We finally left the hospital in the early hours. Mum had been there for over twenty-four hours and the doctors advised me to take her home in a cab to get some rest. It was hard leaving Dad behind, but even harder returning to an empty house. It felt weird without him being there, like a part of the house was missing. This is what it will be like if he doesn’t come home, I thought as we both went straight to bed, exhausted.
It’s not even light when we set off back to the hospital again. They’ve just called saying Dad’s taken a turn for the worse in the night. We need to be there. This time I’m driving Mum’s car and we sit in silence, the headlights picking out the cats’ eyes on the road. The doctors have told us we need to be prepared. But how can you ever prepare yourself for something like this?
Mum sits next to me in the passenger seat, hands in her lap, twisting her wedding ring. Fear has my chest in a vice as we pull into the car park. Because it’s so early, it’s almost empty as I head towards the entrance. I’m trying to be strong, but the truth is I’ve never been so scared. All I want to do is run away. But I can’t. I’ve got to get out of this car and walk into that hospital and face up to whatever it is that’s waiting for us.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I swing into the parking spot. For once the spaces are wide open. Except for one other car.
‘Well, we’re here,’ I say to Mum, straightening up and switching off the engine.
So this is it. Heart thumping, I reach for the car door and push it open. A sharp gust of wind blows in.
‘Nell!’
Someone calls my name and I whip around. And that’s when I see him, walking towards me.
‘Edward?’
I peer at him in the dawn light, in disbelief.
‘What are you doing here?’
He looks dishevelled, as if he’s slept in his car.
‘I got here as soon as I could.’
I almost weep with relief. I have never been so grateful to see anyone in my whole life.
‘But . . . how?’
‘I drove through the night. I was worried, I didn’t hear from you.’
My mind is grappling. ‘But how did you know where to find us?’
‘You told me the name of the hospital on the train, remember.’
Except I don’t. I don’t remember anything about that train ride.
‘And you just came?’
‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘I just came.’
And in that moment, I know I will love him forever for doing that. Not love in the romantic sense, but love in the true, deep sense of the word. Without even being asked, he’s driven through the night to be here for me. So I can lean on him when I need to lean on someone the most in my life. In the most desperate of times. When I thought I was alone. He was here. Waiting for me.
And if that’s not real love, I don’t know what is.
Inside the hospital we’re met by Mr Reynolds, who tells us an undetected tear has caused more internal bleeding and Dad needs urgent surgery. Mum signs the consent form and we spend the next three hours pacing corridors and drinking bad coffee. But this time it’s different. Edward is here and he’s the support against which both Mum and I lean. He doesn’t say much; he doesn’t need to. Just being here is enough.
After surgery, Dad is taken back to ICU. Mr Reynolds is grave but ‘cautiously optimistic’. I feel a tiny chink of light find its way into the darkness that has engulfed us for the past two days. We’re allowed to see him. Edward waits outside while Mum strokes Dad’s hair and I tell him he’s going to get better.
I don’t know if he can hear me, but just in case I tell him his favourite joke too, the one about the man at the bar and the talking peanuts. Dad loves that joke. Every time I see him he makes me tell it, even though he’s heard it a million times. But this time, when I deliver the punchline, there’s no laughter, just the sound of machines beeping in the silence. For a moment I gaze upon him, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall, before, leaning closer, I whisper in his ear.
‘You’ve got to get better, Dad. Who else is going to laugh at my jokes?’