Mam took a breath, and made an odd hiccup in the middle of it. “It’s Luca,” she said.
Tav’s stomach rolled dangerously. His vision tunnelled for a moment, black spots dancing around the edge of his mother’s face, and then a hot anger boiled up inside. “What’s he done?” he snarled. “What’s that piece of shit Collins done, what’s—where’s Luca, what happened, what’s―”
“Tav, get changed, now, and then we have to get up to the Northern General. Now!” Mam barked.
Tav’s knees buckled, and then Coach Evans’ tiny hands were in his armpits and he was being lowered to the grass. “Head down,” Coach said in that soft, usually-amused voice of hers. It sounded hollow and dry over the thumping in Tav’s ears. “Nice, deep breaths, Tav.”
“H-here.” Tav fumbled the locker key off his wrist and shoved it into Coach Evans’ hand with shaking fingers. “Get—get Jan to get my stuff, I need…I need to…”
“We need to go,” Mam said softly.
“I need to go,” Tav echoed faintly, then steeled himself, locked his muscles, and lurched to his feet again. “What’s happened?” he begged, seizing his mother’s arm even as he started to tow her back towards the car park. “What happened, why’s Luca in hospital, why―”
Why did Tav have to go?
Luca had been in hospital lots. They both had. Seventeen years of falling out of trees and off shed roofs did that, you know, and Tav next-to-never went to see him in hospital, especially not right away. The last time—okay, no, the time before the accident at the pool, that last time, that had been Luca’s appendectomy when he was thirteen and he’d burst his stitches twice so they’d practically strapped him down and Tav had gone and taken his whole comic book collection to show Luca the cool fight scenes when he couldn’t escape.
Fucking Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, he’d never been—not—
“There was a…I don’t quite know, an accident or an argument, something—I was helping Alessandra with that stuck hinge on their garden gate, and the police called her to say there’d been some―”
“Mam!”
“He was hit by a car,” Mam said finally, and Tav had to cling to the door handle to stop his knees giving out again. A car. A fucking car. But…that was…it was okay, people got—people got hit by cars all the time, it didn’t mean…“From what they said, he’s…not very well.”
Tav wrenched open the car door—then stepped back, bent over, and threw up by the front tyre.
* * * *
Ta-click. Schnick. A bump that roused Luca from…from wherever he’d been, to…wherever he was now. Somewhere—loud. He was shaking, and there were voices everywhere, voices he didn’t know.
“Seventeen-year-old male, traffic collision―”
“Internal bleeding, pressure’s been dropping since we got to him―”
“Straight through—how’s his oxygen?”
“Also dropping—might be spinal injuries, doctor…”
“What’s his name?”
“Other kids were calling him Luca. Police attended, they’ll have called the fam―”
“Luca? Luca, love, can you hear me?”
That voice cut through the melee, and Luca tried to blink, only to find his eyes were already closed. They were sticky, too, and heavy. He twitched, frowning, and something cool and soft landed on his forehead.
“It’s alright, love, you’re doing just great. My name’s Dr. Pradesh. I’m holding your hand, Luca, can you squeeze my fingers for me?”
Luca had to think about that. The shaking was distracting, and all the voices—he couldn’t find his hand, not over all the chaos, and—
“Mmm—make ‘em—”
“Make who what, Luca?”
“Sh’t up…s’noisy…”
The voice laughed, and it was a nice laugh. A nice voice, too. Luca relaxed a little bit. It must be okay if the voice was laughing, and she’d said she was a—
“D’ctor…”
“That’s right, Luca. You’re at Northern General Hospital. Are you in any pain?”
Pain? No—and what a stupid question, Luca thought absently. How were you supposed to hurt if you couldn’t even find your hands? Maybe she wasn’t such a nice doctor after all, if she went around asking stupid questions like that…
“Deep in shock—someone get Dr. Chang, I want the best if there’s potential for spinal injuries.”
“Straight into the surgical unit, no time to wait for the family―”
“Someone get a confirmation of his age when they do arrive―”
“Here we go—Luca, love, you still with me?”
