‘Oh my God. You gave me a heart attack when you called earlier. I can’t believe what happened. How are you doing?’
I smile weakly and nod at Meg. ‘Tired and sore, but I’ll be fine.’
‘I heard about the scaffolding coming down on the news last night, but they didn’t mention any names, so I had no idea you were involved. Otherwise, I’d have been here right away. Why did you take so long to call?’
‘My phone battery was flat. Luckily, I managed to borrow a charger this morning from one of the other patients.’
‘Right.’ She’s holding an unfamiliar sports bag, which she raises to my eye height, as I’m sitting up in the hospital bed, and jiggles it around. ‘I got the stuff you asked for, including your phone charger.’
‘That’s not my bag, is it? I don’t recognise it.’
‘You’re welcome. No, it’s mine – and I want it back, please, once you’re done. It’s my yoga bag.’
‘Yoga? Seriously? Since when do you—’
‘I do have a life, Luke, and it’s not like we’ve seen each other much recently. Don’t pretend to know everything about me.’
‘Hmm. Let me guess: you bought all the stuff and have only used it a handful of times. Am I right?’ She screws up her face and looks away. ‘Ha!’ I continue. ‘I know you well enough, Meg Craven.’
Not wishing to push my luck with her, I change the subject. ‘Was Alfred okay?’
‘Yes, fine. I cleaned his litter tray and left him plenty of food.’
‘Was he upset about me not coming home last night?’
‘Seriously, Luke? How do I know? He’s a cat; it’s not like he can talk.’
I shake my head. ‘You know what I mean. What was he doing when you arrived?’
‘Sleeping, curled into a ball on your bed. There was still food left in his bowl, although he got up to have some more after I washed and refilled it.’
‘Good.’
‘Again, you’re welcome. A little thank-you once in a while wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Thanks, Meg.’
Alfred’s a fat tabby I’ve had since he was a kitten around ten years ago – and the closest thing I have to a flatmate. I named him after Bruce Wayne’s butler in Batman, hoping naively – not having owned a pet before – that I’d be able to train him to do things for me, like you can with a dog. As it turns out, I’m the one who waits on him, hand and foot, making his name pretty damn ironic. Honestly, he has me wrapped around his little finger. I realise now, of course, how utterly ridiculous it was of me ever to think I could get a cat, of all creatures, to be helpful. You live and learn.
It’s rare for me to stay away from home but, on the odd occasion I have, my cousin Meg has looked after Alfred for me. The daughter of my late dad’s brother, she lives nearby, unlike her parents, who emigrated to New Zealand when we were both still in our twenties. My uncle, who has some kind of high-powered role in finance, was offered a job opportunity in Auckland that was apparently too good to miss. They tried to convince Meg to go with them, but she was having none of it, happy with her life here in Manchester.
My cousin is a year older than me so has already had plenty of time to embrace the joys of being forty. We used to be very close, particularly after Mum and Dad died, but we had a big row a few months ago that really set things back between us. We didn’t go as far as cutting off all contact with each other, but our relationship cooled significantly. Up until that point, she’d been like a sister and best friend rolled into one. This is the first time since our quarrel that I’ve had to call upon her for a favour. The simple truth is that there isn’t anyone else I can turn to.
A young nurse I don’t recognise walks by, on the way to see another patient, and I get her attention by clicking my fingers. ‘Hello? Do you know how Iris is doing?’
I reply to the blank look she gives me by adding: ‘The woman who was brought in with me last night, who’d also been trapped under the fallen scaffolding.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that. What’s her surname? Do you know what ward she’s on?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I snap. ‘For goodness’ sake. You’re the one who works here, right? Surely you can get that information yourself. There can’t be many other people who went through what we did yesterday.’
In a calm voice, she says she’ll speak to her colleagues in a few minutes and see what she can find out.
‘Was there any need to be so rude to her?’ Meg asks once the nurse is out of earshot. She sits down on the chair at the side of my bed. ‘I know you’ve been through a lot, Luke, but still. It’s hardly her fault. And clicking your fingers like that to call her over. Really?’
‘What?’ I shrug. ‘It’s not my fault there are different staff working here every time I look up, is it? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen the same nurse twice since I’ve arrived. They should be more organised and know their stuff better.’
‘You’ll get more out of people if you’re nice to them,’ my cousin adds.
‘Whatever.’
‘So the other person involved in your accident is in a bad way, is she? I remember hearing something on the news about an emergency operation. Who is she? Do you know her?’
‘I didn’t until yesterday. We met as we were both taking shelter from the storm and spoke to each other while we were trapped. She probably saved my life, first by pushing me out of the way of some falling debris and then by calling for help on her mobile when mine was out of action. I knew she was hurt at the time, but I didn’t realise how serious her injuries were … She was impaled by one of the scaffolding poles.’
Meg winces, running a hand through her short, spiky hair, which is currently dyed a very light blonde colour. ‘Oh my God. That’s awful. Poor thing.’
‘The pain must have been excruciating. And still she managed to make that phone call. I hope she pulls through. It’s been touch and go so far.’
I recount to Meg how the accident unfolded and how lucky I was to have escaped pretty much unscathed. ‘I’ve got a few minor cuts and bruises, but that seems to be about it, amazingly. I think it’s only because of the blow to my head that they’ve admitted me, to make sure I don’t have a concussion or anything. Fingers crossed, I should be out of here by tomorrow, I reckon.’
‘Does your head hurt?’ she asks, her eyes scanning me up and down.
