What happens next is a blur. I hear a loud noise and I see the horse rear, his hooves arching dangerously close to Bee. I instinctively dive in front of her.
Everything goes black.
Maddy
Photo of the week, by unequivocal mutual agreement, is a perfectly timed close up of a fantail sitting on a fence post, its tail open like a fan. The detail on each beautiful feather is crystal clear, as is the curious look in the eye it has aimed on the camera lens. The other eye is in shadow, and its fat little body appears poised for flight at the slightest hint of trouble.
“I love fantails,” Kyle says, as he pins it to the board for us to admire.
“They’re pretty cute.”
“Although they do scare me a little too.”
I look at the innocuous little bird in the photo, his feet no bigger than my thumbnail. It looks about as scary as a slipper. “Do you have some kind of bird phobia you’ve neglected to mention until now?”
He looks at me sideways. “You do know what they symbolise don’t you?”
“No. I didn’t know birds had to symbolise anything.”
He hunches closer to me, lowers his voice and adopts what I think he thinks is a spooky voice. “DEATH.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fine. Disbelieve if you will.” He sniffs, back to his normal voice.
“If any bird were to symbolise death it would be like a,” I cast my mind for any knowledge of other feathered creatures. “Like a black vulture or something. Or a hawk. Not a sweet little thing like that.” I gesture at the photo.
“It’s true,” he insists. “Maori culture believes if you see a fantail inside your house it means someone you know will shortly die.”
I look at the photo again. “Well that’s cheerful.”
He shrugs. “I guess at least you have forewarning.”
“Yeah but you don’t know who’s going to cark it.”
“True.”
We hear the muffled sound of a cell phone ringing inside a handbag.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Kyle asks. “That’s like the fifth time it’s rung.”
“No.”
“Not relationship issues with Albert already I hope.”
“No. Mother issues.”
“What’s she done now?”
“It’s long and complicated.”
“I love long and complicated. Long and complicated is my middle name.”
“So is ‘juicy’ and ‘gossip’.”
He pouts. “You know anything you tell me in the sacred sanctuary of our office stays between us.”
I lean against his desk and sigh. “I know. I don’t want to talk about it though. I’m actually trying to forget it.”
“Well if you change your mind I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
I see a lady approach the counter and push myself off his desk. “Duty calls.”
I’m mid way through taking the customers details when Kyle comes out.
“Excuse me,” he says to the customer. “Maddy you have a phone call out back.”
“I told you I’m not taking it. She can leave a message.”
“Not your cell phone, the office phone.”
I smile sweetly at the lady and then look askance at Kyle. “Is it her?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell her I’ll see her tonight and to stop calling.”
“I think you –”
“I’m working.”
“I know. Maddy –”
Something in his voice makes me stop and look at him properly. His expression makes my blood run cold and my heart plummet.
Bee
I push past him and run to the phone.
“Mum?”
“Maddy, why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve tried to call you a dozen times.”
“What’s wrong? Is Bee ok?” I squeeze my eyes shut while I wait what seems an eternity for her to answer.
“Bee is fine.”
I expel the breath I didn’t realise I was holding. It whooshes into the phone piece and echoes back noisily.
“Maddy?”
“I’m here. Jesus mum, you gave me a fright.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be. I’ve never been so scared.”
“Maddy I don’t know how to say this.”
“You’re sorry. I know. You’ve said it a thousand times. Quit hassling me when I’m at work or you’ll get me fired.” I go to hang up the receiver.
“It’s Albert.”
I think maybe I misheard. I lift the phone to my ear again. “What?”
“Oh honey. I’m so sorry. Albert has had an accident.”
My newly restored heart plummets again. “What kind of accident? Where are you?”
Her words come out in a rush. “At the stables. They gave Bee a new horse today and something got into her and she darted out in front of it, squealing and flapping her hands and she startled it and it reared. Oh Maddy, Albert was so brave. He saw that the horse’s feet were going to knock Bee so he jumped in front of her and pushed her out of the way.”
It’s not making any sense to me. “So Bee is ok?”
“Bee is fine.”
I almost can’t ask the next question. “Albert?”
She sighs. It turns to a shudder. I realise she has been crying. “He took a kick to the head Maddy.”
“Is he ok?” It’s a stupid question. Who gets kicked in the head by a horse and comes out better off. But I’m clinging to hope.
“He’s just gone to the hospital by ambulance. He’s unconscious. It’s all I know.”
He’s alive.
That’s all I need to hear.
He’s alive. Albert will be fine, I know this like I know the sky is blue. He will fight and he will be fine. He’s not leaving me. He wouldn’t.
I hang up without waiting to hear any more and grab my bag. Kyle looks at me and I see pity in his eyes.
“Go,” he says simply.
Albert
Everything is black.
Open your eyes, I tell myself. But I can’t seem to do it.
Voices.
Sirens.
Hands.
Sharp pricks.
Machines beeping.
So many voices.
My head hurts.
Maddy
“How’s my favourite patient today,” the nurse says cheerfully.
