I shrug. ‘An infection on top of his pneumonia. They think.’
‘Shit,’ he whispers, looking at Shane. ‘How long’s he been asleep?’
‘Ages. He’s sleeping pretty much all the time at the moment.’
When Deirdre comes back, Peter gets up.
‘I’m going to bring Sarah home,’ he says to her. ‘If Shane wakes will you tell him I called?’
She smiles, like she’s realising she’s forgotten the other people who’re worried about him. ‘Of course.’ She hugs me goodbye.
In Peter’s car, rain pelts against the windscreen and coloured leaves smash against the glass. He turns up the heating.
‘What did the doctors say?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know. They were speaking to Shane’s parents. I only got what they were telling me. Which wasn’t everything.’
He looks at me. Then, out of nowhere, my stomach rumbles really loudly. We laugh in embarrassment.
‘You hungry?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘A bit.’
‘There’s a space!’ he says, swerving into it like some kind of Formula One driver. ‘Come on, let’s grab a McDonald’s.’
Now that he’s parked, I can’t exactly say no.
There’s a free table by the window. He tells me to take it and asks what I want. Then he heads to the counter. Which is busy tonight. I sit looking out at the rain. A car pulls up outside, mounting the path before coming to a stop in the wheelchair space. The car door opens and a fat, blonde chick gets out. Using both legs. I sit up. Check. There’s no one else in the car. No one disabled in the car at all. I feel pressure building in my head.
She’s in pyjama bottoms and a vest top. Her arms are heavily tattooed. Her face is tough, her eyes hard. She’s not the kind of person you mess with. Don’t care.
When she walks in the door, I stand up.
‘It’s a miracle!’ I call out.
She turns and looks.
‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘She can walk.’
And she does walk. Over to me, her chin jutting out like she’s dying for a fight.
‘You got a problem?’ she asks, in a strong Dublin accent.
‘You just took that wheelchair space out there.’
‘So?’ Her whole head juts forward now.
‘So someone in an actual wheelchair might need it.’
‘You think I fucking care?’ she sneers.
‘I think you’d fucking care if something happened your fucking legs.’
A kid at the next table bursts out laughing. His mother glares at him to stop.
‘Go fuck yourself, you skinny bitch,’ Pyjama Woman says, and then, like I’m too skinny to bother with, she marches to the counter.
No way. No way am I letting her away with it. I hurry out into the rain. I look up and down the street. Where are all the cops when you need them? It’s Dun Laoghaire. There’s a station around the corner. Right, I think, and start to run. This is important. This is critical. I round the corner, so angry I could hit someone. Then, hallelujah, strolling towards the town, head tipped down against the rain, a cop.
I run up to him, tell him what happened, realising as I do it’s probably not an actual crime. He looks at me. Then he starts to walk. Fast. I have to trot to keep up.
Pyjama Woman is actually sitting in the car, munching on her burger, when we get there. Unbelievable.
The guard taps on the window.
She lowers it. ‘Yeah?’ she says, her mouth full. And I think, she’s not afraid of anything.
He asks for her driver’s licence.
She doesn’t have it.
‘Step out of the car,’ he says.
On the side of the street, in the rain, he takes out a notepad. He takes the registration number, then asks for her name and address. As she stands there giving out her details, her T-shirt starts to go all see-through. It’s not a pretty sight.
She glares at me.
I smile.
And then something I don’t expect. He breathalyses her.
Yes!
I think of Peter and glance inside. The whole of McDonald’s is looking out now, including Peter, who is standing with the food in his hand and his mouth open. I watch as Pyjama Woman gets back into her tiny car, her fat jowls blaring red, like some kind of tropical bird, her T-shirt clinging to her lady lumps. With the guard watching, she belts up. And just before she drives away, she glares at me. I give a little wave.