Luca hummed placidly. His mouth felt very dry, like he’d tried to eat cotton wool or week-old candy floss. He wanted a drink. “M’thirsty…”
“Good, that’s good, you’re doing very well, love.” Nice Voice Doctor—Pra…Pra…?—was back, and Luca frowned. She’d asked him to squeeze her hand, hadn’t she? A while ago? Had he forgotten?
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and squeezed it. His hand felt very far away and clumsy, like it was really cold and he’d lost the feeling in it, or something. He felt his own heart speed up a bit just from the effort. What had happened? Had they sewn his hand back on? Was that why he was here?
A general noise went up, and Dr. Nice Voice sounded closer than before when she said, “That’s fantastic, Luca! That’s absolutely fantastic, love, you’re doing brilliant. Now, we have to put you under for a bit, love, sort out what your taxi friend’s gone and messed up, but it’ll all be over in a flash, love, and then we’ll call your mam and dad, and you can rest for a while. Alright?”
The word sounded wrong. “Mamma,” Luca corrected her, then something sharp prodded him, and—
* * * *
The A&E was busy, but the policemen drew the eye, and Tav beelined for the cops. There were three of them—a pretty one talking to a white-faced Mamma Alessandra, a tall and gingery one talking to a babbling Indian bloke who kept wringing his hands, and another with some silver-arrowed rank on his shoulders watching over the whole thing with folded arms.
“What happened?” Tav demanded, seizing Mamma Alessandra’s elbow; she crumpled and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing the air out of him.
“Alessandra, it’s alright,” Mam said softly, reaching around Tav to stroke that thick, dark hair. “I called Paul and Antonio before I went to get Tav, they’ll be on their way―”
“What happened?” Tav repeated, looking at the pretty policewoman.
“Are you―?”
“I’m Luca’s boyfriend.”
She didn’t bat an eyelash. “We’re still trying to establish exactly what happened, but it looks like Luca slipped off the pavement into the path of a taxi on Ecclesall Road.”
Tav sat down. Hard. And very abruptly. His mam’s hand squeezed at the back of his neck, but Tav barely felt it.
“He was pushed!”
It was the Indian man. He was in his fifties, short and balding, and twisting a cap around and around in his hands. He looked grey under the tan, and kept shooting anxious glances from the policemen to Mamma Alessandra and back again.
“He was pushed!” he repeated hotly, in a heavy accent. “He was arguing with another boy and was pushed—I was barely ten feet from him, I didn’t even have time to swerve! If I could have—if I could have—”
“Why don’t we finish our discussion elsewhere, Mr. Habib,” the tall policeman said in a soft voice, and guided the nervous cabbie away. Tav stared after him, then surged out of his seat and seized the pretty policewoman’s arm.
“Who was with him?”
“Our colleagues spoke to all the witnesses―”
“No,” Tav interrupted. “Who was arguing with him—it was Jack, it would have been Jack Collins, he’s―”
“Tav, sit down,” Mam said sharply, and he was tugged back into his seat. “They are investigating. Right now…right now you need to be here, and you need to be concentrating on Luca being here, not how he got here. Alright? He�
��s going to need you.”
“If he―”
“He’s going to need you,” Mam repeated sternly.
“I want to see him.”
“Not yet,” Mam said. “He’ll be—they’ll be busy with him, Tav. You won’t be able to see him for―”
“Please.”
Mam hugged him.
And it was—it was bad. It was bad when Mam hugged him. Mam was always so exasperated with him, so tired of his shit, she didn’t…
Tav clung, and tried not to remember how long it had been since she’d hugged him.
* * * *
“―into recovery and keep―”
“―normal visiting restrictions―”
“―drop the surgical notes into Dr. Marsh’s tray, that thigh―”
“―referral to the physiotherapy unit―”
“―rate is rising―”
That doctor with the nice voice had wanted him to squeeze her hand.
“―resisting―”
Luca tried. He really did try, but—one hand felt funny, like it was simultaneously cold, and swollen hot, and the other was empty. He squeezed the empty hand into a fist anyway.
“Patient’s awake.”
