‘I’ll go too,’ Samantha said. ‘I could really do with brushing my teeth.’
‘Good idea.’ Jaddi fell into step beside her as Lizzie rushed ahead.
‘What is it about women and toilets?’ Ben said. ‘I’ll just wait here by myself then, shall I?’
‘Yep.’ Jaddi laughed without turning around.
‘Doesn’t the camera bother you?’ Samantha asked. She risked a glance behind her, relieved to see Ben lowering the camera to his waist and switching it off.
‘Not really.’ Jaddi shrugged.
‘But all those people who’ll be watching us. It’s a touch voyeuristic, don’t you think? People turning on their TVs to watch our every move.’
‘It is a bit weird, but you’re overthinking it. Forget about the camera, that’s what I’m planning to do. At best, Ben will be like an annoying older brother tagging along,’ Jaddi said, throwing a glance over her shoulder and smiling at Ben. ‘I know it’s not perfect, but don’t think about how much better it would be without the camera. It’s because of the camera that we’re here. I promise you, in a few days it won’t even factor in to your thoughts.’
‘I’ll try, I guess,’ she said, the doubt palpable in her voice.
‘Hey,’ Jaddi said, nudging her elbow against Samantha’s side. ‘Do you think Lizzie’s got Bangkok belly already?’
Samantha laughed as she pushed open the toilet door and stepped into the white, tiled restroom. ‘I don’t see how, we’ve only—’ Samantha stopped talking, her eyes registering Lizzie’s body, slumped on the floor by a row of sinks. ‘Lizzie!’ Samantha gasped, diving towards her. ‘Are you OK?’
Lizzie’s eyes fixed on Samantha’s. She moved her mouth, causing a gurgling noise to escape from her throat.
Terror exploded inside of Samantha, making every movement feel fumbled and out of sync as she wriggled free of her backpack and skidded onto her knees beside Lizzie.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Jaddi’s voice, loud with fear, ricocheted off the walls.
‘Lizzie, can you hear me? What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ Samantha turned to look over her shoulder at Jaddi. ‘Get help!’ she half-shrieked at her as hysteria started to tighten around her vocal chords.
Before Jaddi could move, a tremor took hold of Lizzie’s body. Lizzie slumped forward onto the tiles as convulsions shuddered through her.
‘Oh God,’ Jaddi said. ‘Oh God, Oh God.’
‘Jaddi, snap out of it and get some help!’ Samantha shouted again.
Jaddi pulled her eyes away from Lizzie’s shaking body and stared at Samantha before jumping to her feet and dashing for the door.
Samantha watched her go, wanting to scream after her, I told you this would happen. I told you. This is your fault. Instead, she clenched her teeth together and turned back to Lizzie’s still-convulsing body.
CHAPTER 7
Samantha
Lizzie’s body continued to shudder and shake in disjointed movements as Jaddi flew back into the restroom. It seemed to Samantha, helplessly watching Lizzie – elbows bolted to her side, her hands twisted into deformed fists – as though a demon had found its way into Lizzie’s body and was fighting with all its might to get out.
‘I said get help!’ Samantha shouted, the hysteria, a cyclone in her throat. ‘Where’s the help?’
‘I got Ben,’ Jaddi half panted, dropping down beside Lizzie and avoiding Samantha’s gaze. As Jaddi spoke, Ben stepped through the door, camera on shoulder. The same fluid movements from the terminal now shortened in the small rectangular restroom, but still slow, still even. I’m here to capture the story, not be part of it, that’s what he’d told them on the plane. Why had Jaddi thought he’d help? Why had she not run across the airport, screaming for help until an army of people rushed to her side? All of a sudden the space around them closed in. What now? Samantha didn’t want to leave Lizzie’s side, but what choice did she have?
‘Shit, her lips are turning blue,’ Jaddi said. ‘We have to do something.’ A sob left her mouth as she reached her arms out towards Lizzie’s juddering legs.
‘Don’t touch her,’ Ben said from behind them, his voice calm and in control, slicing through the panic swarming through Samantha. She turned her face towards him. In one move, Ben placed the camera onto the floor and hopped over to Jaddi, pulling her up and away from Lizzie.
