I’d decided to stay the night at the hospital since my ride home had long gone and I couldn’t face finding my way back by public transport in the dark. For all I knew, I’d already missed the last bus anyway. Mum would be back in the morning. I only hoped that Ella didn’t worry where I’d got to. I had told her before school of my plan to stay for a chat with Dad, so I kept my fingers crossed that she would put two and two together and work out where I was. I’d wondered about getting Dad to send a coded text message to Ella via Mum, but I couldn’t come up with anything suitable.
I slipped out through the open door of the ward into the corridor, narrowly avoiding running into, and thus being repelled by, a young orderly pushing a trolley of linen. Having nothing better to do, and with him conveniently opening all the doors for me, I decided to follow. But after a few twists and turns through the sterile maze, he stopped at a lift. I decided against following him inside for fear of too many obstacles blocking my route back to Dad.
The dull silver doors slid shut. I peered down the empty corridor, its pale walls bare but for the black rubber stripe of a handrail running along them. Night or day, the light would always be the same here on this windowless stretch: bright and artificial, courtesy of fluorescent tubes hidden behind dusty ceiling diffusers. I couldn’t help but think of the corridor or tunnel that people who’d had near-death experiences often described. This was close to how I’d always imagined it. But there was no alluring glow at the end – just a ninety-degree turn, beyond which was no doubt more of the same.
I was about to head back when I heard the faint sound of sobbing coming from beyond the corner. The investigative streak I’d honed as a journalist wouldn’t let me ignore it, so I continued down the corridor and around the bend. There I spotted a waiflike young woman sitting in a closed doorway. She was dressed in only a thin nightdress and her bare arms, skinny and pale, were hugging her raised knees as she cried into them.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked instinctively. No sooner had the words left my mouth than her head snapped up, revealing bloodshot eyes. She threw me a deranged glare.
I took a step backwards. ‘You can see me?’
The girl, who looked to be in her late teens, sprang to her feet with inhuman speed and snarled like a wild cat, her mad eyes beaming pure hatred at me. She was terrifying.
‘Whoa there,’ I said, holding my arms up defensively and backing up two more steps. ‘Easy now. You’re a spirit too, right? I didn’t mean to startle you. I just heard you crying and—’
The girl snarled loudly again, baring a set of spiky yellow teeth that further intensified my fear. It looked like she’d been human once, although that must have been some time ago. There was little evidence in her soulless eyes.
‘Listen, I don’t want any trouble,’ I said, hoping she understood. ‘What I’m going to do is keep walking slowly away from you, okay? Very slowly. Let’s forget we ever ran into each other. Yes? No harm done.’
There was a banging noise further down the corridor, which caught her attention, and as she turned back to see what it was I saw my opportunity and raced for the corner, desperate to escape. I ran back the way I’d come, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t follow me; not daring to look over my shoulder to check.
When I saw the closed door up ahead, barring my way, I felt panic land on my shoulders and start coiling itself around my throat. Convinced she was right behind me, but still not daring to look, I wondered what awful thing was about to happen.
I heard a pinging sound. Out of the lift walked the orderly I’d followed here, now apparently on his return journey.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, shuffling into his slipstream and following him through the door. Only once I’d heard it swing shut behind me did I dare to look back through the glass panel. Nothing. She wasn’t there. My panic eased as I kept up with the orderly and he led me back to Dad’s ward.
Why had I been so scared of that girl? It was partly down to the shock of witnessing her transform from a fragile teen to something so animalistic. Arthur had warned me about how some spirits eventually lost their minds, but hearing about it and seeing it for myself were two altogether different things.
But what harm could she have done to me?
I was snapped out of my introspection by the sight of Dad waving his good hand at me from across the ward.
‘Easy, Dad,’ I said after reaching his bedside. ‘People will start wondering about you if you carry on like that. To them it looks like you’re waving at thin air.’
