by Adele Parks
Stephanie knew this was the script because she’d helped out others in their times of need. There was that once, last October half-term break, when a school-mum pal, suffering from pre-eclampsia, went into early labour and Steph had taken in her two older children for nearly a week. Last winter she’d made fish pie every Friday for three months for an elderly neighbour who had lost his wife and his appetite. But, until today, Steph had only been a bit-part of the tragedies or she’d sat in the rafters watching the show, now she was centre stage. Steph had never craved limelight.
Steph’s parents arrived at Julian’s bedside by about mid-morning, she supposed. She guessed this because her father kept offering her coffee and he drank coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon. She didn’t want a bitter coffee from the vending machine and he probably knew as much but by agreeing to his offer she gave him a small chore. Everyone seemed keen to be of use and to be kept busy. She’d accepted her mum and dad’s hugs and clung to their optimistic words of comfort. They were her parents, they must know something. She could trust them when they promised her everything would be OK. Right? Except when she looked into their eyes, there was no indication that they could match the reassurances with levels of confidence and so their words of comfort were rendered vacant, they looked just as terrified as she felt. And they didn’t know the half.
30
Pip finally arrived at the hospital at two fifteen in the afternoon. Robbie had stayed at hers until quarter to eleven but then had had to dash off to work.
‘Won’t you be late?’ she’d asked. She was sitting up in bed with the sheets pulled up to her chin. She was OK about being naked in front of him when she was horizontal and gravity worked with her and when he was naked too but now Robbie was fully clothed except for socks, he was running around the room trying to hunt those down.
‘I’m already late,’ he said, glancing at his watch with a mix of concern and amusement. ‘I’ll pretend I had an emergency dentist appointment or something.’
‘That’s not very responsible of you,’ she’d teased, secretly pleased that she’d been able to distract him.
‘No, it’s not,’ he said, shaking his head at his own recklessness. ‘But in my defence I’ve never pulled such a stunt before.’ He sat down on the bed then and treated her to another long lingering kiss. ‘These are very exceptional circumstances,’ he’d added.
She’d wanted to ask how exceptional and she’d wanted to carry on kissing him but she knew where it would lead.
‘Come on, women need their eggs fertilising and you’re the man for the job,’ she’d said, gently pushing him away.
‘I really have to explain to you exactly what my job entails sometime,’ he’d said with an amused smile. ‘I’m not sure you’ve got it. But not right now. Right now, I have to go. Sadly.’
Despite her intention of calling Steph to see how she was managing, Pip had fallen into a deep and contented slumber the moment he’d pulled the door closed behind him. She couldn’t remember sleeping as deeply for an age. She’d slept right through her phone ringing and her mobile beeping with text messages. She’d woken up refreshed and exhilarated; at least she had been until she’d heard Steph’s messages.
She was a hurly-burly mass of contradictory and unhelpful emotions. First and foremost she was desperately concerned for Julian’s health, naturally. He was in a coma. By God, that sounded serious. That was serious! Pip couldn’t get her head around it at all. The problem with living a life packed full of soap operas and contrived reality TV was that when something genuinely authentic happened, it was impossible to understand its enormity. She’d had so much to take in over the last two days and frankly her mind was struggling to compute most of it. First she’d been told Julian was an adulterer, then (if she’d understood Steph’s hysterically whispered messages) that Julian was a victim of a hit-and-run crime and therefore now in a coma. That was insane. Too shocking for words. And why was Steph whispering? Perhaps she didn’t want to wake the other patients as she was ever so considerate, but then if Julian was on a coma ward, wouldn’t it be a good thing to wake the patients? Pip didn’t know. It was all too much. She’d called Steph immediately and had been frantic when she’d discovered Steph’s phone line was dead. Could it be that her phone was switched off? You did have to switch off phones in hospitals. Or maybe she was out of power. Pip imagined how many desperate and lonely calls Steph must have made to run out of power and she was deeply ashamed of herself. Too agitated to drive, she’d hopped into a taxi and headed off to the hospital.
