Authors: Janelle Harris
‘We’re late,’ Mark shouts back at me as I struggle to keep up with him.
We race down the street trying to grab a taxi.
‘Ouch…ouch…fucking ouch,’ I whine as I curse Ava and the stupid new shoes she made me buy. My feet are like a shrine to a blister god and each tiny step is a little sacrifice.
Mark jumps into the back of a yellow cab and slides across the leather seat to make room for me.
‘La Rivista on West Forty-sixth Street please,’ Mark says like a seasoned New Yorker.
‘Special occasion?’ the driver asks.
‘Yes, very special.’ Mark smiles.
‘Nigel is going to kill us,’ I say looking at my watch. ‘We’re almost an hour late already.’
‘Nigel needs to lighten up,’ Mark snorts. ‘He always kept me waiting in college, so it’s payback.’
My lips curl and my whole face pulls into a smile. The revelation that Nigel and Mark were college roommates for years washes over me as easily as if Mark had just offered me a stick of chewing gum. I’m just embarrassed that I forgot and have been unable to jog that memory. It must have been head wrecking for Nigel that I treated him like a stranger. I’ll apologise when I see him.
I enjoy peeking into the fogged up windows of my past, and I look forward to the next little snippet of information. Soon, I will be a whole person again, and I can’t wait to know how that feels.
I recognise the outside of the charming Italian bistro. My mouth salivates as I think about their carbonara with a rich creamy texture that will cripple me with indigestion for the next two days.
Once inside, the friendly waiter takes our coats and informs us politely that we should expect at least a twenty-minute wait. I’m about to take a seat in the waiting area, but Mark rolls up a twenty dollar bill and not-so-subtly slips it into the waiter’s palm.
The waiter stuffs the note into his pocket and pretends to look around the busy restaurant once more. ‘Ah yes, Sir, I believe we have managed to make some space at your friend’s table. If you would like to join them, then I’ll have someone follow you with menus shortly.’
‘Thank you,’ Mark says patting the young man firmly on the back. It was written all over Mark’s face that he would rather be patting with his fist and using a lot more pressure, but he remains a gentleman and smiles falsely.
‘Thank you, Chad,’ I add.
Mark’s smile becomes genuine. ‘Wow, I can’t believe you remember the waiter’s name; I don’t even remember that guy. You’re really starting to get a grip on your memory.’
I giggle as I point to the discreet nametag attached to the lapel of the waiter’s uniform.
Mark laughs too and turns a little red.
We are still sniggering as we reach the table. Nigel stands and offers me a kiss on each cheek. Adam copies, although I can tell the practice makes him uncomfortable. Ava doesn’t stand. I assume she’s still tired after her ordeal, although she looks great. Her makeup is flawless, as always, and she’s wearing a tightly fitted black polo in a clear attempt to emphasise her bump. Classy and undoubtedly expensive as the top was, her newly expanding waistline looks more like she’s had one bun too many at lunch and doesn’t reveal itself as a bun in the oven just yet. But it doesn’t take from her sheer healthy glow, and I tell her how wonderful she looks.
‘What’s so funny?’ Adam asks, Mark’s laughing catching his attention.
‘Nothing.’ I shrug.
‘Yeah, nothing,’ Mark snorts pathetically unconvincing.
I look lovingly at my husband. It feels so good to share a private joke with him. And for a moment, I forget the dents in our relationship.
‘I hear you went to visit the old apartment,’ Nigel says.
‘Yes, we spent a long time there actually,’ Mark says.
‘Oh, say no more.’ Nigel winks. ‘We get the picture.’
‘Nigel, you have a filthy mind,’ I scold. ‘Nothing happened. Some of us are actually able to control ourselves.’ A sudden memory of a very promiscuous, college years Nigel pops into my head.
‘Nothing did happen, Nigel. I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Mark insists.
Mark is stern and indignant, and I wonder if he’s worried a rumour might spread back to Nicole.
Maybe I should tell Nigel I fucked Mark’s brains out in the old apartment.
But the waiter arrives to take our order just in time, and thankfully, the subject of conversation switches to the food.
Good food and good company make for a very enjoyable lunch. Well, mostly enjoyable. Adam is like a thorn in my side, constantly drawing the conversation back to the apartment.
‘Is there something you want to ask?’ Mark says finally unable to ignore Adam any longer.
Ava nods her approval to Adam, and he launches into a very obviously rehearsed speech.