He shrugged in a way that said he couldn’t care less; rather than arguing with him, I asked if he’d enjoyed his food.
Delicious! he typed on his phone screen, a wry smile confirming the intended irony.
‘Oh well. Better than nothing, I suppose.’
Dad indicated that he wasn’t too sure. Where did you go? he asked.
‘Just down the corridor. Nowhere exciting.’
Glad you’re back. Sorry about before, but had to be sure.
I could see tears in Dad’s eyes as he paused, lowering his phone to the bed, before looking intently at me. ‘Love … you … son,’ he enunciated in a slow whisper, his face screwed up in intense concentration. It was the clearest I’d heard him speak since the stroke.
‘I know, Dad,’ I replied, my voice wavering. ‘I love you too and I love being able to talk to you again.’
I decided on the spot to come clean about the big dilemma I was facing and to seek his advice, but he got in there first.
Need to ask you something, he keyed into the phone.
‘Sure. What is it?’
What’s up with Lauren and your mum?
‘What do you mean?’
Just a feeling. Especially Lauren. She got angry the other day. Ann sent her away. Why?
‘Um, have you asked Mum?’ I said, dodging the question. I was very conscious that she thought the truth wouldn’t be good for Dad’s recovery.
He shook his head. I’m asking you. Please.
‘Um, I’m not sure where you’re coming from. Why do you think there’s something wrong? What have they said to give you that impression?’
It was no good. Dad was on to me. He’d had years of experience sniffing out the truth in his professional life as a solicitor. He also knew how to read his son’s body language. He looked at me like I was a child caught doing something naughty. There was no hiding from those probing eyes of his. I lasted about another minute before caving in and telling him what he wanted to know.
All I had to say was that they’d found his other mobile phone – the clamshell – and the colour drained from his face. What do they know? he asked.
‘Only what they’ve read in the text messages they found.’
Have they used it?
‘Um. What do you mean?’ I wasn’t sure how much to tell him.
Have they called the number?
‘I, er—’
Dad’s eyes widened with fear. His breathing quickened and his left hand started to shake. He had a wild air about him, like a man on the edge, which his twisted features exacerbated. I’d never seen him like this before. Mum had been right not to say anything.
‘Calm down, Dad,’ I said. ‘Lauren tried it a couple of times but never got through to anyone. She has no idea who this X person is. None of us have.’
Does Ella know?
‘No, of course not. This isn’t something for a six-year-old, is it?’
His relief at that small piece of good news was barely visible through the mask of horror encasing his face.
‘Come on, Dad,’ I said. ‘You must have seen this coming. You must have realized Mum would find that other phone.’
Thought was hidden, he tapped into his mobile.
I shook my head. ‘You had it with you when you had your stroke. Mum found it when she was looking through your things that night. She was devastated, obviously, but decided not to say anything until you were better. She put your recovery first.’
Tears were pouring down Dad’s face now. It was a hard sight to witness, but I held my gaze. He’d always been there to pour glue into the cracks in my life; now it was my turn to be strong for him.
‘Whatever you’ve done and whoever you’ve done it with, Dad, it’s not too late to sort things out. Mum’s standing by you, despite what she knows. She loves you so much. We all do. We can get through this.’
He was looking away from me, but I could see that the tears were still flowing.
I sighed, knowing what I had to say to him. ‘Look, I don’t approve of what you’ve done, Dad. How could I when I know how much it’s hurt Mum? But I don’t judge you for it. I know … how easy it is to be tempted. I’ve been there too. It was only the once – and I’ve regretted it every day since – but I thought it was important to tell you. I hoped it might help.’
Dad turned slowly back to face me. He fixed his red eyes on mine and stared into them, barely blinking, for an uncomfortably long time. An eerie calmness had descended on him. I tried to figure out what he might be thinking, but I hadn’t got a clue. Finally he tapped a new message into his mobile. You cheated on Alice?