From the back of the cab Pip called Mrs Amstell, Steph’s mum, who would for all eternity be Mrs Amstell or Steph’s mum to Pip but never Joan) and was relieved to find that Mr and Mrs Amstell were currently at the hospital with Steph. Mrs Amstell explained the situation as best she could and they’d discussed a series of complicated arrangements for the children’s care. Pip was told that the boys had been packed off to school without any knowledge of the situation because Mrs Hodgson hadn’t known what to tell them and so had decided to tell them nothing at all (although, as Steph had predicted, Mrs Hodgson had spent the entire morning on the phone speculating and gossiping with friends, neighbours and acquaintances). Now the school and the children needed to be told of the situation. The seriousness had to be stressed without instilling any sort of panic or fear. Pip offered to do the job but was somewhat relieved when it was suggested that she’d be more use sitting with Steph at the hospital and that, with the knowledge that she was on her way, the grandparents could leave and go directly to the school to deliver the news and try to offer some comfort to the children.
‘Will they come and visit Julian after school?’ Pip had asked Mrs Amstell.
‘No, dear. I don’t think so. Not yet at least. I don’t think it’s a good idea that the boys see their dad like this.’ Pip had felt her stomach lurch as she tried to envisage what to expect.
He didn’t look like Julian. He looked like a sick person. Any sick person. All sick people. He was as pale as the sheet he lay on. Pip had last seen him on Monday morning, when he’d looked tanned, handsome and muscular. It was unbelievable to think that was just forty-eight hours ago. Now he looked puffy, pallid and disturbingly placid. The room was airless.
Pip put her hand on Julian’s. ‘Hey,’ her voice came out quieter than she’d planned. She coughed and then spoke up with a forced jovial intonation that she doubted was appropriate. ‘You are in a mess, aren’t you, mate? What’s been going on? Does it hurt?’
The nurse on the reception desk had said it was important to talk to Julian but the questions seemed ridiculous and Pip momentarily lost her confidence in her ability to carry on. Just then Steph pushed open the door to the room. Pip fell on her and drew her into the most enormous hug.
‘Jesus, Steph, I am so, so sorry.’
Steph abruptly pulled away from Pip’s arms and walked straight to Julian’s bedside without so much as looking her friend in the face. She’d only been out of the room for a few moments, just long enough to pee, but she was swamped with a sickening feeling of dread. What if something had happened to him while she’d been out of the room? What if nothing had?
Pip felt rejected and hopeless. Her arms fell to her sides and swung there uselessly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get your calls this morning.’ Guilt that she hadn’t been available for her friend affected her tone of voice and she sounded shrill, rather than concerned or contrite.
‘Oh, I realise you had Chloe to get to school, Mrs Hodgson managed the boys,’ muttered Stephanie. ‘I did try you a couple of times but when I didn’t get a response I guessed you were probably working with your earphones on. I know you do that sometimes when you’re really busy.’
Pip thought of her morning – hot and sweaty, enjoying Robbie’s naked body, finally reaching a very satisfying orgasm and then falling into a profound sleep. She felt miserable.
‘Yes, I was working,’ she muttered. She felt uncomfortable lying to Steph at a time like t
his but since it was a time like this, she could hardly introduce the topic of Robbie.
Steph still hadn’t so much as glanced at Pip. She hated taking her eyes off Julian, she was terrified that if she didn’t watch him all the time something awful might happen. The thought made her grimace with a sad irony. Something more awful, she corrected herself. ‘There was nothing you could do anyway,’ she added.
‘I suppose not. But I am sorry.’
‘I guess you’ve already made quite some progress on the Selfridges order, have you?’ Steph was not trying to sound censorial, she was hardly thinking about the words coming out of her mouth, she’d slipped into routine mode of appearing to take a polite interest in other people, and it had taken all her strength to do as much, but Pip was alert to criticism and felt wrong-footed. She knew it was impossible but it was as though Steph knew she’d been neglecting her friend and her work in order to have hot sex. Pip blushed.
