He sat by her bed for an hour in silence. It wasn’t visiting hours but the nurse let him stay anyway. There were four beds in this room on the ward, Angela in one, an old woman sleeping in another. The other two had younger women in them, addicts too by the look of them. One was watching episodes of Breaking Bad on an iPad, headphones on. The irony of watching a drama about a drug dealer. The other was on her phone, scrolling and flicking, her head bent over so that her nose almost touched the screen.
The machines in the room produced a background thrum, the sense of a building working to keep people alive. He liked the white noise, it helped to wash away the bad thoughts. But they kept seeping back in.
He had nowhere else to be. He couldn’t go back to school, no way he could handle that. He didn’t want to go home, couldn’t face the flat. And besides, Barry might be there. Flick was at Inveresk. He thought about Bean. It would be afternoon break now, she’d be cartwheeling with the rest of the girls, or they would be bossily telling each other what to do, sorting out rules for a chasing game, wasting half their time arguing about what was and wasn’t fair. The sense of fair play in kids that age overwhelmed everything else. He remembered being told off for talking in class in primary school once, even when it had been Connell, and the injustice of it burned his cheeks for hours afterwards. What kids that age needed to learn was that life wasn’t fair, so you’d better just suck it up.
He felt his stomach grumble. He stared at Angela, who hadn’t stirred the whole time he’d been here, then left the room to look for a vending machine. He went out of the ward and round a corner, and he noticed that the number of coloured lines on the floor increased, like boats joining a stream. Then he remembered Monica Holt, still upstairs somewhere. It was a brown line for Intensive Care, and he found himself following it as if he had no control over his feet. Before he knew it he was at the ward door, then inside, no nurse at the station so he just kept walking until he was at Monica’s room, then without hesitating he was in and standing at the end of her bed.
She was propped up higher than before, her eyes closed. There was a book open on her lap, something thick with an embossed cover. That meant she wasn’t in a coma anymore, either that or the book was someone else’s. He looked around but there was no one else in here. He turned back to her. She looked a damned sight healthier than Angela.
He came round to the edge of the bed and stood there, his hands by his sides, his fingers almost touching the covers. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes flicking left and right beneath the lids. Her hair was just as shiny as he remembered it that night, someone must’ve washed it for her. Must be nice having someone look after you like that. He thought about his mum’s hair.
She opened her eyes and stared straight at him. He took a shaky breath but didn’t speak. To begin with he thought she didn’t recognise him, then something seemed to change in her face, a realisation. He was ready for her to reach for the emergency button at the side of the bed. He glanced at it, only a few inches away from her fingers. He was ready to hear her scream out for someone to come.
But she just blinked heavily, keeping her gaze on him. He wanted to look away, to run away, to be anywhere but here, but he made himself stay.
‘You were there,’ she said. Her voice was croaky and dry, but it was definitely the same voice that shouted at Barry that night.
Tyler just stared. Eventually he gave the smallest nod. His eyes flitted to the button, and she noticed.
She shook her head, a tiny motion. ‘I won’t.’
‘Why not?’
Monica swallowed and sighed. ‘It wasn’t you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You didn’t stab me.’
Tyler stayed silent.
Monica swallowed again, it looked like hard work.
Tyler reached for a glass of water on the bedside cabinet and held it out for her.
She took it, leaned forward and put it to her lips, then her head fell back onto the pillow. She handed the glass back.
‘Is he your friend?’
Tyler shook his head.
‘What then? Brother?’
Tyler nodded.
Monica looked around the room then at the doorway. Tyler turned but there was no one there. He could hear his blood roaring in his ears.
‘You’re in trouble,’ Monica said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Tyler was still holding the glass of water, tremors on the surface as his hand shook.
Monica looked at his hand. ‘When Derek finds you, I mean.’
Tyler rubbed at his thigh, breathed in and out.
Monica stared at him. ‘Did you know?’
Tyler looked puzzled. ‘Know what?’
‘That it was our house. Was it deliberate?’
Tyler shook his head again, that’s all he ever seemed to do.
Monica let out a breath. ‘Just bad luck.’
Tyler offered her the glass again but Monica waved it away. He put it on the cabinet.
Monica’s hand came to rest nearer the emergency button. Tyler glanced at it.
‘Why are you here?’ Monica said.
Tyler shrugged. ‘I wanted to see you were OK.’
A cough slipped out the side of her mouth. She looked him in the eye for a long time. ‘Someone called an ambulance.’
Tyler didn’t answer.
‘From my phone,’ she said.
Tyler remembered picking it up from the floor in her house, her eyes flickering open and closed as he shut the door behind him.
Monica was still looking at him intensely.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Now go.’