‘I’ve decided to sell back in Ireland and move over here. Business is going down the drain. It has been for a while. You know what it’s like there at the moment.’
No one says a word. The revelation has shocked us all. It’s Adam’s party piece to moan about how a city upbringing in the States can’t compete with the open fields and fresh air of the Irish countryside.
‘It’s no place to raise kids,’ he always says and now he plans to raise his own child here.
Seriously?
‘I’m going to invest anything I get for the company into something smaller over here.’ He fiddles nervously with his napkin. ‘And hopefully build a better life. You guys were right all these years. I do love it here.’
I find myself agreeing. Even though the minute I found out I was going to be a mother, all I wanted was to give up my job and get away from the intensity of the city and head back home to the bad weather and pot-holed roads of Ireland. But Ava is different; she’s a city girl through and through, and I know life in New York is more here than me.
‘There’s more…’ Adam says still smiling. ‘Ava and I got married the morning of the accident. Laura, I wanted to wait until you got your memory back to tell you.’
A stagnant hush falls over everyone. Ava looks disappointed with the response.
‘Well, say something,’ Adam requests crossly. ‘I thought you’d all be delighted. We saved you a fortune in wedding presents.’
‘It’s very sudden,’ I stutter not realising I’m stating the blatantly obvious.
‘I know. I know…it was sudden for us, too. But we knew we were going to get married sooner or later. You just never know what’s around the next corner, and we wanted to be husband and wife. With everything that happened after, I’m so glad we got to say I do. You understand, right?’
‘Yes.’ I smile throwing my arms around Adam’s neck. ‘I do understand. It’s great. Congratulations.’
‘Congratulations,’ Mark and Nigel echoed following my lead.
Nigel calls the waiter to the table and orders a couple of bottles of the restaurant's most expensive champagne.
‘There’s a bit more,’ Adam says.
‘More?’ Mark snorts, his eyes two round circles in his head.
He’s clearly out of practice drinking wine,
I think, and try not to laugh.
‘Are you still looking for tenants?’ Adam asks.
I looked at Mark with confusion. Mark’s nodding.
‘Well, look no further.’ Adam smiles. ‘Just until my business takes off. Then I hope there’ll be some cash for me to purchase something nice.’
I don’t speak. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know we owned the apartment, but it’s a pleasant revelation. Although I’ve only just found out about the place, I feel affection for it that’s evidence of years of happy memories. I’m not sure I’m ready to share that.
‘I don’t know,’ Mark admits. ‘I’m thinking of selling the place.’
‘No,’ I suddenly shout. My legs twitch so hard, they bang on the table causing our plates to shake noticeably. My jaw quivers and the people at the next table turn around to stare. ‘We can’t sell. I don’t want to.’
‘Okay, Laura. It’s okay,’ Mark says softly. He seems to manage my strange panic effortlessly. ‘It was only a suggestion. We won’t sell if you don’t want to.’
My eyes roll in my head, and I’m certain I’m going to black out again.
Mark drops two little white pills onto the table in front of me and places my glass of water beside them. ‘Take them,’ he orders.
I shake my head viciously, almost pulling myself off the chair.
Mark rummages in his pocket and slams a box of paracetamol in front of me. ‘Please, Laura,’ he says, and I can tell he’s agitated.
Maybe I’m embarrassing him. I’m embarrassing myself.
‘If you don’t take them, then you’ll be sorry when a headache kicks in,’ he adds.
I stuff the pills into my mouth, almost dropping them because my hands tremble so much. I slug huge mouthfuls of water and wash them down.
Nigel lifts the second, still full, bottle of champagne from the table and places it back in the cooler beside him. He’s as subtle as a constipated elephant. My cheeks sting with embarrassment.
My chair squeaks loudly as I stand up and excuse myself from the table. Marks eyes plead with me to sit back down. I don’t. Instead, I fumble my way towards the bathroom. People stare as I pass their tables. Some even voice their disapproval under their breath in ill-disguised comments. It’s late afternoon, and I play the part of a drunken disgrace convincingly.
I stagger through the swinging door of the ladies’ room and glare at my reflection in the mirror. I hate losing control like that. Fear is my worst enemy, and once again, I feel I’m losing a battle to be normal.
Ava appears and finds me slumped over the sink like a haggard old witch. She grabs a tight hold of me and slides carefully downwards until we’re both sitting on the floor. I hug her tight and cry.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she says sadly. ‘Adam and I didn’t mean to upset you. We’ll find a different apartment, okay?’