‘Not as much as it did yesterday. I’m stiff and achy all over, but that’s only to be expected. It’s a miracle I wasn’t crushed. Loads of chunks of masonry came down with the scaffolding. That old building was in a right mess. I couldn’t believe the state of it, from what I could see when they pulled me out. I feel incredibly lucky.’
‘Well, if one good thing has come from this, it’s that you’re seeing the positive side of life for once.’
I frown. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Meg rubs her chin. ‘You’re not exactly Mr Blue Sky, are you, Luke? If I looked up the word pessimist in the dictionary, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a photo of you looking back at me. You’re the very definition of a glass-half-empty person.’
‘Charming,’ I reply, although I don’t bother arguing with her. Life has served me my fair share of lemons and, well, I’ve always preferred a pint of bitter to a glass of lemonade.
A little while later, the nurse I asked about Iris reappears at the end of my bed. I know immediately from the fidgety way she stands there that she has news – and not the good kind.
‘Hello, Mr Craven,’ she says in a timid, sombre voice. ‘I, er, made some enquiries about your, um … about Iris. Her surname’s Lambert, by the way. There’s no easy way to say this … It’s bad news, I’m afraid. Miss Lambert suffered very severe injuries and I’m so sorry to have to inform you that she passed away about an hour ago.’
Her words hit like a baseball bat to my face and gut. ‘W-what,’ I stutter. ‘No, that can’t be right. She was stable the last time I asked. I know she was badly hurt, but … are you sure?’
The nurse looks at Meg and then back at me. With an audible gulp, she adds: ‘Yes, I’m sure. I’m really sorry. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know. Is there anything I—’
‘It’s okay,’ Meg says. ‘I’ll take it from here. Thank you for letting us know.’
Once the nurse has shuffled away, Meg leans over the bed and takes my hand in hers. ‘That must have been tough to hear. Do you want me to pour you a glass of water or—’
‘No, don’t.’ I can’t stop shaking my head in disbelief. ‘Please, give me some space, will you? I feel like throwing up.’
I knew it was possible that Iris wouldn’t make it, but I really thought she’d pull through. Burying my face in my palms, I take one deep breath after another. ‘She seemed lovely and kind. And so young: she can’t have been much over thirty. A doctor too, with her whole life and career ahead of her. Her poor family. They must be beside themselves.’
‘She was a doctor?’ Meg asks.
‘Yes, that was one of the few things she told me about herself. She mentioned that she was losing blood and … Oh God, it should have been me, not her.’
Meg stands up and pulls me into a tight hug, which I resist initially before giving in to it. ‘Don’t you say that, Luke. It’s not for us to decide how these things work. And you have nothing to blame yourself for.’
I hear what she says, but I can’t accept it. I can’t stop thinking it should have been me rather than Iris to have been killed. Why do I deserve to survive and she doesn’t? What do I have to offer to the world compared to her: a young doctor with the potential to make a genuine difference to so many other people’s lives? If she hadn’t had to push me out of the way like she did, while I was being a rabbit in the headlights, maybe things would have turned out differently.
When was the last time I made a difference, other than by tidying up someone’s hair? It’s true what Meg said about me being a pessimist. And that’s only half the story. Misanthropic, crotchety, self-centred – all words that could, objectively, be used to describe me. If I was stuck in hospital for a month, I’d be shocked if anyone other than my cousin came to visit. And considering our falling-out, I’m lucky she’s here. I’m not even sure that Alfred would miss me much, as long as someone else kept him fed and watered.
‘Luke?’ Meg snaps her fingers in front of my face, dragging me back into the moment. ‘Is everything all right? Where did you go just now? You were away with the fairies. I was about to call a nurse. Could this be something to do with your head injury?’
I shake my head to clear it. ‘Um, no. I’m fine. I was thinking, that’s all.’
‘What about?’
‘Iris mainly. I can’t believe she’s gone. I really thought she’d make it, even if the odds were stacked against her. She seemed so capable – so together. It probably sounds ridiculous for me to say that. Like such characteristics would make any difference when—’
‘Take it easy,’ Meg says, knitting her brow, her piercing blue eyes scrutinising mine, silently reiterating her concern for my wellbeing. I do as she says and stop talking. Try to clear my racing mind. It works to a degree, but there’s a knot in my stomach that’s not going anywhere and I can’t get Iris out of my head. I’m picturing her standing before me in that bright yellow raincoat when I realise there’s a blank where her face should be.
Try as I might, I can’t picture it. Not too surprising, considering we only met that one time – and yet it was only yesterday. I desperately want to remember. She deserves that at the very least. But it’s no good. I can’t do it, and it’s frustrating the hell out of me. Then a thought pops into my mind and, as soon as I think it, I have to say something to Meg.
‘I’m going to go to her funeral,’ I tell her. ‘There’s no way I can miss it.’
‘Okay. I get that.’
‘Could you do one little thing for me? It’s related.’
‘What’s that, then?’ There’s a wary tone to her voice.
‘Could you see if you can find out some details of Iris and her family now, while everyone’s here in one place? Otherwise, how will I know where and when the funeral’s going to be held?’
Seeing my cousin’s wariness become hesitance, I add: ‘I’d do it myself, but I’m effectively chained to the bed. They’ve told me I need to stay put. And I doubt the medical staff will simply hand out that kind of information if I ask them.’
Meg lets out a little sigh. ‘You want me to approach her grieving family now – right after they’ve lost her?’
‘All I know is that I really need to go to that funeral. I have to pay my respects.’
‘Fine, leave it with me, but on the proviso that you stop stressing yourself out. Close your eyes and try to have a snooze, yes? You look like you desperately need it. Deal?’
‘Deal.’