Don't Get Me Wrong (32 page)

She followed Otis out to the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Harry was still sitting at the kitchen table, not moving.

Downstairs, Otis opened the front door. She heard Layla's voice and Otis chatting away, telling her about going to see the musical. Then Harry was at her side, putting on his jacket.

She said, “Thank you for taking him out today. He had a lovely time.”

He said, “You're seeing Jake tonight.”

They stared at each other. Kim felt herself growing hot.

Harry's eyes weren't blank anymore. He was looking at her with contempt.

2015

T
here was no one left but Kim. The women with their Tesco shopping bags had gone. All the rest of the chairs were empty.

She didn't look up when he came in.

Harry set down a cardboard box on the table in the middle of the room. He hadn't known what to buy. She'd said she wasn't hungry. But he thought food might help. So he'd picked a random selection of things in plastic containers—sandwiches, salad, fruit. Dark chocolate. Black coffee—no milk, no sugar.

He'd been gone for an hour. It had been hard wasting the time. He'd stood outside on the shallow stone steps, holding his mobile, watching people come and go. A March evening in south London. Hospital life going on as normal. A boy of about sixteen with his leg in plaster hobbling out to a taxi. A man in a hospital gown, hooked up to a drip, smoking. Damaris? Had she rung Damaris? He couldn't remember the time difference between England and Australia. Or maybe Izzie. She'd want Izzie here. But I don't know where she is, thought Harry. Somewhere on the west coast of Ireland? There had been a postcard pinned up in the kitchen weeks ago. Mists and mountains, blue water, green fields. Houses painted pink and yellow and rust and turquoise.

But I haven't been in the flat since December. That's why it
was such a shock when she rang. Her name on my phone out of the blue.

Harry stood outside the hospital entrance, the light fading. But he couldn't stand there forever. Eventually, he had to go back. Even though she didn't want him there.

Kim was sitting opposite the door, underneath the white slatted blinds. Her head was bent, her body turned to one side.

He didn't bother telling her about the coffee. She wouldn't have wanted it anyway.

They sat in silence. After a long time, Harry said, “When did you get here?”

For a while, he thought she hadn't heard. Then she said, “About two.”

“This afternoon?”

She turned towards him. He was shocked by the whiteness of her face. “Last night.”

Harry stared. “And you've been here ever since?”

“Where else would I be?” She sounded tired. As if she couldn't be bothered to deal with him.

He said, “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“How did you know he had meningitis?”

She closed her eyes and opened them again slowly. “I didn't.”

“So what happened?”

There was no reply.

He said, “Can I see him?”

“If you want.”

But Harry didn't move. It wasn't exactly an invitation.

Kim said, “He's not conscious.”

Harry pushed down panic. He stood up, took off his jacket, hung it over the back of the wooden chair, and sat down again.

Kim said, still looking away, “It might be a long time before he wakes up.”

There was a singing scream in his head like the whine of a mosquito. Not Otis. Not Otis, too.

“You don't have to stay. I'll text you if there's any change.”

But he didn't move.

From across the room, by the slatted blind, there was a small intake of breath, like the gasp someone makes when they're frightened. Harry, startled, looked up. Kim had turned her whole body towards the wall. But he could see from the way her shoulders were jerking, like she was choking, that she was crying. He watched hopelessly. He knew she wouldn't want comfort. Not from him, anyway. Eventually her body stopped shaking. He could see her pushing at her face with the heel of her hand, wiping away tears. He couldn't bear it anymore. “Kim?”

She didn't answer.

“Kim?”

She whipped round to face him, her eyes so angry that he flinched. They stared at each other. Her cheeks were bright red. Against the whiteness of her skin, it looked as if someone had slapped her. “The one thing I ask you to do, and you won't do it.”

He stared at her. What had she asked him to do?

“I want you to go.”

“Kim—”

“I don't need your help. If you've got to stay here, find somewhere
else to sit. I thought you ought to know Otis was in hospital. But I don't want you here. And I can't leave. Or go back in there.”

Her words were ringing round the room, bouncing off the walls. She sounded like she hated him.

He said, “Why?”

“Why?” She looked at him as if he was stupid. “Because I can't stand seeing him like that. Lying there with tubes all over his body. You wouldn't be able to either if you'd been here all night.”

He hadn't meant that.

But she wasn't listening. “They're being very kind. Saying there's every chance. But they don't know. Any more than I do. He's eight years old. He might end up brain damaged. Or lose his arms, or legs, or go blind, or deaf—”

“Why did you want me to know?”

“What?”

He kept his eyes on her face, waiting.

“I have no idea.” She looked suddenly exhausted. “Because you care about him. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

The room was silent. Harry thought about Otis, lying on the white hospital bed. Then he thought about Eva. For a moment, he missed her so acutely that he almost lost control. He gritted his teeth, clamping his jaw shut.