‘It’s not the silly apartment,’ I admit. ‘It’s the life that goes with it.’
‘An apartment is just four walls. You and Mark can have a happy life anywhere.’
‘But I remember having a happy life there.’
‘That’s great. I’m so glad you remember that.’ Ava smiles. ‘But you’ll remember being happy in lots of places. Just wait, you’ll see.’
‘I hope so.’
‘I know so.’
Ava drops her eyes to the back pocket of my skirt. I reach around and pull out the paper.
‘This is Nigel’s photo. He’ll be furious when he finds out I tore it. I had no right to.’
‘He’ll understand.’
‘I wish I could understand,’ I say beginning to cry again.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Ava asks.
‘Not really. I don’t know what there is to talk about it. It’s just a picture of some fancy dress party with some kids I don’t know,’ I snap. ‘Why is everyone so concerned with the damn picture? Mark wanted to quiz me about it, too. I told him I couldn’t find it.’
‘And why do you think you told him that, Laura?’
Ava sounds strange. I stand up and shake my legs out, as if I can shake off this conversation.
‘Just look at the picture, Laura. Look at their faces and then tell me again you don’t recognise them.’
A teary-eyed little boy tugs the sleeve of my cardigan and begs to stay home from school. He’s tired and clingy and insists the school is smelly and yucky.
‘You have to go to school, sweetheart,’ I say straightening his red tie and tucking it neatly behind his navy school jumper. He looks so smart; I just want to smother him with kisses. I won’t, of course; I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his school friends.
‘I’m not going,’ he repeats and adds a defiant foot stomp this time.
‘You are,’ I say sternly. ‘No tantrums, okay?’
I have an appointment for a wash, cut, and blow-dry a half an hour later. I haven’t been to the hairdresser in months. I don’t even have to rush back because Ava is picking him up. I’ll make it up to him later. I plan to meet Ava in the park later, and we will go for a walk or check out the playground. We could get a kite maybe. He loves kites. It will be a good day. I don’t tell him. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I just smile and attempt to tame his hair before bending down to kiss his forehead softly. He wipes his head with his sleeve and shakes his arm after, clearly throwing away my kiss. I press my lips tightly together and hold in my laughter. His sulking is a trait he picked up from me, unfortunately. I kiss him again and promise him we will do something fun together later. He nods and I watch as he plods drearily in the direction of his classroom.
~~~
Mark and I sit in silence. The only sound is the angry roar of the engine as we race up the hard shoulder of the busy motorway. I’ve never been in a car traveling so frighteningly fast before yet at that moment it isn’t marginally fast enough. I will the engine to work harder, the wheels to spin faster and get us there sooner. I feel like we’re crawling. Other drivers flash their headlights at us, angry that we have the cheek to dodge the traffic. They wouldn’t be so fast to disapprove if they knew the terrible phone call we had just received. Not one driver would dare to begrudge us a clear path if they knew that a little boy was fighting for his life in the hospital, and we were on our way to find out if he had won or lost his battle.
We burst through the doors of accident and emergency. I immediately see the small mahogany framed window of the reception desk. There’s a queue.
‘Excuse me,’ I say as I shove past the other patients forming an orderly line.
‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ I continue, beginning to really use force to push my way forward. ‘Get the hell out of the way,’ Mark finally shouts at the last few agitated people who refused to allow us to skip ahead of them.
A seemingly friendly, pretty woman leans out from behind the reception desk. She makes obvious eye contact with the two security guards manning the main entrance, warning them to be on guard.
‘Calm down, Sir,’ she warns. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
I try to explain, but even though I move my lips as usual, I can’t manage to get a sound out. Every inch of my body trembles, and my breath is too big for my chest and attempts to choke me.
Mark is rambling, his words are jumbled and slurred, but thankfully, he remains steadier than I do. I place my hand firmly on his shoulder. To the startled patients in the waiting room, it must look like a compassionate gesture, but it’s strategic. Without the support of Mark’s firm body, I would almost certainly crumple in a distraught mess on the floor.
‘Miss, can I help you?’ the woman asks indifferently. We must be an inconvenience in her busy day. Some of the others in line are beginning to complain and shout abuse at us.
‘Please help us,’ Mark stammers as he points at me and then back to himself. ‘We got a call to say there’s been a serious accident.’