‘What sort of friend must I be? A terrible one, hey?’ she groaned.
If she hoped for a response she was disappointed as Steph was too distracted by Julian’s condition to really give any time to Pip’s self-loathing. In this moment it was beyond Steph to dredge up her customary cheering pep talk. Shouldn’t Pip be comforting her, even if it was accepted that in every other awkward social situation it did generally fall to Steph to come up with the correct ice-breaker or call up some pleasant small talk which was interesting and inclusive and yet not intimidating? It was clear that Pip was incredibly uncomfortable, she was never any good around sickness, Steph knew that, but Pip couldn’t really expect to be put at ease in this situation, could she? This was horrifying and immense. It was draining all of Steph’s energy and willpower to just stay upright in her chair. Truthfully, she wanted to collapse in a heap on Julian’s bed, on Pip’s shoulder or even on to the cold, tiled floor. It didn’t really matter to her where she did her collapsing, she just longed to give in to the scale of this nightmare.
After a moment Pip coughed and then asked, ‘So how is he?’
‘He’s in a coma,’ stated Steph flatly.
Pip knew this and wanted to kick herself for her clumsiness but what was the right thing to say? ‘He’ll be OK, though, won’t he?’ she added.
‘I don’t know. They don’t know,’ Steph replied, nodding her head towards the open door that led to the hospital corridor and towards the army of doctors and nurses who, disappointingly, couldn’t tell her anything concrete. Steph felt powerless and cheated. Weren’t doctors supposed to know everything, fix everything? Isn’t that why they went to college for years and years? Steph sighed, she knew her frustration was unreasonable but she couldn’t help feeling resentment.
The bleak truth floored them both and they sat in silence with just the sound of medical machines whirring and nurses talking to one another outside the room.
After a while Pip asked, ‘So what happened? What do the police say?’
The word police seemed to slap Steph, she flinched. ‘They haven’t said much, other than it being a hit-and-run. He was found at the hotel.’
‘The Highview?’
‘Yes.’
Pip shifted uncomfortably. ‘That’s awkward. How are you going to explain that to everyone?’
Steph shot Pip a quick look of frustration. ‘He was working.’
‘But—’
‘Working, Pip,’ Steph insisted with a grim determination.
‘Right,’ muttered Pip. Of course, what else could Steph say? What else would Steph say? She was wedded to keeping up appearances and this was not the moment for dramatic revelations. Julian’s father was on the M25 right now, hurrying towards his son, and the three boys were to hear the terrible news about Julian’s condition this afternoon, no one would want the matter made any more complicated. Anyway, it didn’t matter one jot why Julian was at the hotel, did it? Pip didn’t want to say anything that would further distress her friend, she certainly had no intention of telling anyone about the saucy texts on the phone, she was still clinging to the hope that the phone wasn’t Julian’s after all and that he wasn’t having an affair – although the fact that he was found at Highview did seem to be quite damning evidence against him.
Stephanie was thinking about all the things she’d said about her husband to Pip yesterday. She’d said he was an idiot, he was cruel, a two-timing, double-dealing, faithless bastard. She’d howled that she hated him. And that she loved him. At least now she knew which it was.
‘Would you mind not mentioning that we knew any differently when you talk to the police?’ Steph said quietly.
‘Why would I talk to them?’ asked Pip.
‘The police might want to talk to you. You know, just routine. They wanted to know where I was last night.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Nothing to worry about, Pip.’
‘No, of course not.’
Neither of the women had taken their eyes off Julian throughout the exchange but despite their combined wishful thinking his eyelids did not flutter, nor did he tentatively attempt to mutter any words.
‘I said I thought he was in London, because that’s what he’d told me. I don’t want him waking up to a scandal,’ added Steph. ‘That sort of nonsense isn’t going to help his recovery, is it?’
‘No. I understand,’ agreed Pip. It was a good thing that Steph was having such a positive attitude and talking about when Julian would wake up.
