The Paramedic's Daughter

by Tara Lyons

  I shake my head, wishing that the action would somehow explain what I mean. It doesn’t.

  ‘It’s… I-It’s…’ I clear my throat and pull my shoulders back in an attempt to sort myself out.

  Jesus. Shit. Fuck.

  How did I not realise earlier? What the hell is wrong with me?

  ‘I know her… the patient,’ I say while pushing my way into the back of the ambulance. ‘Her name is Sadie Malone.’

  Chapter 31

  It’s strange how the last hour has whizzed by me so fast, yet everything also feels like it’s in slow motion.

  I’m sitting in the corridor of the hospital, just outside the cubicle Sadie was rushed into. Sadie Malone. Wow.

  It’s hardly surprising that I didn’t recognise Patrick’s wife at first. It’s been a long time. Yet, the moment I realised it was her, how could I have worked on her injuries and not known? She looked just as beautiful as she always did – despite the violent car accident. Flawless skin, with make-up so perfect I never could understand how she applied it in such a way that made her look… well, perfect. Hair still as golden as the sun on a summer’s day, just as it always was; not a touch of grey or darkened roots. The petite figure of a woman who you would think attended spinning classes every single goddamn day. I clearly remember Patrick telling me his wife was more interested in strolling around museums and galleries than pounding the running machines or bicycles in a gym.

  Sadie is the total opposite of me. In looks and personality.

  Who knows what urged me to jump in that ambulance with her? It was an automatic response, and not because I care if she’s okay. That sounds awful, I know. You have to remember that this woman has the life I should have had. The only logical reason for coming with the paramedics, and Sadie, is because I knew someone at the hospital would contact Patrick. My body has only just caught up with my mind, so apparently, I do in fact know exactly what urged me to come with them. He’s the person I was looking for. I wanted his address. Sadie was sent to me as a sign. This is how I’ll find Rose.

  I’m not completely heartless. I’m sorry that Sadie had to be hurt, again because of me, but nothing comes before my daughter, my best friend.

  Despite enlightening the nursing team that I’m a paramedic from London, they are refusing to let me in to see Sadie. I have to wait for her husband, so I’ve been told.

  The more I think about what I need to do, the less I want Patrick here. The nerves tingling inside my body are making me feel like a teenager on my first day at school, wanting to walk through the classroom door and embrace my future, while at the same time wanting to relinquish all responsibility, run home and enjoy a duvet day. Ha! There’re no fucking duvet days in a grown-up world. I need to bite the bullet.

  Sadie was never the sign, the beacon to bring Patrick to me. She’s the answer to all of this. It’s Sadie I need to be honest with; she needs to know about Rose.

  A doctor and nurse breeze through the blue curtain of Sadie’s cubicle, pulling the starchy material back behind them, discussing the woman’s positive progress and reactions. She’s not unconscious any more. It’s now or never. I feel like Bambi – in that scene when the poor thing is learning to walk on the ice for the first time. Like a fawn who can barely stumble ahead of itself, and my feet – as heavy as blocks of cement – seem unhappy about the move I’m making.

  I have to tell Sadie the truth.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ His voice is low, the words are said through gritted teeth, and his breath is hot on my skin.

  Without thinking, I exhale a large puff of air, almost as if I’ve been saved by the bell. Am I really not ready to tell the truth?

  Patrick grabs my arm; his large fingers protrude into my flesh so tightly that I yelp as he drags me to the fire exit opposite us. None of the staff milling about the ward bat an eyelid.

  ‘They said she was helped by an off-duty paramedic,’ he sneers, and releases me with a small shove, but big enough to make me cascade into the grey brick wall of the stairwell. ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be you. What the fuck are you doing back here?’

  The venom in his words. The spit that ejects from his mouth. The darkness in his eyes.

  I can’t pinpoint what it is exactly, but there’s something in Patrick that alights the fire within me; only this time, it’s not a blaze of passion. It’s of hate.

  ‘How dare you?’ The veins in my neck contract as my temper blows like an unstable volcano. ‘You know exactly why I’m here. I want to know where Rose is, and I want to know now.’