I can’t believe that, even now, with Shane so sick, I still have to go to school. Everything seems so irrelevant. The teachers seem like people who’ve never gone out in the world and had adventure, taken risks. All the kids seem like … kids. It doesn’t feel right to be here any more. But not just for me … Alex looks like she’s going to have the baby at any moment. She spends so much time going to the loo and is constantly chewing heartburn tablets. It’s like we’ve outgrown school.
As soon as the bell goes, I head to the hospital. I go straight to the Nurses’ Station and ask to speak to Shane’s doctor. After my clash with Pyjama Woman, I’m not afraid of anyone. Doctor or no doctor. White coat or no white coat. I deserve to know what’s going on. Even if I am seventeen.
I have to wait fifteen minutes before the doctor is ready to speak to me. She’s young, blonde and pretty with her hair tied back into a ponytail.
‘I’m enquiring about Shane Owens,’ I say, trying to sound grown up. ‘He has an infection on top of his infection, I know that. I just want to know what that means exactly.’
‘And you’re …?’
‘His fiancée,’ I say firmly, confidently.
She looks surprised. Like she’s trying to work out if I’m for real.
‘He just seems to have got so much worse,’ I say.
She nods. ‘Have you spoken to Shane’s parents?’
‘Of course. But there’s something they’re not telling me. I mean, how bad is it? I need to know.’
She takes a deep breath. ‘You’re right, Shane has acquired an infection on top of his initial pneumonia. It’s taking quite a toll on him. He’s fighting. But it’s a big fight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His cultures have grown gram negative bacteria.’
‘I don’t know what that means.’ How am I supposed to?
‘It means that we don’t have as many options as we’d like to when it comes to antibiotics.’
I stare at her. ‘So you’re saying what?’
She puts a hand on my arm. Which freaks me out. I know from Alex: when doctors touch you, it’s serious.
‘I’m saying, we’re doing our best. We’re working with what we have. And hoping for the best.’
‘But he is going to get out of here, right?’
‘We’re doing our best.’
‘Oh my God.’ My hand goes to my mouth. My legs buckle.
She grabs a chair and I drop into it. She asks a passing nurse for a glass of water.
‘Breathe deeply,’ she says.
I don’t want to breathe at all.
THIRTY-NINE | SMOKE
I’m standing outside the hospital. Smoking. I hurried out to get air. And that’s what I was doing when this guy in pyjamas came out for a smoke and offered me one. I thought, These things kill you, right? So I’m standing here, swallowing back smoke, trying not to cough, to just hold it in for as long as I can before blowing it out to breathe again. I’m not going back inside. I can’t face Deirdre. I can’t face Shane. I can’t face the truth. All I can do is stand here with a knot in my stomach and smoke in my lungs.
‘Are you OK?’
I turn. It takes a second to focus on the person who’s just walked up to me. Peter.
I squint at him. ‘Why’re you here so early?’ Has he heard too?
‘It’s seven.’
‘It couldn’t be.’
He picks my second cigarette out of my fingers and flicks it away. ‘Come inside, you’re freezing.’
A bit late, I remember my coat.
He takes my arm and guides me back into the hospital. He stops at a line of chairs that are facing out.
‘Sit,’ he says.
It seems like the easiest thing.
He sits beside me.
‘What happened?’ he asks after a while.
By the time I finish telling him, I’m crying. He puts an arm around me.
‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘He’ll be OK.’
‘They don’t think they have the antibiotics to fight it.’
‘But they’re trying new ones.’
I nod.
‘So they might get lucky.’ There’s a long pause. ‘They never said anything about a superbug?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s good.’
I look at him again. ‘Does it matter what they call it, if they can’t fight it?’
He sighs. ‘Does Shane know?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Does he know you know?’
‘No.’
‘Have you been in to him at all?’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’ I think about Shane waking and wondering where I am and feel so bad.
‘Come on,’ he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me up. ‘We’re going up.’
He seems so strong and I think, maybe I can do this if he’s with me. Because I do want to do it.
Going up in the lift, I realise, ‘I stink of smoke.’