‘Do you have a newspaper?’ Steph asked suddenly.
‘I can go and get you one. Why?’
‘I’d like to read to Julian. The nurses said he might recognise my voice. It might help.’ Steph still didn’t take her eyes off him, her anxiety stained the air.
‘But papers are only full of bad news. Why don’t you just chat to him?’
‘About what, Pip? What do you suggest I talk to him about?’
‘Your news,’ replied Pip without thought.
‘I haven’t any good news either.’
‘Oh. Yes. Right. Erm, I’ll go and get a paper from the shop in the foyer.’
31
Steph had a pleasant melodic voice but Pip wasn’t sure it was going to stimulate Julian. After she’d listened to Steph read headlines, bylines and copy on the financial and sports pages in The Times, she was left feeling stupefied. The room was a little too warm to be comfortable and if it hadn’t been for the constant flow of nurses and doctors coming in and out of the room – checking charts, tweaking dials and prodding Julian – there would have been a serious danger that she might have dropped off to sleep. Pip did have a tendency to close down in times of stress. She’d spend most of her days, from door-slamming to decree absolute, under the duvet. Psychologists said that everyone had a fight or flight trigger, Pip had a snooze button.
Besides, what was the point of her being here? She felt helpless and in the way. Steph was acting strangely. Well, who was to say what was normal under these hideous circumstances? But Pip would have felt more comfortable if Steph had been prepared to talk about the thing that was so obviously sitting between them – the huge neon elephant in the room. What was Steph thinking and feeling? She wouldn’t say. Pip wondered whether on some level Steph was punishing her because she hadn’t responded as Steph hoped she would last night or because she hadn’t been available this morning. Pip was unreasonably hurt that her friend was being so closed. Pip had always shared with Steph every single thought that passed through her head and every single feeling that had passed through her heart (even the less worthy feelings that passed somewhere quite a bit lower on her anatomy were divulged, discussed and dissected). Why wouldn’t Steph tell her how she was feeling?
All that said, Pip didn’t think this was the moment to trade her news. Hey, guess what, Steph? I think perhaps I might be falling in love! No, it definitely was not the moment.
Eventually the oppressive atmosphere became too much for Pip. She never liked hospitals; no matter how many people told her they were where people went to get better,
that hadn’t always been her experience. All she could smell, taste, see and hear was sickness. She glanced at her watch and wondered whether one hour and forty-five minutes was an acceptable amount of time to visit someone who didn’t know you were there.
‘Is there anything I can do, Steph?’ she asked, as she discreetly reached for her handbag.
‘No, I don’t think so. Just, you know . . .’
Steph didn’t want to actually have to ask her friend to pray, or touch wood, or hope for the best or for any of the other usual crutches although she was frantically grasping at every option. Pip understood and squeezed Steph’s hand, it was unusually clammy, which was probably not a surprise under the circumstances but normally Stephanie had such cool fingers, sometimes chilly.
‘In that case I think I’ll get back and see how Chloe and the boys are getting along. Maybe I could relieve your mum and she could come back here.’
‘That’s good of you.’
‘Will you still be here?’
‘Where else would I be?’
‘Right, yes. Silly of me. Sorry,’ muttered Pip, as she wished that she could spontaneously combust. Where had their usual comfortable familiarity gone? Never before had Pip felt she’d said the wrong thing to Steph, yet this afternoon when she most needed to say the absolutely right thing, she’d felt she’d been about as delicate as a medieval torturer keen to hurry through a couple of disembowelments and a ducking before sunset. ‘Well, if you think of anything – anything at all – just say, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Pip leant in to hug her friend but Stephanie didn’t melt into the embrace as usual, instead she remained brittle and distant. Pip felt a fresh wave of guilt. Perhaps she ought to stay, even if she didn’t want to. ‘Oh Pip, just one thing. Something and nothing really,’ said Steph. She finally turned her gaze to meet her friend’s.
‘What? Anything.’
‘I told the police that I stayed at your house until about eleven, maybe even half past, last night.’