  For a minute, Patrick genuinely looks taken aback. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  And there he is, the lying Mr Malone I know… and loved. He has no power over me now. I won’t let him manipulate me, control me, not again. I march towards him with my finger pointing and say, ‘I know your affairs haven’t stopped with my daughter, you disgusting piece of shit. I saw you with Rose’s housemate.’

  ‘Sheetal,’ he replies, a little too quickly, and from the low groan and closed eyes, it’s obvious he didn’t mean to get caught out so easily.

  ‘Ha! Yes, Sheetal, you flaming idiot. You’re either shagging her or blackmailing her.’

  ‘Blackmailing her? Abi, what in God’s name are you on about?’

  ‘She knows where Rose is. You’ve told her not to tell me. She’s obeyed your order like all good students do, and that’s either because she’s infatuated with you or because you’ve got dirt on her that you’ve promised to tell all.’

  ‘Abi, listen–’

  ‘I saw you with your son too. Dylan.’ I spit out his name, the anger fully taking over my body. I can’t see a way of stopping. ‘If I’m wrong about Sheetal, then… then it’s Dylan. You and he are in cahoots. You’ve done something to my Rose. You’ve harmed her and… and… he didn’t look very happy when I saw him with you. Come on, I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me, Patrick. Tell me I’m right.’

  The tears come, slightly unexpectedly. What do I expect when I allow my emotions to take over like that? The air in the corridor is suffocating and I can’t help crouching down, my fingertips resting on the floor help me balance, and I inhale as though I’m an asthmatic.

  ‘Jesus Christ, woman, get up,’ Patrick says, and pulls me again. The same spot of skin as before. It feels tender. I’ll bruise, I’m sure. ‘Stop doing this. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you need to get out of here,’ he continues. I won’t budge. ‘I need to see Sadie and you need to leave.’

  He yells the final word; there’s something in his tone of voice. Sadness? Regret? I can’t be sure. ‘What happened? Please just tell me and I’ll go.’ I can certainly hear the begging tone in my own voice.

  Patrick releases me. The look of a cartoon raging bull returns to his reddened face. ‘Fine, look, you’re right about Dylan. Not Sheetal.’

  ‘Right about what? Dylan’s hurt Rose? What’s he done to her? I swear to God, if he’s hurt her I’ll kil–’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Abi, calm down. This isn’t an episode of Luther.’ Patrick reaches out and places a hand on the door handle; I’m unsure if it’s to stop anyone interrupting us or if he’s planning to leave and give me no further information. He would happily leave me in limbo again, give no details, no explanations. Finally, he says, ‘Dylan discovered there was something going on with me and Rose.’

  His lips turn down. He feels as sick as I do.

  ‘You mean he knows? He knows that you and Rose…’ I can’t.

  Patrick sighs. ‘I don’t exactly know what Dylan knows. He was talking in riddles, angry and confused. I’m sure he was–’

  ‘Does he know? Does he know that Rose is… is your–’

  ‘No, don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘This needs to end now, Patrick.’ I notice the beads of sweat forming at the top of his head. ‘We all need the truth to be out in the open. As despicable and’ – I swallow the bile snaking its way up my throat – ‘sickeni
ng as it is, we need to clear this mess that we… that I started.’

  A man bounces down the stairs and halts anything Patrick was about to say. The silence can actually be felt; it’s like acid on the skin, the awkwardness and fear burning deeper and deeper–

  ‘Thanks,’ the stranger says as Patrick opens the door for him.

  The interruption is annoying and uncomfortable. Wasting time. I can’t take much more of this.

  ‘Abi, I need to get inside. I need to see my wife.’ He holds up his hand, silencing me. ‘Yes, I know you need answers, and I have them. I’ll explain everything that Dylan told me. Just not here. Not now. Please.’

  ‘I’m not leaving, Patrick. I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere until I know–’

  ‘Okay. Alright.’ He interrupts me again, this time with an exasperated sigh. ‘Wait for me downstairs. In the car park, the small one at the side of the hospital. Let me just see Sadie and make sure she’s alright. She at least needs to know I’m here. The doctors need to know her husband hasn’t ignored their call. Okay? Can you do that?’