I lift my head from the armrest of the chair I’m folded into and blink at her. It’s Dot, my favourite.
Dot is short, like ridiculously so. Clearly there is no minimum height restriction to working in the medical profession, because surely she would have failed if there was. She has curly hair like the queen. I’ve wondered many times whether it’s natural, or a perm, or whether she gets up an hour early every morning and sets it in rollers; but I haven’t asked. It suits her, anyway. Not many people it would, but it does her. She is solid without being fat, and has a bust like a windowsill.
“Morning,” she says to me as she pulls back the curtains. Bright sunlight floods the room and I wince and close my eyes like I’m allergic to it.
“Good old vitamin D,” she says. “You could do with some of that. Too many days cooped up in here isn’t good for anyone.”
I look at Albert. “No. It’s not.”
She looks at me sympathetically. “I know it’s hard, seeing him in this condition. But it’s the best thing for him right now. He needs the time to recover.”
“I know.”
She fiddles with the needle that goes into Albert’s hand, checking to make sure it’s still positioned correctly and hasn’t popped out or blown a vein during the night, and then records his vitals.
“How is he?”
“The same as he was yesterday. He’s doing great.”
I study his sleeping face. “How much longer are they going to keep him in the coma for?”
She clicks her tongue. “I can’t answer that sweetheart. It depends on a whole bunch of varia
bles. The doctors will monitor his brain and when they decide the swelling has subsided enough then they’ll make a decision.”
I uncurl my body wearily and pick up Albert’s free hand. His long fingers drape limply in mine. He has dirt under his nails I notice, not for the first time.
“I know it’s hard,” she says. “You just have to remember that this is what’s best for him right now. We need to give his brain time to recover.”
“It’s just hard to see him like this. Not knowing –” my voice trails off and I blink back a tear. I take a deep breath. “Not knowing what he’ll be like when he wakes up. If he’ll still be the same.”
She comes around the bed and puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Until we have something to worry about you need to think positive.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see you later ok.” She leaves and I lower my face to Albert’s hand, pressing my lips against it softly. As I do every time, I wait, holding my breath, to see if he will give me some sign that he knows I’m here. A wriggle of his fingers maybe. But there’s nothing.
“Morning,” I say to him softly.
My phone beeps in my bag and I dig under the chair for it. My body is aching, a result of another night squeezed into a tiny blue armchair instead of a bed. How many nights now? I try and count them but lose track after eight. I can’t remember what day it is. Tuesday, I think. Or maybe it’s Wednesday.
It’s a text from mum.
How is he this morning?
I text back.
The same. How is Bee
Bee is fine. She misses you though. Just about to drop her at school then off to work. Text me if you need anything
I don’t respond to the last one. I’m still upset with her but I don’t have the energy to feed the upset right now. Besides, she did what she did. It’s done. It’s the past. There is literally nothing I can do to change it. Albert needs my focus right now. I drop my bag and kick it back under the chair out of the way.
“So it’s another beautiful sunny day,” I tell him. “You need to wake up so we can go to the beach. Wouldn’t you rather be out on your board than lying here?”
I watch for signs of life hopefully. If anything will get through to him surely it’s the thought of being out on the ocean. But again there’s no indication from him that he’s heard me.
“Why is she talking to him? He can’t hear her.”
“Shush Colin.”
I stiffen at the sound of their voices and turn. Albert’s parents have arrived for their morning visit. Wendy goes immediately to Albert’s side and starts fussing. Even though there’s nothing really she can do she likes to try and do something, so she fluffs the pillow beside his head and straightens up his sheet, rolling the top down evenly on both sides and tucking it under his arms so it looks tidy.
“Good morning my beautiful boy,” she says. Her face is pained but she attempts to keep it from her voice.
“I told you you’re wasting your time. He can’t hear you.” Colin has gone straight to the window like he always does and is looking out. His posture is rigid, like he’s uncomfortable to be here.
Wendy ignores her husband.
“How was his night?” she asks me.
“It was fine,” I reassure her. “No change.”
The first few nights Albert lay in this bed, Wendy slept here as well, but her body is older and less open to being punished, and after she woke one morning with horrible back pain both Colin and I convinced her she needed to sleep at home. I promised her that I would call immediately if anything changed, but she only agreed after the doctors reassured her that he wouldn’t wake up until they let him.
The wound on the side of his head is covered with a bandage, but the purple and yellow bruise that blooms down the side of his face is starting to fade. Surely that’s a good sign, we agree.
“Have the doctors been around this morning yet?” she asks.
‘No. Just Dot.”
“I told you they do their rounds the same time every day,” Colin says irritably.
“I know what you said. I just didn’t want to miss them.”
There is so much tension between them. An hour passes awkwardly. It’s eased when Colin leaves to fetch coffees. We all know he goes the long way around the hospital corridors and sits and reads the paper in the café before he comes back, but we don’t mention it. I hate that he seems uncomfortable around his son. That even when Albert is at his most vulnerable, his father still can’t seem to muster up enough affection to care.