I nodded. ‘When she was pregnant with Ella. It was a girl from work: Suzie, she was called. All very clichéd and pathetic. It’s the biggest regret of my life. You’re the only person I’ve ever told, apart from that grief counsellor Mum persuaded me to see.’
He gave me a sad look, took a deep breath and then typed: I’ve done much worse.
‘What do you mean?’
At that moment a nurse walked up to the end of the bed.
‘How are we doing?’ she asked Dad. ‘One of the other patients said you looked a bit upset.’
‘Am … fine,’ Dad managed to say.
‘You do look a bit worked up. You’ve had that mobile phone glued to your hand ever since my shift started. How about we put it away for a bit and you get some rest?’
Before Dad could argue otherwise, she snatched it from him. ‘I’ll turn it off, shall I? We don’t want it ringing in the night and waking everyone up.’
She slipped the powered-down phone into one of the drawers in Dad’s bedside cabinet and moved on to another patient.
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘How are we supposed to talk now? You were about to say something, weren’t you? Is that pad and pen still around?’
Dad shook his head and indicated that he’d had enough.
‘Okay, I’ll give you time to think. We can chat again tomorrow. I’m going to hang around, anyway, as there’s no easy way for me to get home now.’
It wasn’t long before Dad fell asleep. Once they dimmed the lights on the ward, I dropped off too, slumped in the chair next to his bed.
I was dreaming of being eight years old again and racing up and down the village on my new blue and white BMX when I was woken by the sound of a woman screaming. The first thing I noticed was that the lights on the ward were still dimmed; the digital wall clock facing me read 4.42 a.m. Then I turned to look at Dad and saw that the bed next to me was empty. His ‘geriatric’ walking frame was also missing.
The screaming hadn’t stopped.
‘Dad?’ I shouted, springing to my feet and running for the open doorway of the ward, towards the brightly lit corridor and the awful sound of that never-ending shriek.
‘Dad? Where are you?’ I shouted again, a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach.
I ran into the corridor just as two night staff sprinted past and sent me careering along the polished vinyl floor.
That was when I saw the pool of blood.
CHAPTER 25
THIRTEEN DAYS LEFT
‘What the hell have you done, Dad?’ I bellowed over the other voices.
More and more hospital staff gathered outside the lavatory, their feet splashing in the blood, spreading it further across the corridor. Doing my best to stay out of their way, I watched as they banged on the locked door and called out to whoever was on the other side. I already knew it was my father. There was never any doubt in my mind, but it took them a few minutes to work it out from a sweep of the nearby wards.
‘For God’s sake, Dad. Let them in to help you.’
I called out to him again and again without getting any reply. I prayed that was a good thing: a sign he was unconscious but still alive. And yet I had visions of him standing in there as a spirit, staring at his dead body. If that was the case, though, why wasn’t he answering me?
‘Why haven’t you idiots got the door open yet?’ I shouted at the staff. They’d managed to unlock it, but something was blocking the way and they couldn’t open it more than a few centimetres. It was enough to let yet more blood escape. The sheer amount of the stuff seeping out of there terrified me.
A doctor had appeared by this time. A tall nerdy chap, who looked barely old enough to be qualified, he seemed clueless about how to proceed. Fortunately, he’d called one of his superiors and, when she turned up, things finally got moving. A slight woman in her late thirties, she pulled out her mobile phone, squeezed her arm through the gap and took a photo of the scene on the other side of the door. I’d already prepared myself for the worst, but it wasn’t enough. I cried out in horror as I caught sight of the image on her screen. It revealed the obstruction to be Dad’s lifeless, blood-soaked body slumped on the floor, a gaping wound in his neck.
‘We need to get in there,’ she said. ‘Right now.’ She instructed some of the others to push the door as hard they could, widening the gap just enough for her to slip inside.
‘You selfish bastard,’ I said as his body was lifted on to a trolley and wheeled away.
