‘Hey, Lincoln.’ Pete felt nervously for a shoulder, not wanting to disturb any tubes or machines that might lie between them. ‘Lincoln, it’s me, Dad.’
‘It’s okay, you can hold his hand.’ The nurse took Pete’s good arm, guided it towards his son. ‘There you go.’
Pete leaned over to where he imagined Lincoln’s head must be. ‘Check us out, eh?’ he said, for want of anything more intelligent. ‘Bloody great mess we’ve made of this one.’ He gave the fakest of laughs. ‘What would your mum say?’
‘That’s it.’ The nurse’s voice behind him was reassuring. ‘Just speak normally. He can hear you.’
‘How do you know?’ It came out harsher than Pete intended.
‘His eyelids are twitching.’ The nurse was unruffled. ‘Which is a great sign. His brain’s just having a bit of a rest, that’s all. There’s no real damage. He’ll wake up when he’s ready. You’ll see.’ She paused at the faux pas, then pressed ahead. ‘You’ve both been pretty lucky, by the sound of it.’
Pete gave a snort.
‘Seriously. I’ve seen people in worse shape after a night out.’
It was probably true. He tried to return the joke. ‘I suppose we’re like the blind leading the . . . Never mind.’
A warm hand rested lightly on his shoulder. ‘Just talk to him. It will help.’
Pete nodded and searched for a subject that wasn’t his son lying in intensive care. ‘So Cam’s coming back for a bit,’ he said finally. ‘That’s great, eh? Be good to see him again. He called last night from Vanuatu, said he’s over there working. Not quite sure what he’s up to, but . . .’ Pete paused. ‘Good to see him making an honest go of it anyway.’ The hand in his was clammy, despite the cool, dry room. ‘He’s an odd one, Cam. Not like you. Straight as a fence you are, just like your mum.’ He squeezed the hand. ‘She’d be proud of you, you know. Really proud.’ Bloody hell. What was this rubbish he was coming out with? Pete swiped his eyes against his good arm.
‘That’s it, keep going.’ The voice was in the corner of the room now, still encouraging.
‘I sound like something from a bad episode of Neighbours.’
The nurse chuckled. ‘It’s hard not to, in here.’ There was a liquid sound, like tea or water pouring. ‘Just tell him what you’ve been doing.’
Which bit? The endless staring into the dark, the panicking that Lincoln would never wake up? The nightmares in which Julia screamed at him for nearly killing their son?
‘So my face looks like a horror movie apparently, all smashed bones and bruising. Shame it’s not Halloween, I wouldn’t need a costume. The arm’s a bit bung, but it’ll come right. I’m in a wheelchair for the moment, just for a few days, although I can’t see where I’m going anyway, so . . .’ Pete faltered. Surely the point of this was to be cheerful?
‘Keep going.’
‘Anyway, they might be sticking us in the same room tomorrow.’ Can’t see why not, the doctor had said, when Pete asked. Probably good for you both. ‘Fingers crossed. We can keep each other company. Tell jokes. Cause trouble for the nurses.’
‘Oi!’
‘It’s all going to be okay, Lincoln.’ He hoped so, anyway. ‘We’ll be back to normal in no time.’ As normal as they’d ever been without Julia.
There were footsteps in the doorway, then a low cough.
‘Doctor?’ Pete turned towards the noise.
‘Police, actually.’ The voice was apologetic. ‘But I can wait outside. Come back later, if that’s easier.’
‘No, no.’ Pete gave Lincoln’s hand another gentle squeeze. ‘You’re fine. They’re moving me in with him anyway. We’ll be sick of each other by the end of the week.’ He pushed his chair carefully back from the bed. ‘But I’ve already given a statement.’
‘I know, sir.’ The policeman sounded young, younger than him anyway. ‘But we need to go over it one more time. Make sure we haven’t missed anything.’