He puts a hand in his pocket, pulls out some gum and hands me a stick. The lift doors open. We step out in silence. I’m suddenly terrified.
‘What’ll I say?’
‘It’ll come to you.’
Shane’s asleep. Deirdre’s staring out the window. She senses us standing in the doorway and turns. She quickly wipes a tear and forces a smile. And suddenly I know what to say. Because I don’t want her to have to hide it any more.
‘Deirdre, I know,’ I say quietly. ‘I spoke to the doctor.’
‘Oh, Sarah.’ She comes to me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers.‘Shane didn’t want you to worry. He wants to fight it. He thinks he can beat it. He really does.’ She looks at him with so much love.
‘Then don’t tell him I know.’
Her eyes well up. Next thing I know, we’re hugging each other. Then abruptly she says she’s going for a walk. She gets her bag and wraps her cardigan around her, then, head down, looking almost old, she leaves.
I sit with Shane, my face close to his. I take his hand in mine and kiss it.
He opens his eyes. Then smiles. ‘Hey.’
I smile. And try not to cry. ‘Hey.’
And then, without even knowing I’m going to say it, I’m saying it, ‘I want to marry you. Here, in the hospital. Whenever you’re ready.’
His face lights up. ‘You sure?’
‘I’ll talk to the chaplain,’ I say. ‘I’ll arrange it.’
He nods. ‘Cool.’
I smile and kiss him. Then I remember. ‘Peter’s here.’
Peter leans across me so Shane can see him. ‘Hey, mate.’
Shane smiles. ‘Wanna be my best man?’
‘Is the Pope Catholic?’
Two days later, Alex and Rachel are at my house, getting dressed into bright red bridesmaids’ dresses that Marsha had been secretly busy with. They’ve helped with my make-up and hair. And fussed over me till I told them we’d be late. Alex looks at herself in the mirror and closes her eyes.
‘Sorry for not waiting – till the baby,’ I say.
‘Sarah, this is your day. Do you really think I care that I look like a beached whale?’
‘Yes.’
She laughs. ‘OK, maybe a little. But at least I won’t outshine the bride.’
Bride? Oh my God. ‘I really am getting married.’
‘You really are getting married.’
Mum calls upstairs. ‘How’re we doing?’
‘Nearly ready,’ I call down. We’ve only, like, half a million things to do.
Louis has cleaned the car and attached tin cans to the back. He opens the front door for me like a chauffeur. He actually looks like one in his dark grey suit. The Mother of the Bride climbs in the back in a seriously cool suit, all fitted and clingy. The bridesmaids (gorgeous, of course) squish in beside her. Everyone’s chatting. It feels like we’re going to a party.
When we pull up outside the hospital, I start to get nervous. I’m really doing this. I’m really getting married. We hurry inside out of the cold. People stare. And it does seem as if we’ve got off at the wrong stop.
The three of us do our usual, I-don’t-care walk. We’re pretty good at it now. We all go up in the lift, mixed in with people in dressing gowns, one even carrying a catheter.
When the doors roll open, there is my father, standing at the entrance to the ward. I stop. Because I didn’t expect that. I feel kind of weepy. I walk slowly over.
‘Hey, pumpkin,’ he says, something he hasn’t called me since I was little.
‘Hey, Dad.’
He opens his arms and suddenly I’m glad he’s here, even though he didn’t really want this. He didn’t want it because of me. And he’s allowing it for the same reason. His hug gives me strength.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘Then let’s go.’
I look up the corridor and can’t believe it. It’s lined all the way up with white ribbons and roses. Like the aisle of a church. I turn around.
And there they are, my two best friends. ‘Did you do this?’
They smile. And then we’re all hugging each other.
‘I love you guys,’ I say, and feel suddenly teary.
Over Rachel’s shoulder, I see my mum. She’s looking past me at – it can only be Dad. There is no hate in her face now. Her eyes are soft. They seem to say, ‘Can you believe it? Our little girl is getting married.’