‘What are you doing?’ Jaddi cried out, shrugging off his hands.
‘She’s having a seizure, you can’t hold her,’ Ben said, taking Jaddi’s place beside Lizzie.
‘But she keeps banging her shoulder on the tiles,’ Jaddi said. ‘It must be hurting her. I can help.’
‘No, you can’t. You’d do a lot more damage by holding her.’ Ben pulled off his jumper and slid it under Lizzie’s head as a current continued to shake her body. ‘All we can do is cushion her head.’
‘How do you know?’ Samantha asked, not bothering to hide the accusation in her tone.
‘My brother has epilepsy,’ he said before leaning closer to Lizzie. ‘Lizzie, you’re having a seizure. It’s OK. It’ll be over in a minute. Hang in there. You’re going to be fine.’
‘Can she hear us?’ Jaddi asked from behind them.
‘I don’t know. My brother always says he can, but every seizure is different, and it affects people differently.’
Something in Ben’s tone loosened the fear gripping Samantha. She pulled in a breath and watched Lizzie’s jerking movements begin to slow. ‘I think it’s stopping,’ she said.
‘Let’s give it a minute and wait for her to come around before we alert the airport staff,’ Ben said, as if reading the question in Samantha’s head before she’d had a chance to ask it. ‘That way she won’t come out of it to a bathroom full of people. There’s nothing a doctor can do for her right now.’
Time passed. A minute, then two. No one spoke. Samantha could hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears. She glanced at Ben’s camera, still in its position on the floor, the light on the side glowing red. It was still recording, she realised, fighting the urge to stand up and step out of the way. Whether she liked it or not, she was part of this documentary, and nothing would make her leave Lizzie’s side.
‘She’s opening her eyes.’ Jaddi leaned in and placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. ‘Lizzie, can you hear me?’
Lizzie’s pupils narrowed into focus as she stared between the three of them, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. It was the same look Samantha had seen on Lizzie’s face the morning of her first radiotherapy treatment last autumn.
‘You’re all right, Lizzie. You had a seizure,’ Ben said.
Lizzie’s face softened, tears formed a wall of water over her pupils but she continued to stare at them in turn.
‘I’ll get her some water,’ Jaddi said, scrambling to her feet.
‘She needs to speak first, before you can give it to her,’ Ben called after her. ‘In case she’s still seizing and we don’t know it. If she is, the water could go straight into her lungs and choke her,’ he explained as he stood up.
‘Oh, right.’ Jaddi knelt back down and ran a hand over Lizzie’s hair. ‘Can you hear me, Liz? Please say something.’
‘Umm.’ Lizzie blinked and touched her hand to the back of her head. ‘What happened?’
‘You had a seizure.’ Samantha swallowed the lump in her throat but could do nothing to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto the sleeve of Lizzie’s top. ‘We found you on the floor in the toilets.’ Samantha lifted her head to Jaddi and Ben. ‘I’ll go and get help,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
‘No, I’ll go,’ Jaddi said, already springing to her feet again.
‘I don’t need any help,’ Lizzie mumbled as the door to the bathroom swung shut.
‘You do, I’m afraid.’ Ben stepped towards the doorway. ‘You need to be seen by a doctor.’
Horror printed on Lizzie’s face. ‘Don’t make me go to hospital.’ Her eyes shot to Samantha. ‘Please
.’ Her voice, croaky from the seizure, broke at the end, so it came out ‘plea’.
Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha sensed Ben stepping back, his movements fluid once more, hoisting the camera into the air and resting it back onto his shoulder. At that moment Samantha didn’t care about the camera, or the thousands of people that would see her kneeling on the floor of an airport toilets crying her eyes out. All she cared about was getting Lizzie to a hospital, whether Lizzie wanted to go or not.
CHAPTER 8
Lizzie
‘How did you forget?’ Samantha asked for the fifth time in as many minutes. She paced the hospital room, throwing her hands about as she spoke.
‘I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know how I forgot, I just did.’ A layer of treacle covered Lizzie’s thoughts. She tried to explain through the pain radiating across her temples. Every millimetre of her head hurt. The innermost part of her brain pounded rhythmically outwards, whilst the outside of her skull, neck and shoulders ached, she guessed from hitting the floor. ‘I lost track of time on the flight. I meant to take them when we landed, but then it was too late.’
