The Life We Almost Had

by Amelia Henley

  ‘Months.’ Oliver wants to be truthful.

  ‘It may be too late for Adam then. For me. Oliver… I was pregnant.’

  ‘I think perhaps we could try again, but this time I have to be the one taking part.’

  ‘No! Oliver, you promised I could try.’

  ‘And you have, Anna. I need to see for myself.’

  Emotions slide across Anna’s face. ‘I appreciate you’ve spent years working towards this and of course you want to try it but… not yet. Soon, but I’m still adjusting to all of this. It’s okay for you. Science is your job. Your passion. You understand its capabilities. A few days ago, I didn’t know anything about consciousness and Adam, he isn’t… he isn’t just a subject to me. Today seems like a dream almost. I want to do it again.’

  ‘Anna, I think I made a mistake letting you try. I didn’t think about the effect it would have on you mentally, when you had to stop.’

  ‘But you did consider that on some level. You wouldn’t have insisted on me seeing Eva otherwise. You’re a good man.’

  Is he? Oliver wonders if he was just following procedure. Ticking boxes. There is no checklist for morality. Was he playing God?

  Anna leans towards him. ‘I’ve signed a disclaimer; you don’t need to worry—’

  ‘I’m not worried about being sued.’ Oliver is indignant. ‘I’m worried about you. You haven’t seen Eva yet. We agreed.’

  ‘I’ll speak to her first thing, but I’m okay. You want me to trust you, Oliver, and I do. Please trust me. Everything was fine. I’m fine. Let me be the one to try again, not you.’

  Oliver is torn between his head and his heart. He sees Clem press her finger to her lips. He sees her lying delirious in a hospice bed. He remembers his despair.

  ‘Okay,’ he eventually says. ‘Tomorrow. If Eva is happy, you can try again tomorrow.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Anna

  It is the morning light pushing through the window that stirs me. Ever since the accident I’ve been waking every thirty minutes, skin clammy, heart pounding, but last night I slept for seven hours straight.

  Adam.

  I rush through to his room, praying that the trial has somehow brought Adam back. Properly back.

  It hasn’t.

  Luis is writing his notes.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘No change,’ Luis says cheerfully. ‘Eva says she’ll see you at ten.’

  I am hopeful I’ll be allowed to take part in the trial again. My headache has eased and for the first time in days I feel able to cope – seeing Adam has given me strength. I wander outside. The sun casts sparkles onto the aquamarine ocean. It is only nine o’clock but there are children digging in the sand with brightly coloured spades, parents stretched out on candy-striped beach towels.

  I sit on a large flat rock, stretching my legs out in front of me. A girl of about eighteen hurries past me, head down, selfconsciously clutching a towel against her sarong-covered body. I remember how anxious I had been that first day on the beach when I felt Adam’s eyes on me. Worried he was judging me, the girl with cellulite speckling her thighs, clad in a black swimming costume amongst a sea of neon bikinis. I was convinced that if I could lose ten pounds, my life would be perfect. If only my body were my sole worry now. It’s Adam’s body, limp and unresponsive, which makes my blood run cold. Yesterday, seeing him, hearing him, touching him… It’s all so hard to process.

  My mobile has been off all night – I switch it on and call Nell.

  ‘It worked,’ I blurt out before I have even said hello.

  ‘Fuck. Tell me everything.’

  ‘It was like… not watching a movie but being in one. It wasn’t some elaborate fantasy in Adam’s mind where he was conquering Mount Everest or starring in Back to the Future, it was… normal. We were home. Eating biscuits in bed. He mentioned our holiday here but we hadn’t been on the yacht. It was as though we were living the life we would have if we hadn’t been on that trip. Nell, I… I was still pregnant.’

  ‘Oh, Anna. That sounds unbearably sad.’

  ‘It was.’ Spending time with Adam in a world I couldn’t stay in was excruciatingly painful, but oddly comforting too. It has unplugged something, making it easier to remember the good memories – and there are so many of them – before they became sullied and sharp from the years of trying for a child. Just that brief glimpse into the ordinary life that could have been ours has been enough to strengthen my resolve. Whatever happens with Adam, whatever care needs he might have, I will be steadfastly there for him, the way he has always been there for me.

