‘Are you hungry?’ asks Paul. I’ve been sleeping, the kind of sleep you can wake up from. I sit up in the hospital bed and let him adjust the pillows behind me. The door is open and I can see a trolley just outside.
‘She needs to take it slow, just a little at a time,’ Northern Nurse says to Paul, giving him a tray of food. I recognise her voice. She doesn’t look the same in real life as she did in my head. She’s younger, slimmer, less tired-looking. I never pictured her smiling, but she does, all the time. Some people appear happy on the outside and you only know they’re broken inside if you listen as well as look.
Paul takes the tray and puts it down in front of me. There’s chicken, with mash and green beans. A carton of juice and what looks like strawberry jelly. I’m so hungry but now that I can see what’s on offer, I’m less eager to eat it. Paul picks up the cutlery and loads some mashed potato onto a fork.
‘I can do it,’ I say.
‘Sorry.’
I take the fork from him.
I eat most of it. I chew and swallow small pieces at a time, my throat still hurts from the tube. It didn’t look like much, but right now it feels like I might have eaten the best meal of my life. The chicken was overcooked and the potatoes were lumpy, but just to be able to chew and swallow and taste again made every mouthful exquisite. Because it means that I’m alive.
‘Can you remember any more?’ Paul asks.
I shake my head and look away. ‘Not really.’
He looks relieved. He talks about the future as though we have one and it makes me feel real again. I can’t imagine how it must have felt, seeing what Paul saw, watching a man do that to me. But it doesn’t seem to have changed things for him, not yet at least. My thoughts start to flatten out, his words ironing out the creases until the folds in my thinking are smooth. He persists over any remaining lines until the imperfect is made neat and tidy, as though brand new, unused and unspoiled.
Paul’s phone buzzes on the bedside table. He reaches over, reads it, then stares at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘You’ve got a visitor.’
I feel myself start to fade.
‘Who?’
‘Claire.’ He waits a while for me to say something, but I don’t. ‘Is that OK? You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to. You don’t have to see anyone. But whatever happened between the two of you, I know she’s very sorry.’
‘OK. She’s in the car park, so she’ll be a few minutes. I’ll tell her to come up.’ I look away while he texts my sister. Paul doesn’t know that I remember what happened that night. I haven’t decided what to do yet, how much of it I should pretend not to know.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ Paul asks.
‘I’d love a glass of wine,’ I reply.
He laughs, it’s a great sound. ‘I’m sure you would, but I think it might still be a tiny bit too soon for grape juice. One day at a time.’
He takes the tray and leaves it on the floor just outside, as though this is a hotel room and we’ve been ordering room service. I’d like to go somewhere, when this is over. Run away from real life for just a little while. Any place where you can feel the sun by day and see the stars at night. The door is open but she knocks on it anyway.
‘Hi,’ she says, waiting to be invited before coming any closer.
‘Come in,’ says Paul.
‘How are you?’ she asks looking between the two of us, but meaning me.
‘I’m OK,’ I say.
Paul gets up from his chair. ‘Right, well. I might just pop out for a bit, leave you two to catch up?’
I nod to let him know I’m all right. Claire and I stare at each other, a silent conversation already taking place behind our eyes. She sits in the chair Paul has vacated and waits until she’s sure he’s far away enough from the room not to hear.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, eventually.
‘What for?’
‘All of it.’