Lizzie didn’t mention to Samantha that the medication took her on a merry-go-round, spinning her endlessly around and around. Or the fact that until her face had smacked against the cool tiles of the airport toilets, she’d thought they were an impotent gesture, prescribed by Dr Habibi because he didn’t know what else to do for her.
It hadn’t crossed her mind that she’d actually have a seizure, and spend the first day of her around-the-world adventure in a hospital bed. A burst of colours filled the room. Red and blue hues floated across her eyes adding to the fog and the pain.
‘Every twelve hours, Lizzie,’ Samantha said. ‘Not fourteen hours. Not eighteen. You could have been seriously hurt. What if you’d been standing up and cracked your head open on the sink? What if—’
‘I know,’ Lizzie cut in, wincing as the sound of her voice sent a fresh wave of pain through her head. ‘I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m fine.’
‘Okaaay.’ The doctor who’d taken her blood pressure returned to the room, dragging out the ‘a’ sound for a few beats. ‘How are you feeling, Miss Appleton?’
‘Good.’ She nodded, forcing herself to smile through the nausea that sprung up from her head movement. ‘Really good.’
‘I am pleased to hear it. All of your vitals are also good, but we would like to keep you in overnight for observation, and send you for an MRI scan in the morning. This is to make sure nothing has changed, based on what you’ve said about your tumour. Depending on the results of the scan, we may also need to do a lumbar puncture and an EEG.’
He spoke English with a clipped accuracy, pronouncing every syllable with a slight American twang. It made her think of Dr Habibi, her neurologist in London. In the twenty-six years he’d been her doctor, his Persian accent hadn’t softened at all.
‘No.’ Lizzie sat up in bed, and the movement caused the pain in her head to resonate through her body. The colourful blotches turned black, casting the room into shadow. She resisted the urge to scrunch her eyes shut and flop back onto the pillow. Staying overnight in hospital was not an option, and an MRI was out of the question. ‘I really just want to go to our hostel. I forgot to take my anti-seizure medication. It won’t happen again.’
‘Too right it won’t,’ Samantha chided from beside the bed.
If every single one of her muscles didn’t hurt, Lizzie would have reached over to Samantha and squeezed her hand. Samantha’s mothering tone was her way of coping, of regaining control. However hard the seizure had been to go through – conscious but unable to focus, aware but unable to control – it would’ve been just as hard for Samantha and Jaddi to watch.
‘Still,’ the doctor, whose name she’d already forgotten, began, ‘seizures put a lot of stress on the body. Postictal symptoms of a seizure can develop up to forty-eight hours afterwards. You may develop drowsiness, become confused, nauseous, or have another seizure. It would be better if you stayed here so that we can monitor your condition. If you still feel well after your MRI tomorrow, then you can go.’
Lizzie turned her head to Jaddi, who was sitting bolt upright in a chair on the other side of the bed. She looked pale, her features strained. Lizzie hoped her eyes conveyed her silent plea to Jaddi for help, but her movements felt sluggish, as if she was commanding her body to do things through a faulty connection.
‘Excuse me, Doctor Chang … sun … en.’ Jaddi smiled and stood up, stepping towards the doctor and smoothing out the creases in her vest top.
He returned the smile and nodded, before correcting her pronunciation: ‘Chang-sung-noen.’
‘Doctor Chang-sung-noen, it’s taken so much for us to travel to your beautiful country. I’m sure you can understand why Lizzie doesn’t want to stay cooped up in a hospital bed. We’ll take care of her. We’ll make sure she rests for a couple of days. If there’s even the slightest hint that she is unwell, we’ll bring her straight back.’
‘No late-night parties?’ he said.
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Okaaay. It’s your choice. I will start the process. Bear with me, please.’ He clasped his hands behind his back and strode away.
The blotches disappeared from Lizzie’s vision. She sighed and looked around her. Her surroundings were just like every other hospital room she’d stayed in – plain walls, polished floors, monitors on tripods with wheels – but when she closed her eyes she could hear Bangkok City buzzing around outside: the high-pitched whir of motorbike engines; horns honking in urgent beeps. She craved to be among the noise.