“What the―?”
“Luca? Luca, can you hear me?”
The voices were loud and echoing, as though Luca were in a pool, and he didn’t recognise any of them. The nice voice had vanished. He squeezed his fist again, and something tugged against his skin.
“―trying to get the IV out―”
“Luca, love, calm―”
The spark of sensation opened—oh fuck, opened floodgates. Oh fuck, it hurt—there was fire all up his spine and neck; he couldn’t feel his arm, but the shoulder was ripped and felt as though it were hanging loose. His legs—
Where the fuck were his legs?!
He jerked, trying to ask around a dry, thick tongue that was unwieldy between his teeth. He still couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t see, and all the voices kept hammering, and where were his legs, and where was—
“Mamma.”
His voice sounded raspy and broken. The voices got louder, and Luca raised his own. She’d hear him. Mamma always heard them, Mamma—
“Mamma! I want Mamma, I want my mamma, please…”
“What’s he saying?”
“Luca? Luca, can you speak in English, please?”
“Mamma, I want Mamma, where’s Mamma―?”
There were hands trying to hold his arm down; he thrashed and twisted, then opened his throat and screamed, the raw sound tearing at his neck and chest when an explosion of pain barrelled up his spine and made the voices waver and fade like—
“―can’t understand him―”
“―saying ‘mama’—someone get his mother, for God’s sake!”
“Heavier sedatives―”
“―shouldn’t be conscious yet, try another―”
“No!” Luca begged, when he felt fingers on his wrist. “No, please, I want Mamma, please, Mamma―”
The shaking and rattling stopped, but Luca was beyond caring. There were voices and hands, there were strangers, and he couldn’t feel his legs or hips, and—
“Luca, if you don’t calm down, you’re going to damage―”
“I want Mamma, please―”
Something cold flooded over his hand—inside or out, Luca couldn’t tell—and he tried to jerk it away, shaking his head. He just wanted Mamma, he just wanted someone he knew, just Mamma or Dad or Antonio or Tav, someone―
“Luca!”
He tried to twist towards the familiar voice, and then the whole world smelled of her hair and her jumper. There was a softness settling over his face and neck, and a hand against his forehead.
“It’s alright.” Her soft croon sounded heavy, and Luca clutched blindly at her clothes with his cold hand. The coldness was surging up his arm—it was inside, not out, and—
“Mamma, help me,” he begged, and she shushed him.
“It’s alright,” she crooned. “It’s alright, Luca. You’re safe, you’re safe, let them help you…”
Luca settled into her words, drawing them round himself like protection and nudging his face into her hands when the cool, wet sensation began to creep over his chest and sink, as though settling into his bones.
“―should settle now, Mrs. Jensen―”
“―a stronger drug, he won’t be coming round again―”
Luca squeezed the fistful of cloth he held tightly, and her soft murmuring rose until it felt like he was being surrounded and hugged.
“Sleep, Luca. It’s best for you.” Mamma’s voice. Mamma’s hands, Mamma’s hair, Mamma’s jumper. He couldn’t feel his legs, and his arm and shoulder were on fire, and his neck and spine prickled like a thousand knitting needles were rammed into the bones, but—
Mamma was here.
Luca let go.
Chapter 23: “I want the truth, doctor, what condition is my son in?”
It was nearly midnight when the doctor came.
It had been…a long, dull wait. A nurse had come running for Mamma Alessandra around eleven, but otherwise…there had just been a thousand-year wait in a little waiting room off some unidentifiable corridor. No news. No word. Nothing.
They’d waited more or less in silence. All of the Jensens had come, even Luca’s younger brothers, and they’d refused to go home when Mr. Jensen had made vague noises about bed. Everyone was just…grey and quiet. Tav had dozed on his mother’s shoulder, giving in to the childish desire for a hug, and she had let him without comment, just stroked his hair occasionally and stared off into the middle distance.
It had been idle torture—and then at five to midnight, shoes had started squeaking on the shiny tiles.
They were all on their feet when the doctor rounded the corner.
“My son,” Mr. Jensen blurted out, his voice ragged. “My son, Luca, Luca Jensen, is he…?”
