Flyaway (6 page)

‘Take a sip,' she says softly, pointing to the orange liquid.

It's too orange. Too sweet.

The nurse starts talking about Dad then, says they're going to stabilise him. She explains everything carefully, giving me too much information.

‘We've called your mum,' she says. ‘She'll be here soon.'

‘How did you get the number?'

She blinks at me. ‘You told us.'

I don't remember telling her anything. She explains why there are drips in Dad's arm, what happened in the ambulance, but I can't concentrate enough to understand. I don't know how long she stays there talking to me, but it feels like a second before Mum is suddenly in the room, and Jack, and they're both hugging me. They smother me with their questions. Mum's in tears straight away. But I can't cry now. Not properly.

A doctor takes Mum out of the room to talk about Dad. I lean against Jack. It's not something I would normally do, but I'm so tired, and he doesn't pull away. I think he's trying to hold back tears, which really surprises me. I can't remember the last time I saw Jack cry. His voice sounds thin and quiet when he speaks.

‘I would have totally panicked,' he says, ‘. . . today, if it had been me there with him.'

I shut my eyes. I know I can't sleep, but I want to. I just want all this to go away. I want to pretend I'm back home, lying in my bed that cold morning before the swans arrived. There's a murmuring from Mum and the doctor talking outside. A part of me doesn't want to know what they're saying. Jack is tense, though, listening. I concentrate on the sickly sweet smell of the orange drink, the feel of the soft plastic cup in my hand.

Mum comes back in with cups of tea. I don't drink it, but it's nice to hold something warm. Nice to get rid of the sick smell of the orange liquid, too.

‘We just have to wait,' she says. ‘They're trying to stabilise
him.' Her eyes are red and puffy, and her voice barely a whisper.

‘Will he be OK?' I ask. I lean away from Jack to look at her.

She nods quickly. ‘Course.'

But she doesn't look certain.

CHAPTER 11

W
e wait there for hours. That's how it feels anyway. Soon the three of us run out of things to talk about and just sit in silence. I can't stop thinking about Dad's face in the ambulance. The panic in his eyes. I try to think about school and the swans, and even Saskia. But nothing works. Everything goes back to Dad. Another nurse comes in and asks Mum if we want to keep waiting. Mum glances at us, waits for us to nod. Then the nurse brings more cups of tea.

Jack drinks a couple of sips, then stands. ‘I need to move.' He raises his eyebrows at me, and I look at Mum.

‘I'll hold the fort,' she says. ‘Take your phones.'

I follow Jack to the normal A and E waiting room outside. There's about twenty people there. I feel their stares immediately. I try not to gawp at a girl holding her hand up
in the air, a bloodied cloth wrapped around it. There's a small huddle of people around her, talking softly. I don't want to know what they're saying, but I catch a few words anyway.

‘Accident . . . concussion. Will he be OK?'

Jack stops beside a table of magazines and flicks through them. I dig my phone deeper into my pocket when I see the signs to switch off mobiles, and keep walking around the room. There are posters about drugs and others about washing your hands. The vending machines are only half full and all the chocolate bars have gone.

I look back at Jack before I turn into a corridor. He glances up.

‘Coming?' I mouth at him.

He holds up a magazine and shakes his head.

‘I'm going back.'

I don't know why I keep going. It just feels good to move, and I want to get away; be by myself for a moment. It feels like there's something big stuck in my throat, a huge wave that's trying to gush out. I need to sit somewhere quiet. Just me. But there are no seats in this corridor. Just wide shiny floors and pale peach walls. I almost turn back. But there's an opening up ahead. Movement.

I step out into a really busy reception area. There are shops around the edge and a cafe opposite. There's a screen on the wall with loads of bus times flashing up. I stand right there in the middle of it all and blink. There are people everywhere: patients in pyjamas and nurses holding coffee cups, and kids. No one seems to notice me. No one even looks at me.

I move to a semi-circle of blue chairs, and sit in the one closest to a fake palm tree. The big plastic leaves hang down over my head and make me feel as if no one can ever find me. I peer out from under them to see the people sitting opposite. There's an old lady with a blanket, a man in a suit, and a boy about my age with a drip stand next to him. His hair sticks up and sideways like a spiky flame. It's kind of the way I want my hair to look only his is a much nicer colour than mine. It's a rusty light red; like autumn. My eyes fix on it, and I'm still staring when he looks at me. I'm too out of it to look away. I see him frown, probably trying to work out why I'm gazing at his hair. So I close my eyes, rest my head against the plastic tree trunk, and shut him out.

I can hear movement and noise all around, snatches of conversation about medical students, a plastic bag being rustled . . . someone coughing. I let it all fade into the background. I squeeze my eyes tighter shut and wait to start crying. But the tears stay inside. I just feel numb. Kind of empty.

My chair moves as someone sits in the connecting seat beside me. I can feel whoever it is wriggling around so my chair wobbles and my head jolts against the plastic trunk. I open my eyes. I'm about to turn and glare when I register who it is.

It's the boy with the drip stand. He's watching me. The skin on his face is so pale, but his eyes are huge and bright. He looks beautiful and breakable at the same time. I hope he wasn't watching me try to cry.

‘Are you OK?' he asks.

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

‘You seem kind of upset.'

I look at him more closely. Is he someone from school? Surely I'd remember someone who looks like this.

He leans back in his seat, nods at the cluster of tables and chairs in front of the cafe. ‘I've been here a while,' he says, as if it's an explanation.