Lizzie opened her eyes, her gaze falling to Ben, leaning against the wall in the corner. He’d moved his camera down and held it just above the belt of his combat trousers. She couldn’t tell if he was filming them or watching footage he’d filmed earlier. Her seizure, no doubt.
He looked up and met her stare, the corners of his mouth moving into a slight smile. It softened his features, and for the first time, Lizzie noticed a concern in his brown eyes, amplified by the thick rims of his glasses.
She wanted to be angry at him for filming her seizure. Did the man have no decency? But the anger wasn’t there. Only his voice was there, in her head. Deep and calm. Hang in there. You’re going to be fine. Was it a coincidence that the seizure had loosened its grip on her the moment he’d spoken? Or had his words penetrated through the seizure, freeing her from its depths?
When she’d first registered his presence, kneeling on the floor beside her, she’d tried to respond. The question had formed in her mind, but had lost its way, so she hadn’t asked him, How do you know? ‘Holy cow,’ Jaddi said, weaving around a flatbed filled with large sacks of rice. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever sweated this much in my life.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Samantha muttered from the other side of Lizzie.
‘No.’ Jaddi shook her head. ‘Seriously, this heat is crazy. Look at me! I’m sweltering.’
‘How dare you say that to us?!’ Samantha narrowed her eyes as Jaddi tied the bottom of her top into a knot, exposing a toned stomach. ‘You, I will admit, are glowing somewhat in the heat, but us on the other hand –’ Samantha waved a finger between herself and Lizzie, and smiled ‘– look as if we’ve been swimming. My hair is dripping.’
‘Thanks for the compliment, Sam.’ Lizzie laughed, grateful, for once, for her cropped hair, as the excitement of their trip wound its way back through her. ‘Hopefully we’ll acclimatise tomorrow.’
Against the protests from Samantha and Jaddi, Lizzie had insisted that they walk the fifteen minutes to their hostel. She’d needed to absorb something that wasn’t white tiles, toilets, taxis, or hospital rooms. And seeing Bangkok, alive with lights and people in the early evening was exactly what she’d had in mind.
The oppressive humidity had hit them the moment they’d stepped out of the hospital, as if they’d walked fully clothed, backpacks on, into a sauna, the dense air and sweat
soaking them in minutes. The humidity had been a shock, but it was nothing compared to the city streets. Four lanes of cars, buses and motorbikes crawled in both directions, the gritty petrol smell of exhaust fumes adding to the stifling air. Noise bombarded them from every direction: the hum of the engines; the clattering of the old buses; the pip pop of the motorbikes; music blaring from radios; car horns; people shouting; shop owners heckling. And yet, through the noise, the throbbing of her headache lessened with every step.
‘Er, hello?’ Jaddi laughed. ‘My hair has quadrupled in size.’ Jaddi lifted a lock of hair up and frowned.
‘That’s true.’ Samantha grinned. ‘Shame the camera’s not on to film it.’ Samantha shot a glance back towards Ben, walking a pace behind them.
When they’d cut down a side road, Ben’s camera had gained him an entourage of young teenage boys, appearing from nowhere, keen to learn what he was doing in their broken English, keener still to touch the lens and try to hold the camera. Ben had been forced to stow the camera away in his bag, something Samantha had delighted in.
‘Hey look, there’s a street market,’ Jaddi said, pointing into a narrow street crammed with stalls and colourful merchandise stretching for as far as they could see and lit by startling neon lights. ‘Wow, it looks amazing! We have to come back tomorrow for a look around.’
‘Why wait?’ Lizzie grinned, already moving towards the crowds and stepping into the street, her eyes feasting on the vast colours and quantity of items now surrounding them. The energy of the city was seeping through her skin and igniting inside her. She sensed Jaddi and Samantha beside her, absorbing the buzzing market that seemed to be enticing them into its depths. The air simmered with whiffs of spices and meats that made Lizzie’s stomach gurgle.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ Samantha touched Lizzie’s arm.
Lizzie glanced back at Ben.
He heaved the strap of his camera bag further onto his shoulder – so that it rested on the cushioned strap of his rucksack – and scowled.
One Endless Summer Page 5