  ‘Do you think…’ Nell slows down her speech and I know she is carefully choosing her words. ‘I know it must be tempting to want to do it again, but… I don’t know. Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead? You’ve seen something wonderful and next time…’

  ‘I know.’ There is a part of me that has thought the same thing. If I go back again, I’m risking spoiling the memories of the first time, but how can I not?

  ‘It’s a lot to cope with, Anna. Emotionally.’

  ‘I’m okay. Honestly.’ I was devastated when Oliver had brought me back, sorrowful and angry, but now, talking it through with Nell, remembering how it felt to lie next to Adam, elation is my overriding emotion. Excitement at doing it again. I am missing him horribly; not the Adam that lies in the bed being pumped full of nutrients but the Adam as he was, and now there’s a baby! All I ever wanted is so close and yet frustratingly out of reach. ‘I told Mum yesterday, not about the Institute but about the accident. Adam’s coma.’

  ‘How did she take it?’ Nell knows my mum doesn’t cope well.

  ‘She was amazing. She offered to fly out but I’ve told her to wait. Are you still coming back next week?’

  ‘Yep. Chris is taking over with the rug rats. I’ll be glad of a break actually. Oh God. I didn’t mean. Shit. Sorry. I know it’s not a holiday.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She’s tired and not thinking straight. I know how that feels.

  ‘Have you told Josh yet?’ she asks.

  ‘No.’ But I must. ‘I think I’ll do that now.’

  ‘Good luck. Love you, Anna.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  Before I call Josh, I plan my side of the conversation in my head. I won’t need to sugar-coat Adam’s prognosis the way I had to with Mum, but it will hit him hard. The first few times I’d met Josh I hadn’t understood why he and Adam were friends; they were polar opposites. Adam quiet and sensitive, Josh loud and raucous. I assumed it was their shared history that bound them together. On Adam’s side, gratitude that Josh’s parents had taken him in. For Josh, a friend that paled into the background, allowing him to take centre stage.

  I was wrong.

  They genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Enjoy their differences. They’re like brothers and it pains me that I have to be the one to break the bad news. I press dial and when the call connects, I say, ‘Josh. Is this a good time to—’

  ‘What’s wrong with Adam?’ He knows I wouldn’t be ringing him from Alircia otherwise.

  ‘He’s in a coma.’ I get straight to the point. ‘There was an accident.’ I tell him about the yacht. Sometimes he cuts in and asks questions but mostly he just listens while I let it all pour out.

  ‘Stupid twat always has to be the hero,’ Josh says after I’ve finished. Tears thickening his words. ‘I’ll book a flight.’

  ‘Thanks. But there’s really nothing you can do here right now.’

  ‘There must be some way that I can help?’

  I pause. Josh will need something practical to occupy him or he’ll be jumping on a plane, whatever I say.

  ‘If you can carry on looking after Hammie, please, that would be great? And you could also keep an eye on the house. Make sure there isn’t any post sticking out of the letterbox. Water the plants.’

  ‘Yeah, I can do that. Is… is he getting the right care over there? Wouldn’t you be better off in the
UK?’

  ‘We’ll be back at some stage, but there’s nothing anyone can do to wake Adam up.’

  ‘But he could just wake up, couldn’t he?’ Josh sounds like a small boy.

  A 3 per cent chance of recovery.

  ‘Of course.’ I am the adult. I am good at pretending. ‘At any time.’

  ‘And then he’ll be fucking unbearable. You know how he gets when he has a cold. Going on about it weeks later. We’ll never hear the end of a coma.’

  I smile. ‘You’re right. He’s never great when he’s sick. A few months back I had tonsillitis and felt terrible. I took myself off to bed. Adam came in and laid down next to me. Said he’d sneezed and was worried he’d was getting the flu. Asked me what was for dinner.’

  ‘I can believe that. Did he ever tell you that when we shared a flat he had a cold and convinced himself he’d never recover? I wouldn’t indulge him so he dragged himself to the chemist and asked for some euthanasia tablets. “Don’t you mean echinacea?” the pharmacist asked. “I know what I mean,” Adam had said.’

