3

‘LUCY! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SQUEEZE MY HAND! IT’S EMMA! LUCY!’

Why is Ems shouting? Like, you’re right there, stop shouting at me. Did I not set an alarm again? What day is it? If she’s woken me up to make her a cup of tea then she can naff right off. Why do I have to squeeze her hand? I’ll squeeze it all right. Maybe I should dig a nail in. I feel my thumb clasp around her fingers gently. Why don’t my hands work? Squeeze, Lucy. I must be really hungover if I can’t even attempt a minor physical assault on my sister.

I open my eyes and look at a strange perforated ceiling divided up into a grid like a giant noughts and crosses board. I’m not at home, am I? And why does it feel like my eyes are being stabbed by the light?

‘Ems? It’s bright. I can’t. Turn off the lights.’

‘Oh my god… oh my…’

I feel her throw her body over mine and envelop me. I don’t think she’s hugged me like this in her whole entire life. Has she? Maybe when Lexie and Mark died in Grey’s Anatomy. God, is she crying? What the hell has happened? The lights dim and I open one eye again to try and make sense of things, to take in the sounds.

‘Ems, why are you crying?’

‘Ring everyone. Tess is downstairs in the cafeteria, tell her to send her parents back. They were just about to jump on a train. Mum and Dad went home. Oh my… page Dr Elliott because she’ll need to do tests and arrange for an MRI.’

They’ll have to do a what? Who? Emma’s tears run onto my skin and dampen my shirt. Wait, not a shirt. I seem to be wearing paper. I’m in a hospital? Emma gallops through giving instructions to a man next to the bed who could be a doctor but he’s also got a hand on Emma’s back like he’s comforting her. Is he crying too? Why is he crying? Who is he?

‘Lucy. How are you feeling? Have you got any pain? How’s your breathing? Do you need oxygen? Jag, get a nurse in and let’s get you on some oxygen,’ says Emma.

‘Ems… just give her a moment.’ The man’s hand goes to her back again.

‘Why am I here? Ems?’

I force my eyes open again and take in the room, the faces, the air around me. I’m in a room with a television on the wall. I don’t remember watching that television. I wriggle my toes. It feels important to make my toes move. I saw that in a film once. I hold my hand up, seeing that a needle is running into my hand and the crook of my arm. And who’s been drawing on me? There are pictures on my arm. I sit up, short of breath. Why? Ems sits down next to me and encourages me to calm down. I claw at the tubes going into my nose.

‘Lucy, you were in an accident. On Waterloo Bridge. You were on a bike. In a dress. You are so lucky. You got hit by a bus, dressed as Elsa,’ Emma says in loud, accentuated tones like she’s talking to a foreign grandma.

‘Who?’ I gasp.

‘You. You were hit by a bus,’ she replies.

‘But who’s Elsa? Are you a doctor?’ I say, turning to the gentleman in the room.

‘I’m Jag?’

‘It’s nice to meet you.’

He looks over at Emma tentatively.

‘She’s just confused. Lucy, you suffered quite a traumatic head injury. They operated, they had to put you in a medically induced coma to control the swelling to your brain. You’ve been asleep for weeks.’ She explains everything slowly, holding back tears. I was on a bike? Like, Dad’s bike? Who the fuck is Elsa? She sounds German. German… I remember a German man. Do I?

‘We’ve been taking it in turns to come here and sit with you. I mean, you’re awake. That’s everything.’

I reach up to my head, it’s bandaged. My hair. Someone cut my hair? I hope it wasn’t Meg. She did that once and gave me some pretty rubbish levels on my fringe. I was in a coma? I rub my tongue along the underside of my teeth, everything is dry and fuzzy. I study Emma’s face. She looks different. Sad, yes, but there’s something else.

‘When did you get old?’ I ask her.

‘You’re such a cow,’ she replies. She throws herself over me again, laughing but crying and not really caring too much about the fact she’s snotting all over me. So grim. ‘Oh god, I don’t know what we would have done had we lost you.’

I pause to take that all in. They nearly lost me. I nearly died? The man called Jag keeps looking over at me. Whilst Emma’s face reads relief, you can tell he’s thinking things through a bit more. All I’m thinking is that I think I’m wearing a nappy.

‘And if I look old as hell, it’s because you’ve probably aged me ten years, that’s why.’

I look down to a badge on her shirt. Emma Callaghan-Kohli. Who?

‘You’re a paediatric cardiologist?’

‘Yeah?’ she replies.

‘Fancy.’

‘Well, her sarcasm mode is still in good nick,’ Emma says to Jag.

I am silent as my mind whirrs through everything. How long have I been asleep? I cough. Everything feels stiff and unused. There’s a window that overlooks the river and I see sky. It’s so blue. No clouds. And a hint of buildings, a line like on an Etch-a-Sketch. I look down at my arm again. Someone didn’t draw on me. That’s a tattoo. What the actual mother of shite? That’s a bloody leopard. Why have I got a leopard on my arm? Why does he look slightly drugged? My eyes shift about the room.