The angry voices behind us are no more. I prefer the noise. The hush is intense. It’s unbearable.
‘Lorcan Kavanagh,’ Mark says quietly. ‘Can you tell me where his is?’
The woman peers over Mark’s shoulder to find my face.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Kavanagh,’ she says, her whole body softening.
Mark nods. ‘Yes. Mark and Laura Kavanagh.’
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ she says.
‘Can we see him? Can we see Lorcan now?’ I interrupt.
She nods and smiles. She quickly abandons her desk and comes to stand beside us. ‘Follow me…I’ll take you through to the doctor,’ she promises.
I smile with a sense of some relief. The minutes after we got the horrific call, the race to the hospital, and rushing through the emergency doors had all ticked by in teasing slow motion. But we are finally here. We’ve made it. We’re seconds away from seeing Lorcan. I plan to wrap my arms tight around him, and no matter how bad it is, I will whisper to him that it will be okay. He just needs me to comfort him. Then, he will get better.
We walk through the swinging doors that lead to the examination rooms. It’s surprisingly quiet and still. There’s no drama to see. A couple of nurses are dotted along the hallway and some junior doctors walk around wearing scrubs and holding a patient file or two. The receptionist passes them and leads us to the end of the corridor. An elderly female doctor in a starched, long white coat steps out from behind a cubical curtain. Her frozen smile disappears as soon as she sees us. It’s obvious she’s expecting us. She knows who we are, but the receptionist introduces us anyway.
‘I have Mr. and Mrs. Kavanagh,’ she says politely before nodding once at the doctor and then nodding again at Mark and me, in turn.
‘Thank you,’ the doctor replies and dismisses the receptionist with a wave of her hand.
I notice the tears glistening in the receptionist's eyes as she turns to walk away. Her shoulders are rounded and drag her upper body forward and down. I can’t imagine how difficult her job must be, every day facing parents of ill or dying children. It must eat you alive after a while. I’ve only been in this place a few minutes and I already know it has left an eternal mark on my soul.
‘Please step this way,’ the slim, grey-haired doctor says, stretching her arm out and offering us the comfort of a small, intimate room across the hall. I can’t hide my agitation. I do not intend to spend half the evening waiting around in a glorified shoebox with no information. They asked us to hurry, the least they could do is offer us the same courtesy.
‘Please, can I just see him?’ I beg, refusing to step into the room.
Mark doesn’t speak. He catches my fisted hand in his and leads us as requested into the small room. We all stand in silence for a few long, drawn-out seconds.
‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ the doctor says.
I feel Mark stagger as though standing on the one spot suddenly becomes a challenge for him. The doctor passes me a plastic cup of water she kindly filled from the water cooler in the corner. I take it, but I don’t drink from it. I want to fling it across the room and watch as it creates a puddle on the floor. But I hold my composure as shakily as I hold the cup. I try to block out every word coming from the doctor’s mouth. If I can’t hear it, then it isn’t true. If she just stops talking, then everything will be okay. It will be okay.
I watch another doctor in the distance. He’s short and stern, and I decide straight away that I dislike him. He’s speaking to a petite, blond-haired lady who’s crying hysterically. She’s standing with her back to me, but I recognise her immediately. It’s Nicky. She’s trembling, and I hear her loud tearful cries carry down the corridor. I cover my ears with my hands and toss my head from side to side, begging her cries not to confirm what I’m concentrating so hard on denying. I barely notice the handsome man standing poignantly beside her. He’s also upset but not as noticeably so. He’s more refined. The only small hint of his emotions is the uncontrollable twitching of his left eyebrow. He hides his pain well, even from himself – perhaps.
The grey-haired doctor continues to speak to me, but I can’t pull my stare away from Nicole and the man beside her. They haven’t noticed Mark or me yet. I’m glad. I continue to ignore everything being said to me. Mark is listening though; I can see it in his face. His lips press tightly together in concentration. Every painful word is registering in the contours of his distraught expression. I want to shout at him to cover his ears too, not to let the doctor’s words reach him, but it’s too late. He knows.
His lips part and a deep, throaty roar falls out of him. He’s shaking his head so hard I think he might fall over. His breathing quickens and heavy tears begin to race down his flushed cheeks. He believes the doctor. It’s true. It must be true.