  We both laugh and it feels good.

  It feels hopeful.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Josh, but I will keep in touch. Is there anything you want me to tell Adam?’

  ‘Yeah, tell him a one-legged, half-blind ape could save more goals than he does nowadays…’ I hear how painful this is for him. ‘Tell him… tell him that I love him.’ He cuts the call, leaving me with the dial tone in my ear and a lump in my throat. I don’t think Adam quite likes football as much as he used to, but he kept going so he could spend time with Josh.

  Shades of shame colour me. I recall the times I’d nagged him for trailing dirt over the floor after practice, for leaving his kit – damp with sweat and crusted with mud – on the bedroom floor. I should have been grateful Adam was keeping fit. Keeping in shape. It will give him the strength to fight this. The human body is powerful, resilient. Something to be respected and admired. My brief glimpse yesterday into Adam as he was reaffirms my faith that he can recover.

  I can’t allow myself to think otherwise.

  Nevertheless, Dr Acevedo’s ‘3 per cent chance of recovery’ drives me to my feet. Impatient to repeat the trial again.

  Not because I think Adam won’t survive.

  But still there’s an urgency to my pace as I stalk back up the hill to the Institute.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Anna

  Eva studies me, playing the silence game once more. We are waiting to see which of us will be the first to break.

  It’s me.

  ‘Okay, maybe I am embellishing how good I felt afterwards so you give the go-ahead for me to do it again today, but yesterday was mostly a good experience.’

  ‘Mostly?’

  ‘There was a part where we started to argue. It was almost automatic. I was so pleased to see him. Pleased is an understatement but somehow we began to bicker. We stopped though, moved on.’

  I pick at my nails, suddenly feeling close to tears. Life should have been easier in the reality Adam created, shouldn’t it? If we didn’t have perfection there, what does that say about him? What does that say about us?

  ‘We talked a little bit before about the communication in your relationship,’ Eva begins.

  ‘The lack of,’ I say.

  ‘Yes. It’s interesting that yesterday in Adam’s mind you’re pregnant but, understandably, you have years of bitterness that built up during your infertile spell. Without that being addressed, there’s always likely to be underlying resentment.’

  ‘But…’ I don’t know what to say. It’s like having the chance to create your ideal box of chocolates and yet putting in one that you hate. A rogue Turkish Delight amongst a plethora of strawberry creams and crunchy pralines. ‘I felt… I felt upset but I wanted to move past it quickly and make the most of the time we had. Is it odd it felt so real?’

  ‘No. Oliver hoped it would. That’s why he wanted a direct connection rather than viewing images through a computer. The ultimate virtual reality as though you were really there, experiencing it all. Anna.’ Eva leans forward. ‘You do know that this isn’t real? That this isn’t a permanent solution for you to be with Adam?’

  ‘Of course.’ But I can’t help second-guessing what my next experience will be like. The one after.

  ‘Oliver will only need you to repeat this a few times before he’ll need to find other participants. It can’t be a balanced trial with only your results.’

  ‘I know.’ Oliver keeps telling me this but every time it’s hard to hear. The thought of being shipped back to the UK and left to sit by Adam’s bed, wondering what he’s thinking while I wait for him to wake up, is unbearable.

  Two years. Twelve years. Twenty years.

  ‘But you’re happy for me to try again?’ I ask.

  ‘If you’re up to it, then yes.’

  I rush out of the room to find Oliver, a ‘thank you’ trailing in my wake, before Eva has even put the lid on her pen.

  Again I am lying on the patient table next to Adam but this time I’m more excited than scared.

  ‘We’re almost ready,’ Sofia says. ‘We still haven’t got to the bottom of why the computer didn’t record so in the event that it happens again, we’re relying on you to remember as much as you can.’ She slips the goggles on me and then the headphones. The table slides into the scanner and I wait for Oliver to speak.

  ‘I’m going to count you down now, Anna,’ he says. I wait impatiently for the count of one.

  I am back at home. In the bath. My fingers instantly stray to my stomach. I’m smiling when I feel my bump, under the coconut bubbles. I place both hands across my belly.