  I shrug. Is there really any argument to be had? Ten minutes ago, I thought I had to tell all to get what I wanted, but finally, Patrick is going to confess to what he or his bloody son has done. I’m about to get what I want: my daughter.

  ‘Okay.’

  Patrick’s irritation is clear from his flared nostrils and pinched lips. ‘Fine,’ he replies. ‘Give me twenty and I’ll meet you downstairs. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

  Chapter 32

  Patrick lied; there is no small car park at the side of the hospital. Well, there obviously used to be one here. I can see the faded white paint lines marking the bays and a broken pay and display machine is still standing, just about. It’s a disused area, a work in progress. Whatever it is, it’s giving me the creeps. When did it get so dark that the lamp posts were needed? This place, this car park, is surrounded by a metal fence, with huge trees overshadowing it, and there’s barely any light here – just the slither from the lamp posts shining around the corner. Why would Patrick tell me to wait for him here?

  He’s trying to intimidate me.

  That’s exactly what he’s up to. That bastard thinks he can freak me out like this? Thinks I won’t hang around and demand the answers he’s promised me? He can’t scare me, and he certainly can’t get rid of me. I’ll give him the precious minutes he begged for with his wife, the perfect Sadie, and that’s it. Then I’ll–

  The pain in my head is excruciating, but it’s the utter shock of what’s happening that causes my heart to beat so fast I can barely catch my breath.

  His fingers are wrapped so tightly around a clump of my hair it feels as if it’s about to be pulled from the roots. I’ve had my hair pulled, but this is different. It burns and stings and my hands automatically reach up and around in an attempt to keep the strands in place. But his fist isn’t budging. In fact, it only twists further, increasing the fire inside my skull, as he forces me forward. I’m pushed with such force that my face slams into a brick wall.

  Pushed and pulled like a rag doll.

  His hands controlling everything I do.

  I know it’s him. I don’t need to ask, and there’s no point in calling out for help; Patrick told me to meet him here for a reason. I can’t see his face. I can imagine the anger brewing in his eyes – although with the violence he’s showing against me, the anger is obviously no longer brewing.

  After all these years, Patrick still smells like Patrick. I don’t mean he’s wearing the same aftershave as when I knew him in Scotland, but I mean his smell… him. Do you know what I mean? When you know a person so well, you know everything about them – including their personal scent. It was something that used to warm me, something that used to make me feel safe when I was wrapped in his arms and feeling loved. Now it’s a smell that revolts me. It’s a smell that makes me heave. It’s unstoppable. I wretch and vomit down the wall; splatters of it bounce off the brick and land on my coat.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Abi,’ he snarls. He must think that I’m scared, that my bodily reaction to him is out of fear. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not now, but this is a warning.’

  Patrick doesn’t release my hair. He keeps me pinned to the wall, but there’s less pressure against my face and the brickwork.

  ‘W-what do you mean?’ I whisper. ‘A warning?’

  ‘Back the fuck off, Abi,’ he whispers too, right in my ear; but his whisper is filled with malice. ‘Stay away from me and my wife. And my son, for that matter, or I promise you, you will regret it.’

  ‘Patrick–’

  ‘Come near my family and…’ His fingers yank hard on my hair again. ‘Jesus Christ, Abi, why did you have to…? Stay away or I’ll fucking kill you. I mean it.’

  I would laugh at how much Patrick sounds like some macho movie villain if I didn’t believe him so much. I can hear the hate in his voice. Why? Surely I should hate him more than he hates me. What doesn’t he want me to find out so badly that he would risk this? He must know a member of the hospital staff could see us at any moment. He must know I could go to the police and report his threat. He must…

  My thoughts are thrown to another place, a darker place in my mind, and I wonder if his words are so frightening because they feel so real. Would he hurt me? Is Patrick capable of that?

