bit panicky about things happening to people I love. Literally nothing bad has happened to her. Ever. Even her pet rabbit is still alive and it’s, like, nine years old.’
‘I think people get bored of grief,’ said Natasha. ‘It’s like you’re allowed some unspoken allotted time – six months, maybe – and then they get faintly irritated that you’re not “better”. It’s like you’re being self-indulgent hanging on to your unhappiness.’
‘Yes!’ There was a murmur of agreement from around the circle.
‘I sometimes think it would be easier if we still had to wear widows’ weeds,’ said Daphne. ‘Then everyone could know you were still grieving.’
‘Maybe like learner plates, so, you know, you got a different set of colours after a year. Maybe move from black to a deep purple,’ said Leanne.
‘Coming up all the way to yellow when you were really happy again,’ Natasha grinned.
‘Oh, no. Yellow is awful with my complexion.’ Daphne smiled cautiously. ‘I’ll have to stay a bit miserable.’
I listened to their stories in the dank church hall – the tentative steps forward over tiny, emotional obstacles. Fred had joined a bowling league, and was enjoying having another reason to go out on Tuesdays, one that didn’t involve talking about his late wife. Sunil had agreed to let his mother introduce him to a distant cousin from Eltham. ‘I’m not really into the whole arranged-marriage thing but, to be honest, I’m having no luck with other methods. I keep telling myself she’s my mother. She’s hardly going to set me up with someone horrible.’
‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ said Daphne. ‘My mother would probably have spotted which tree my Alan barked up long before I did. She was ever such a good judge.’
I viewed them as if I were on the outside of something looking in. I laughed at their jokes, winced internally at their tales of inappropriate tears or misjudged comments. But what became clear as I sat on my plastic chair and drank my instant coffee was that I had somehow found myself on the other side. I had crossed a bridge. Their struggle was no longer my struggle. It wasn’t that I would ever stop grieving for Will, or loving him, or missing him, but that my life seemed to have somehow landed back in the present. And it was with a growing satisfaction that I found, even as I sat there with people I now knew and trusted, I wanted to be somewhere else: beside a large man in a hospital bed who I knew, to my utter gratitude, would even now be glancing up at the clock in the corner, wondering how long it was going to take me to get to him.
‘Nothing from you tonight, Louisa?’
Marc was looking at me, one eyebrow raised.
I shook my head. ‘I’m good.’
He smiled, perhaps recognizing something in my tone. ‘Good.’
‘Yes. Actually, I think I don’t need to be here any more. I’m … okay.’
‘I knew there was something different about you,’ said Natasha, leaning forwards and eyeing me almost suspiciously.