  ‘Hello, little one.’ The water ripples. There’s a twisting inside of me. Something hard pushing into my skin. It’s such a joyous feeling. I trace the shape of it – an elbow? A heel? Before I can identify what it is, there’s a shift and my stomach is a smooth, hard mound once more. ‘I’ve waited for you for an awfully long time,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t wait to meet you. You are so loved. So very loved.’ I haul myself out of the bath, unused to the weight of my body. I want to find Adam. While I dry myself, I continue talking in hushed tones. ‘There’s Great-Nan. She’s a little forgetful but you don’t need to worry about that. You’re unforgettable. Then there’s Grandma – that’s my mum – she’ll be knitting you Christmas jumpers until you’re my age most likely, but you can allow her that because she’s the best baker. Wait until you taste her scones.’ I flap the towel towards my feet in the vain hope it will absorb some water because I can’t bend to reach them. ‘There’s Aunty Nell. If you’re a girl, she’ll teach you about boys, and if you’re a boy she’ll tell you what girls want.’ I shrug on my dressing gown. ‘And then there’s Uncle Josh. I dread to think what he’ll teach you.’

  I open the bathroom door and step outside, stubbing my toe on the bookcase that still waits in pieces on the landing to be built. Some things never change.

  ‘Adam. I’ve almost fallen over that bookcase again,’ bursts out of me before I can keep it in. I hobble downstairs, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. ‘Adam?’

  He’s prone on the sofa. Picking at a bowl of Kettle crisps that rests on his stomach. A can of lager on the floor.

  I hover, midway on the stairs, the pain in my toe disappearing.

  My husband.

  I waddle towards him, awkwardly drop to my knees and cover his face in kisses. His lips taste of cheese and onion.

  ‘If that’s because I bought you Philosophy bubble bath rather than Asda’s own brand, then you’re welcome.’

  ‘It’s not because of that. It’s because I love you.’ I can’t stop smiling. ‘Josh does too, even though he said to tell you a one-legged, half-blind ape could save more goals than you do nowadays. We, umm, spoke the other day.’

  He laughs but admits, ‘I do feel a bit old to be part of the team now. I think I’ll give it up.’

  ‘Don’t give up,’ I say decisiv
ely. ‘Don’t ever give up on anything.’

  ‘I thought it would make you happy?’

  ‘You being fit, strong. That’s what makes me happy.’

  Idly, I run my fingers over his wrist. The space where his watch used to be. He never wears one anymore.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ he says.

  I look up at him quizzically.

  ‘For my rollicking over the bookcase?’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, but then I think of Eva explaining to me that Adam and I bottling everything up has led to our underlying resentment. ‘Actually, it isn’t.’

  ‘Here we go.’ Adam sits up.

  ‘I don’t want a row.’ Time is too precious. ‘But can we talk?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He shuffles over to the corner and pats the cushion next to him.

  ‘Do you think I nag you?’ I keep my tone soft.

  ‘A bit.’ He glances at me. ‘You go on about the bookcase a lot. I get it. It’s because you’re pissed off with me about… other things.’

  ‘It isn’t that at all.’ I make a mental note to come back to the ‘other things’. ‘Sometimes when I complain the bookcase hasn’t been built, it’s because I actually want a bookcase to be built.’

  ‘I think we both know that—’

  ‘I’ve got nowhere to put my books,’ I finish, gently. ‘Adam, I’m perfectly capable of building the bookcase. I’m perfectly capable of repainting the kitchen. I’m perfectly capable of decorating the dining room—’

  ‘You wanted wallpaper in there.’ There’s exasperation in Adam’s voice and I remind myself to keep calm. Part of me wonders whether it’s even worth having this conversation, what good it will do. If… When Adam wakes up, he’s not likely to remember it but still, the thought that I can repair our relationship on some level brings me comfort. It’s a positive step, I think.

  ‘Okay, so I’m perfectly capable of paying someone to wallpaper the dining room.’ I take his hand. ‘It’s not important to me how things get done, but it seems to be important to you. Every time I offer to help or say I’m going to hire a tradesman, you get pretty shirty.’