  Abruptly, he loosens his grip on me, but his flattened palm remains on the back of my head, silently instructing me not to turn around. The pain in my face, from the smash against the brick wall, intensifies, and I feel the blood trickle down my cheek.

  ‘Abi, I’m leaving. Sadie wants to see her son and I’m going to collect him. You can’t still be here when we get back. You have to leave.’ Patrick’s sigh is deep and ragged. ‘I meant what I said. Leave, Abi, for your own sake.’

  There’s something in Patrick’s voice as he pushes my head away from his large hand. It’s hard to describe but it sounds malicious and nasty and… truthful. I wait until his footsteps are a distant patter on the pavement before I let the tears fall.My chest feels heavy with every laboured breath I take. Have you ever cried so much that the pain in your chest actually hurts, hurts like a sharp knife is stuck in its core? Ever cried so hard that the heavy feeling in your chest feels so real and so intense, you think you’ll be crushed by your own sadness?

  That’s exactly how I feel, because it would appear that Patrick can also be added to my growing list of people I don’t really know.

  Chapter 33

  The tears have stopped running down my cheeks, but their tracks have left a dryness – an everlasting stain on my skin – mingled with the dry blood. After I slivered down the wall like a snivelling coward, I used the sleeve of my jumper to stop the blood trickling from the cut on my head. My arse was cold at first. Now I feel nothing. I’m numb, and not just in the nether regions, but all over my body, internally and externally, physically and mentally. I feel nothing.

  I’ve been staring ahead at the trees swaying in the wind for some time. It feels like it’s been days; it hasn’t, obviously. And I haven’t really been paying much attention to the trees at all. I haven’t been paying much attention to anything. Since the terrorist attack my mind has been filled, practically bursting, with different thoughts and images: Rose running away; Rose lost or battered and left for dead; Rose and Patrick; my mother yelling at me; Rose and Patrick; Dave extending a kind hand to me (why would he do that?); Adele laughing at me for overreacting; Rose and Patrick; that girl in the saree keeping things from me, hiding the murder weapon for Dylan; Rose and Patrick; my mother being tied to the bed by the orderlies; Rose and Patrick.

  I scream, a shrill and piercing screech, as if I’m trying to expel my pain and confusion into the world like a banshee. Shit, that describes me to a tee: a wailing woman in mourning – mourning the loss of her daughter, her mother, the life she could have had, because nothing is as it was. I don’t have the same tight-knit relationship I used to h
ave with my daughter, my mother flips between knowing who I am and thinking I’m the hired help, and Sadie is living the blissful married life that I should have had. Then there’s the long unkempt hair, the pale skin, the red eyes from all the weeping. I’m a banshee.

  No! What am I doing?

  I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m letting my mind go to places that I have neither evidence nor reason. I’m telling myself I’m a mythological Irish creature, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t about me, this is about Rose – this is about my daughter and her safety, for crying out loud – and I need to pull myself together.

  Just like my mother said, I need to stop making this about me. Rose’s life has been ruined because of what I’ve done, and God knows what’s happened to her off the back of that lie.

  With the image of my mother lying in her care home bed – giving it to me straight – in my head, I pull myself up from the cold hard ground and march towards the hospital entrance. It would be so easy for me to run away, to do as Patrick warned and stay away from his family. I mean, he’s only protecting them.

  But screw him, because that’s exactly what I’m doing too.

  I refuse to run away and hide from the truth any more.

  I refuse to lie.

  With my new-found strength, I storm through the automatic doors and head for A&E, and the cubicle Sadie was in. I don’t know what state she’ll be in now, or how long it’ll be until Patrick returns with his son. I have to at least try and speak to this woman. The heavy blue curtains are still drawn, and I can’t make out if there’s anyone standing around the bed behind them. I clock the red-headed paramedic standing at the reception station and make a beeline for her.

  ‘Hi, do you remember me?’ I ask as she turns around.

  Her smile is beautiful, wide and genuine. ‘Yes, of course. Thanks for your help with the patient. Quick thinking, covering her wound and applying manual traction, but then you’re a fellow paramedic, so what else would you have done?’