He's totally relaxed, not awkward about coming up to me at all. He seems almost bored. He's quiet as he watches the other people around us then turns to look at the clear liquid in the drip bag, as if he's checking time by it.

‘Why are you here?' he asks.

It feels like the only thing I've been doing since I got here is answer questions. So why not for him? ‘My dad's sick,' I say. ‘He had some sort of heart attack thing.'

And then, for no reason at all, I feel my eyes welling up. I bite down hard on my bottom lip and force myself to stare straight ahead at the Hospital Information Desk. There's a plastic Santa on the edge of it with a little bit of tinsel around his neck. Right at that moment I want to punch it. It's too early for Christmas decorations anyway.

The boy leans towards me. He's noticed that I'm trying not to cry. He's about to say something, I'm sure of it. His face is all scrunched up as if he's feeling sorry for me. I hate it. I mean, I don't even know him. I swallow. Take a breath. I focus on the bag of liquid hanging from his drip stand. It looks like one of those plastic bags of water you carry goldfish in. And
then, because I can't think of anything else to stop what he's about to say, I ask, ‘Is that attached to you?'

He shuts his mouth, frowns. It looks like he's going to say something sympathetic anyway but instead he nods. He holds out his arm and I can see the tube that leads out from the drip stand threading up his arm and disappearing somewhere underneath his T-shirt sleeve.

‘It's just saline going in,' he says. ‘Hydration. I'll be peeing it all out in a minute.'

I've no idea what he's talking about, so I just keep looking at the tube on his arm.

He moves his wrist towards me, turns it over to show me a thick hospital band fastened there. There's writing on it.
Harry Brambling
. I guess it must be his name. He looks down at me like he wants to know mine. But I'm still too flustered by all the emotions trying to rise in my throat.

‘There's a bird called that . . . brambling . . .' I say, before I mean to. ‘They migrate from Norway.' Then I feel like an idiot.

The boy, Harry, looks at me, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. ‘A bird called Harry Brambling?'

‘It doesn't have the Harry part . . .'

He laughs, drowning me out. He's got a really deep laugh. It sounds too big for his thin body. For a second it feels like he's making fun of me, like the boys at school do when I say I go birdwatching on the weekend with Dad.

‘I'd love to migrate to Norway,' he murmurs.

I get up quickly. The tears want to come again. I can feel
the lump rising in my throat.

‘Hey, I didn't mean . . .' Harry starts to say.

I shake my head to make him quiet. ‘I've got to go back.' I look around to find where I came from.

Harry points at an exit. ‘Third Floor, C Wing. Ward down the corridor from mine.'

I stare at him. ‘What is?'

‘Coronary Care. Is that where you're going?'

I shake my head. ‘Not yet. We're just waiting in A and E.'

‘I know all about waiting.' His face falls a little and again he glances at the bag of liquid. Then he jerks his head towards the entrance I've come from. ‘Back there then,' he says. ‘A and E.'

He leans back in his seat, looks out at the cafe patrons. I almost ask him what he's waiting for, or who. But I still don't trust my voice. I take a step away. It feels as though I've been gone for ages. What if something's happened to Dad? I need to get back. I take a final look at Harry. I don't know him, I'm sure of it. He's just friendly. Or trying to be, anyway.

He stands up too. He's careful not to jolt the tube going up his arm as he does. ‘I'll look out for you . . .'

He raises his eyebrows, waits again for me to tell him my name.

‘Isla,' I say quickly, then explain it the way I always have to. ‘Like an “I” and a “la”, but spelt with an s.'

Harry nods. ‘Like an island.'

‘I suppose.'

I think he's about to say something else, but I turn away
from him. I feel stupid for telling him my name and talking about bramblings. I feel stupid that he almost saw me cry.

He moves aside as I pass. ‘Look after your dad,' he says softly.

CHAPTER 12

M
um and Jack are waiting for me when I get back to the room, and I feel guilty immediately for being too long.

‘What's happened?' I ask.

‘They've stabilised him,' Mum says. ‘They're moving him up to Coronary Care.'

‘We're going home with Granddad,' Jack says. His face is set as he looks at me. ‘Mum's staying here until there's more news, then she'll call us when we're allowed to come in.'

I look at Mum. ‘But I don't want to.'

‘Neither does Jack, honey. But it's that or wait in here all night. They'll only let me in to see Dad right now, and they might not even do that.'

‘But I was with Dad when it happened. They should let me see him!'

I hear my voice squeak up at the end. I know I sound like a little kid, but for that moment I don't care. I just want to be near Dad. Jack sighs loudly.

‘I'm waiting outside,' he says.

I watch him walk through A and E. He slips between the sliding glass doors and heads towards the car park. Mum takes my shoulders.

‘It's just for tonight,' she says softly. ‘Maybe only a few hours, just until they know Dad's OK again.' She gives me this thin smile and I know she's telling the truth. ‘I'll tell Dad you love him,' she adds. Her bottom lip is quivering slightly as if she's on the edge of tears.

I'm about to turn and follow Jack out the door when she calls me back. ‘You'll be OK with Granddad?' she asks softly. ‘You don't mind?'

I shake my head quickly. But I do mind, really. I don't think I've ever spent a night at Granddad's before. And I don't have any stuff with me. I want to ask Mum why Jack can't just look after us at home. But I don't. Jack's probably already asked, and Mum looks like she's about to crack up as it is. I don't want to make it any worse.