My ears rang loudly, and now when I try to hear the words being spoken to me, I cannot. I can hear background noise, teacups chattering in a canteen, and babies crying in the distance. I can see the doctor is still speaking. Christ, she has a lot to say. Her lips definitely move but no sound reaches my ears.
My hands grip my chest, and I feel a stabbing pain in my heart. My ribs chattered so hard inside my chest that I worry they will snap. I scream, ‘No, please, God no.’
She’s going to say it. I’m going to hear her and then there will be no going back. Nothing will ever be the same again.
‘He didn’t make it,’ she whispers. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
The four simple words shoot around my brain like treacherous bullets. He didn’t make it? He didn’t make it where? Where was he going? He didn’t make it on the school football team; not to worry, he can try again next year. He didn’t make a mess; well, of course not, he’s a good little boy. What did she mean that he didn’t make it? She couldn’t possibly be telling me that he didn’t make it out of the car without a chance. She couldn’t be telling me that the little boy I love so much has been stolen from us. She couldn’t possibly be telling us that Lorcan is dead.
‘I’ll give you a moment,’ the doctor says, slowly edging away. ‘Do take all the time you need; our family room has somewhere to sit and water if you need some.’ She stretches her arm towards the tiny room behind us again.
The pain of my heart breaking is almost physical. It’s sharp and strong and I wish I could succumb to it. I want to die, too. My knees hurt as they jar in place, and I can’t move. I know then that Hell exists because I have been plunged full force into it.
Nicole races towards us and flings her arms around me. She’s shaking hysterically, but I barely feel her tremble. I’m beyond numb. I’ve aged a hundred years at that moment. I’m frail and weak and no longer myself. That hideous moment would define the rest of my life. I would never be the same again. Laura is gone, and this shell of a woman, the new me, stands in her place.
‘This is a nightmare,’ Nicole cries. ‘A horrible fucking nightmare.’
It’s worse. So much worse. A nightmare we could wake up from and it would be over; this horror will never end.
Nicole’s partner moves to stand beside us silently; his head is facing the ground. I carefully examine the lines and folds that time has patiently etched into his face. They are more deeply indented than I remember. His incredible good looks strain under the sorrow. He shakes hands with Mark. No words are exchanged, but the long, firm handshake speaks volumes.
‘Thank you for calling us,’ Mark says choking back tears.
‘We thought you’d make it in time to say goodbye,’ Nicole sobs.
‘Did he…did he feel pain,’ I ask.
Nicole’s blank expression tells me my words are washing over her. She’s as hollow inside as I am.
‘Please tell me?’ I beg. ‘Was he scared?’
‘Laura, don’t,’ Mark says.
‘Don’t what,’ I snap. ‘Don’t ask if such a beautiful little boy was afraid of dying. Don’t ask if he cried. Don’t what, Mark? Don’t freak out because this is all so fucking wrong.’
‘Don’t torture yourself like this,’ Mark says. ‘Not now, not like this.’
‘I’m not torturing myself. It’s that stupid doctor. She doesn’t know shit. He’s not dead; I don’t know why she is lying to us. Lorcan is fine. He’s fine!’
I wait for someone to back me up; someone to agree that the doctor is just a lying bitch. Everyone is silent.
‘I’m going to find her. I want her to admit she is lying. Lorcan is fine.’
I begin to run down the long corridor.
‘Laura,’ my name echoes in the hall as Nicole shouts after me.
I turn to face her. She’s shaking her head again. I fall on the spot, my legs weak and no longer able to support my weight as my heart finally catches up with my head. I know he’s gone. The silence screams it at me, teasing me that I will never see him again.
We left that very hospital five years ago with such joy in our hearts as we admired the gift of a precious baby. All too soon, the gift of that little life had been taken away from us. It’s not fair. No child deserves to die.
~~~
I wake lying tangled in the duvet and with beads of perspiration dotted across my distressed forehead. I lie still for a few moments digesting my surroundings. I take a while before sliding my legs off the edge of the bed and forcing myself to get up. What a nightmare, I think. It’s left me physically shaking. I throw on my dressing gown and quickly make my way to the landing.
I slowly creak open the bedroom door, but before I look inside, I slam the door shut again and stand with my arms hanging and heart pounding.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Mark races up the stairs. He stops dramatically when he reaches the top step and sees me standing zombie-like outside the bedroom door. The look on his face shoots a bolt of sorrow through my veins. If I open the door in front of me, then I will find an empty bed, and I can’t see it. I’m not strong enough.