The doctor was a tall, well-built black man with heavy glasses—and a broad, calm smile that washed across his features like the sun coming out after an ice age.
“Luca is going to be alright.”
Angelo made a faint noise. Mr. Jensen closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded like a fervent prayer. Paolo wordlessly lifted an arm, slung it around Tomas’ narrow shoulders, and pressed his face down into his younger brother’s unruly curls.
“I want to see my son,” Mr. Jensen breathed.
“Of course,” the doctor said, and glanced around. “All of you?”
“All of us,” Mr. Jensen said firmly. Antonio straightened, as if preparing for an argument.
“Very well,” the doctor said briskly. “However, I must ask that you are all very quiet, and don’t touch him. It was a nasty collision and he’s still in a very delicate state. And you won’t be able to stay long, only until he is moved to a ward. He still has open wounds.”
Mr. Jensen just nodded roughly; Mam cupped Tav’s face and kissed his cheek. “I’ll wait here,” she said quietly, and looked aside. “Paul. If you and Alessandra want to stay with him tonight, I can run the boys home. Ian and I can watch them, if Antonio can’t stay away from Katie…”
Mr. Jensen nodded jerkily, and Tav broke away from his mother. The sombre mood was unsettling him. Why would Luca’s parents need to stay the night if Luca was going to be alright? Why would—
The bay was nothing more than a cube cut into the wall, sectioned off by a curtain. It was filled with machinery on wheels and a wide hospital bed, crisp white sheets folded over a thin form covered in tubes and―
Tav’s knees wobbled alarmingly.
Mamma Alessandra had been standing by Luca’s side, one hand resting very lightly over his, but when they entered, she turned a tear-stained face to them and threw her arms around Luca’s dad, murmuring his name in a throaty voice that said she’d been speaking Italian for a long time. And Tav suddenly had a clear view, and…
Wished he didn’t, actually.
Lu
ca’s face was a complete mess, swollen and black with bruising. His hair was matted in bloody clumps, plastered to his head. His nose was clearly broken under the oxygen mask that stuck out sorely against the darkened skin. One arm was in a heavy cast over the sheets, the other resting across his waist and drowned in tubes and IVs. The sheets were rolled up at the bottom of the bed to show off his legs, both resting in open casts and the skin torn to shreds.
“What’s wrong with his legs?” he breathed, and the doctor coughed quietly.
“We have to wait for the skin to seal itself at least a little before we can complete the casts,” he said quietly. “Road rash,” he added when Tav stared at him.
“But…but they look…”
“All legs look unpleasant after a car accident,” the doctor said quickly. “They’re both broken, but that nasty appearance is nothing more than a very, very large graze. His legs will heal.”
“He’ll be alright?” Mr. Jensen croaked, releasing his wife and stepping around her. His hand, looking absurdly large, drifted to Luca’s hair, but stopped short of it.
“Mr. Jensen, if you want details―”
“I want them,” Mr. Jensen said roughly, “and everyone here can hear them. I want the truth, doctor, what condition is my son in?”
“A delicate one,” the doctor said, “but survivable. He’s been placed into a medical coma. His hips are very badly damaged, which coupled with multiple fractures in both legs means he has to stay absolutely still for several days to allow them to begin healing and for follow-up surgery.”
“He’s crippled?”
“Temporarily, yes.” The doctor’s tone was somehow ruthless and kind at the same time “Luca came up from the anaesthetic earlier than he should have done, hence we sent for your wife. He was very distressed—understandably so—but he was speaking to her coherently, he recognised her, and he executed limited movement in his hands and feet, much as we didn’t want him to yet. That’s all very good news—he isn’t paralysed, he appears to have escaped serious brain damage as far as we can tell at the moment, and he remained very stable during surgery. His oxygen levels and blood pressure were both critical when he came in, but they’ve remained steady since we got them back up to normal. But I must stress, we won’t know the long-term outcomes for anything until he begins to heal. Our major concern right now is infection, and surgical complications.”
The Italian Word for Kisses Page 21