I hate him full stop.
Albert
Maddy is here.
She is always here.
Her presence is gentle and soothing and reassuring.
Sometimes I hear her. When I am awake. At least, I think I am awake. I don’t remember sleeping.
I wish I could open my eyes. I want to see her.
Dad is here.
Everything is black but when he is here everything becomes blacker.
I feel anxious and tense.
I’m scared.
Why can’t I open my eyes?
Maddy
Colin walks back into the room while the doctors are talking.
“What did I miss? You need to start again,” he orders them gruffly. The younger one, the one who is ‘in training’, rolls his eyes. He has not yet learnt the level of self control he will need to deal with difficult patients and their families. Colin should be like the dummy model they use for training. The thought makes me smile.
“I was just explaining to your wife that we are pleased with Albert’s progress.”
“Pleased? How can you be pleased. Nothing’s changed.”
“Not externally, no.” This doctor, the older one, is more patient. He talks slowly as if Colin is an idiot. It will infuriate him, but in a way that he can’t protest against. “But the scans have shown that the swelling is greatly reduced.”
“Does that mean we can wake him up?” Wendy asks hopefully.
“Soon, yes. Not today. But perhaps in the next couple of days. We will do it slowly. Reduce the medication that is keeping him in the coma and let him wake up gradually.”
“And will he be ok?” Wendy is fearful when she asks, and even though she doesn’t use the words we all know what she is worried about.
Brain damage.
The doctor shrugs. “I can’t say, I’m sorry. We’ll know more when he wakes up and we can run some tests. His brain’s had quite a shock. There was tremendous swelling. We’re doing everything we can.”
All words we’ve heard before, over and over.
They leave and Colin walks to stand behind his wife. He places his hands on her shoulders in an effort to be comforting. She winces at his touch.
“He’ll be ok,” he tells her.
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s Albert. The boy has a head like a coconut. Take more than a kick from a horse to keep him down.”
It’s neither funny nor reassuring.
“Why don’t you go home Maddy,” Wendy says.
“No.”
“Go on. Have a proper sleep. How many days is it since you had a shower?”
I can’t remember. Now she’s planted a seed. The thought of hot water on my aching body sounds good. Still, I waver.
“Go on,” she says. “Colin has to go to work but I’m not going anywhere today. I’ll be with him until you get back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. You can’t look after him if you don’t look after yourself,” she says wisely.
“Ok.” I stand up and scoop my bag off the floor. Not caring that Colin is still in the room and disapproves of me, I lean over the bed and kiss Albert on his beautiful forehead.
“I’ll be back tonight,” I promise him.
I’d forgotten what fresh air tastes like compared to regurgitated air conditioned crap, and I gulp it down thirstily. Dot was right, the sun feels good and I peel off my cardigan so my arms are exposed t
o its life sustaining rays.
No one is home when I get there. Bee is at the specialist school she attends and mum is at work. I eat two pieces of peanut butter toast and drink three cups of coffee. I regret the coffee when I start shaking in the shower, but still, the water and the heat feel amazing and massage my body, removing some of the aches and pains. I close my eyes and lift my face up towards the nozzle. The water runs down my face, like tears. I am out of tears. I cried buckets of them in the first few hours after the accident. When I arrived at the hospital and they wouldn’t let me see him because he was in triage being ‘worked on’.
“What does that mean?” I’d cried.
“It means they’re trying to save his life,” the nurse said, pushing me away from the doors and into a plastic yellow seat in the waiting room. I sat in that chair for hours. Slowly the chairs filled around me. Colin, Wendy, Louis and his wife and kids. People from the stables where Albert worked, a large lady with a bob haircut that did her face shape no favours, and a guy with yellow teeth who tried to hit on me.
I’d sat there while the light outside the small window darkened. Louis and his wife went home to ‘feed the kids and get them in bed.’ Because there was ‘not much we can do hanging around here.’
He’d ignored me, not saying one word or even acknowledging I was there. It suited me just fine.
I’d sat there while patients were stretchered in and then wheeled out again. While weary nurses clocked off and new, fresh ones arrived.
It had been after midnight when they let his parents in to see him. He was stable, they’d said. But it was touch and go. He’d sustained a massive head wound, the sharp edge of the horses hoof splitting his head open as easily as if it were a ripe tomato. They’d closed the wound and weren’t overly worried about it. His brain was the main concern. They’d put him in an induced coma to give it time to heal and for the swelling to go down.
“Only time will tell,” they said.
How much time though they couldn’t say.
I sighed, turning the shower off. As much as I’d love to stay in here all day I had things I needed to do. I hadn’t seen Bee or mum for two days and mum said she kept asking for me. She wouldn’t understand where I was, why I had disappeared. As much as I liked to think Albert needed me, he didn’t. Not really. Not right now anyway. But my sister does so I will spend a few hours with her until mum gets home and then head back to Albert. I text mum to tell her she doesn’t need to rush home from work and she texts back that she will put in some overtime then, earn a little extra.
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