I found myself bouncing between shock and anger as I fought to get my head around what Dad had done to himself. Once everyone on the ward was asleep and no nurses in sight, he’d used the walking frame to get to the lavatory. There, in a chilling act of vicious desperation, he’d used the pair of nail scissors Mum had left behind yesterday to stab himself in the neck, severing a carotid artery and painting the room crimson.
It didn’t feel real, despite the horrendous image of his corpse seared into my mind. I couldn’t comprehend how anyone, never mind my own father, could willingly do something so brutal to themselves. It must have required immense determination. There can’t have been any doubt in his mind. He’d even stuffed paper towels under the door to slow his gushing blood’s inevitable path on to the corridor, ensuring the alarm wasn’t raised too soon. Blocking the door with the huge bulk of his body had sealed the deal. He was long gone by the time the doctor reached him.
What I didn’t understand was where his spirit had gone. As soon as I was certain he was dead, I called out to him. ‘Dad, where are you? What the hell have you done? At least have the guts to face me. Tell me why you did it. You owe me that.’
There was no answer. I tried various approaches – from angry to conciliatory – but it made no difference. No matter how many times I wandered up and down the corridor or how thoroughly I scoured the ward, he was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t understand it.
Dad had blindsided me. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of this in a million years. It was incomprehensible. Yes, he was upset about his affair being discovered, but surely not enough to want to take his own life. Why then? Because of the stroke? Because of seeing his dead son? It didn’t add up.
I thought back to his words last night: ‘I’ve done much worse.’ What had he meant? What had he done more terrible than my cheating on Alice?
Then the guilt started. How could I have allowed this to happen? How did I sleep through the whole thing? Why had I gone against Mum’s wishes and told him that she and Lauren knew about the affair?
It was nearly 8 a.m. when Mum arrived at the hospital. She looked dreadful: her unmade-up face a sickly grey colour; her eyes wild with anxiety. I’d half expected Lauren to come with her, but that would have meant bringing Ella too, which they’d obviously decided against. I was glad. The earlier chaos might have abated, but this was still no place for a c
hild. I hoped she was unaware of the latest tragedy.
Whoever had phoned had obviously not disclosed any details of what had happened. ‘Where is he?’ Mum asked immediately. ‘What on earth’s going on?’
The sister she’d spoken to the other day had come on duty. She ushered Mum into her office, steering well clear of the cordoned-off lavatory and the meeting room where police were interviewing the night staff. She offered her a chair, but Mum declined. ‘I want to see my husband. What’s going on? The man I spoke to on the phone wouldn’t tell me anything; I’m worried to death. I need to know. Has he had another stroke?’
‘Please take a seat, Mrs Curtis. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’
Mum slapped her palms down on the desk. ‘No! I’m not sitting down. What is it? Tell me.’
‘I’m afraid your husband died overnight. I’m very sorry.’
Mum slumped back on to the chair. She sat there in stunned silence, staring blankly ahead, like she was unable to process the information.
‘Can I get you something, Mrs Curtis?’ the sister asked. ‘A glass of water?’
‘Dead?’ Mum said. ‘How?’
The sister fidgeted on the other side of the desk, her eyes searching the room as if the right thing to say next might be hidden somewhere in there. She cleared her throat. ‘There will, um, obviously have to be a full investigation into what happened. However, at this stage all indications point towards your husband having taken his own life. I really am sorry.’
‘What?’ Mum snapped. ‘What did you say?’
‘Mr Curtis was found by one of our night staff. By the time we got to him, it was already too late.’
‘This can’t be real,’ Mum said, shaking her head. ‘I feel like I’m still dreaming.’
‘I’m afraid it is real.’
‘I don’t understand. How could it happen? I mean, I thought you were supposed to be looking after him. How—’
‘Of course I can give you more details, Mrs Curtis. But it will be distressing for you. What about I get you that glass of water first?’
Time to Say Goodbye Page 19