I pull back from Rache and turn around. He’s looking back at her, and smiling.
‘OK, let’s not keep the groom waiting,’ Louis says, behind me.
And then we’re walking, in three pairs, me and Dad, Rachel and Alex, Mum and Louis, up our makeshift aisle. At the door to every room, patients have gathered. It is seriously embarrassing. At the Nurses’ Station, the nurses stand like some sort of guard of honour. One of them, eyes red, is blowing her nose. I feel like telling her to smile.
Dad opens the door to Shane’s room.
Wow. There are lilies everywhere. The pink ones, that smell of celebration. Shane’s parents are there, smiling at me. Marsha, too. And Peter, in a suit that matches Louis’. And there he is, sitting out on his chair, in a grey suit, white shirt and silver cravat. His hair is spiked. And he looks gorgeous. The oxygen is gone, the drip too. And I know it’s only for this. His eyes hold mine. Suddenly, there’s no one else in the room, just the two of us. I go to him and kiss him.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispers. ‘Like an angel. My angel.’
I’m sure it’s not the most romantic wedding in the world. But it’s my wedding. To the guy I love. Who is still the guy I love, no matter what. The vows don’t take long because Shane doesn’t have huge energy. And needs to get that oxygen back on. I kneel up on the wheelchair, careful not to lean on him. We look into each other’s eyes as we are ‘joined together as man and wife’. We kiss when we are told we ‘may’. Then we cling to each other like we never want to let go. And speaking for me, I don’t.
Clapping erupts, reminding me that we’re not alone. I look around and notice how much love is in this room. It’s in the music – compiled by Alex. It’s in the wedding cake – made by my mum who worked through the night to do it. It’s in the photos – taken by Louis. It’s in the speeches – made by Peter, my dad and Shane’s dad. It’s funny to have our lives dissected, to have our parents remember bits that we’d forgotten. It’s weird to hear my dad describe the person that is really me. I didn’t think he knew. And I didn’t think he was proud.
Shane’s speech is the shortest. It’s also my favourite.
He kisses me again.
When I turn around, both our mums are crying. Even my dad is crying. And I’m wondering if it’s for more than it seems. But then I jump up and shake the first bottle of pink champagne. I pop it open and let it spill everywhere because you live once, right?
When everyone’s gone, Shane’s exhausted. I wait in the corridor while the nurses make him comfortable and set him back up on his oxygen and drip. I’ll spend my wedding night on a camp bed beside his. But at least I’ll be with him. At last. When the nurses leave, I slip into the bed beside him and snuggle up. I put my arm around him and my mouth to his ear.
‘We did it,’ I say.
‘I love you, Mrs Owens.’
‘I love you, Mr Owens.’ I kiss his neck. ‘Are you happy?’
He nods. ‘Happiest day of my life.’
‘Me too.’
FORTY | CENTIMETRES
My honeymoon is a week off school. And it is like being in another world. Everything starts so early. Doctors’ rounds. Bed baths. Drug trolley rounds. Nursing staff changing over. Some nice. Some not. We travel the world on the internet. We safari in South Africa. Surf in Australia. Sunbathe in Bali. Mum brings in exotic food, each day to match where we are. But Shane’s not hungry, and all the time he’s getting weaker.
I spend a lot of time hassling doctors. Try another antibiotic. Try five, why don’t you? I learn about blood gases. Blood cultures. Results. What’s good. What isn’t.
After a week, he sends me back to school.
‘Life goes on,’ he says, making me want to scream.
It’s weird, though. I didn’t want to come back. But school is kind of a relief. Everything’s so normal. So familiar. So manageable. It’s so good to see Rachel and Alex, to be hugged by them, to go to the canteen like a normal teenager.
‘Oh my God, you’re married!’ one of the nerds says.
‘Yeah and the sex is great,’ I say, just to confuse her. Sex and wheelchairs? That should keep her busy.
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 55