Kim started speaking again. Her voice was so quiet, it was as if she was talking to herself. “He wasn't well all afternoon. But I thought he was OK. I thought it was the start of a cold. He went to bed as normal. I was watching TV. He came into the living room. Saying his head hurt. I gave him Tylenol. But
then he was sick. Burning up. So I rang the out-of-hours service at the pediatrician's. They said, It's probably a virus. Cool him down. Ring us back if you're worried. I kept checking on him. Took him a drink. He had a fever. But his hands were so cold. And his eyes were strange, like he couldn't see me. I rang the out-of-hours service again. They said, We'll put you on the list for a home visit. It'll be about an hour. And I sat with him on the bed, and he was moaning and hot, and saying his legs hurt, and I thought, No, I'm not waiting anymore. So I called a cab. The driver said, It's OK, I'm a father too. He ran all the lights. Kept sounding the horn. Jabbing again and again with his fist. But when we got there, Otis wasn't breathing. So I picked him up and ran through A&E screaming. They lay him down and ripped his pajamas off. He had purple blotches on his legs. So they knew straightaway.”

He took a deep breath so that he could speak. “What did they do?”

“Antibiotics. Fluids. The tests confirmed it. They spent five hours fighting for him. And then they said, All we can do now is wait.”

He felt he had to stay calm even though, inside his head, there was a roaring sound, like someone yelling. “Can I see him?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to come?”

She looked up, and his heart contracted. She was in so much pain.

So he went alone.

•  •  •

After he'd gone, she put her head in her hands. Her fingertips were icy. It was strangely comforting touching her own forehead. It reminded her that she was real.

Hospitals are so quiet at night. During the day there had been people coming and going all the time. The waiting room had been almost full.

Kim remembered going outside in the corridor to ring her mother.
We'll be thinking of you every minute. But you mustn't worry. Hospitals are so good these days. Although of course it's very serious. Meningitis can be a killer.

Christine, she thought suddenly. I should ring Christine. Her eyes filled with tears. For a moment, she could almost hear Christine's voice. You hang in there, Kim. You stay strong. For Otis's sake.

And she rocked to and fro, clutching her arms round her body, trying to remember what it felt like to be hugged.

•  •  •

When Harry got back to the waiting room, Kim had leant her head against the wall and appeared to be sleeping. He sat down very quietly on one of the wooden chairs near her.

She said, “How was he?”

He looked up, startled. “No change. Which is good, they say.”

“He doesn't look good.”

“No.” A bloated child in a coma. Harry swallowed.

She sat up. She was a sort of gray color now, like dirty paper. Her eyelids were red. “They said the first twenty-four hours were critical.”

“You saved his life.”

She looked at him warily.

“That's what the nurse said to me just now. If you'd waited longer at home, he would have died.”

“I couldn't have waited.”

He didn't say anything for a while. Then he said, “It's good that you're the kind of person you are. That you don't wait for permission.”

It's bloody lonely, though, she thought. People get angry with you. She rubbed her eyes.

“I bought sandwiches. If you're hungry.”

She shook her head. The idea of chewing seemed exhausting.

“They wanted me to tell you that there's a bed if you need it.”

“I know.” She looked vague. “But I can't.”

They sat in silence. But it was less hostile now. He leant forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “I won't stay if it makes it worse. I can go somewhere else.” He glanced up. “As long as you promise to ring if there's any change.”

She didn't say anything.

Harry was beginning to fold back inside himself—because there was no other way of coping—when he realized she was staring at him.

“Are you his father?”

He shook his head.

“You're not?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we never slept together.”

“Yes, you did.”

He said nothing.

“When I was a teenager. You were always in her room.”

He shook his head again.

She struggled, out of her depth. “But you were always so close.”

“I know. She was my best friend.”

The words were dangerous. She could see him clenching his jaw, the muscles working in his cheek. It doesn't take much, she thought. All this time after her death, and we're still in pieces. On the surface we look OK. But it's like a layer of thin ice over deep, dark water.

He said, “She never told me who it was.”

She wouldn't tell me either. That's why I thought it was you.

“I said, if she wanted, I could be his father. But she said that wasn't fair on you.”

“On me?”

Harry shook his head, as if it was all too complicated to explain.

Because she knew it would be the final straw for me, thought Kim, having Harry in Otis's life forever.

After a while, Harry moved his head towards his shoulders, one side, then the other, stretching his neck like a boxer before a fight. He said, “I never understood why you hated me so much.”

It was a shock. Why was he saying this? “I don't hate you.”

“Yes, you do.”

Kim swallowed. “I don't hate you. I just hate what you stand for.”

He smiled. “So it's not personal.”

“Private school, rich parents, City banker, flash car . . .” She trailed off. She was sounding petulant, even to herself. “It's about having all the privileges but not doing anything to help other people. Accepting all your advantages and grinding everyone else's face in the dirt.”

There was a silence.

Harry said, “It doesn't have much resale value anymore.”