‘Luce, it’s Mum and Dad,’ says Emma, who’s on the phone. ‘They want to speak to you. Mum won’t believe it until she’s seen it.’

‘LUCY!’ My eyes focus on a phone screen to see my parents in our living room. They’re on the phone. Like a picture? No… they’re moving. It’s a video. It’s so clear. And when did my sister get this posh phone? This must have cost a crapload of money. When did this happen? Dad is sobbing, his hands cupped over his face. Mum has one hand to his back but her eyes stay fixed on me, studying me intently. I can’t say a word. They look older too but Mum’s hair is still the same, the same bob she’s had since forever.

‘Lucy, we’re going to make our way down now. We will be there really soon. Stay awake for us, love, OK?’

It’s very Mum. When her girls do good there’s a nod of the head, a clench of the jaw, a fire in her eyes. She doesn’t crumble, at least not in front of us. I don’t know what to do so just wave. Can they hear me?

‘Emma, is she comfortable? She doesn’t look comfortable? What does this mean? Why is she so stunned? Is she on some sort of new drugs? She looks pale. Someone make her a cup of tea.’

That is also classic Mum but the sound of her voice is soothing.

‘I read that sometimes people have a surge before they die. Is this it? Is this her surge?’

I hear Emma loudly whisper back at her that she’s ridiculous and that I can still hear her and then they argue. But strangely, this is also familiar and I think I might laugh.

‘Just get here, Mum. Her vitals are good. She’s a bit confused but the more people she sees, the better it will be. Get in an Uber. Use my account. Don’t you dare drive, you’re emotional and you’ll both get confused about the congestion charge. Mum, I said don’t drive…’

An Uber? Their call ends and Emma exhales deeply as Jag rests a hand to her shoulder. She sees me, smiles and comes to sit on the side of my bed.

‘Classic Mum,’ I mumble.

Emma laughs. She reaches for a small plastic cup of water and a straw.

‘Small sips. You had a tube in for at least two weeks.’

‘I think I have one in my flaps?’

‘That’s a catheter helping you wee. They’ll take that out in a bit. Just let it do its job.’

‘I can’t pee when he’s in the room,’ I whisper, gesturing over to Jag.

‘Hun, I’ve been out with you and you’ve crouched down between two parked cars and taken a wee before. You set off one of the alarms you peed with that much force.’

‘I did?’

‘At Beth’s birthday thing? Though you were smashed so I doubt you remember.’

That’ll be it. But when I cast my mind back, it feels like there’s a blank page there. It’ll come to me, I’m sure, but all the words are fuzzy.

‘There’s a lot going on. You have a large scar on your skull, some cannulas for drugs and fluids. You were intubated so that’s why your throat will feel dry. Though Meg did joke you were used to having things rammed in your mouth…’ she jokes brazenly.

I don’t reply but return a look of horror. ‘I do?’

‘We removed the tube last week, the doctor was confident. Take lots of sips. We need to check your reflexes and up your fluids.’

She smiles at me, throws me a look of reassurance and puts a hand to my cheek. Her phone rings and she goes to answer it.

‘Oh my god, Gracie – yes!’ She bursts into tears. ‘Don’t cry. She’s fine. Get yourself over here with the girls. Do you want to talk to her? Breathe, Gracie. She is fine. She is awake.’

My eyes light up to hear that name. Grace. I know her. I want to see her.

‘Hold up, Gracie…’ Emma cups her hand over her phone. ‘I need to calm her down. Understandably, she’s not dealt with this very well. Give me a mo, Luce.’

Surely no one’s dealt with this too well but I get it. Emma and Jag move to the end of my bed, chatting like they’re on some conference trading call, my eyes and ears bouncing between the two of them. Gracie, this is nothing like Tom’s coma. Come and see her. I can meet you at the door with the girls. Will, she’s up!

Grace, I know. Who is Tom in the coma? And there’s a Will? Will and Grace. That’s a show. We watch that show together. I want to see all the sisters now. I want to absorb all that big sister energy like a huge collective hug.

A nurse, in the meanwhile, enters the room, observing my machines and taking a few notes.

‘Morning, Lucy. I’m Zahra,’ she tells me in a soft lilting West African accent. ‘Can I take your blood pressure?’ I nod and let her take my arm and wrap the band around the top of it. All I can hear is the scratch of the Velcro. It tightens. A beep.

‘How are you feeling, Lucy? Any nausea? Pain?’

‘I feel drunk.’

She laughs and it’s a welcome, joyful sound in a room of machines and panicked phone calls.

‘Well, Beth did joke that we should push neat vodka into your cannula. That would wake our Lucy up for sure.’

I glance over at Emma. ‘I bet they freaked out, the family…’

‘They tried everything,’ Zahra tells me. ‘Your favourite music, they would read to you and dance and paint your toenails. They’ve been coming down here in shifts with your parents to sit with you. A different one every night. We don’t mind too much, they bring us all biscuits and cake. I’ve never seen a family like it. You are very loved, young lady.’

I pause for a moment to take that in.

‘Your brain and your body have been through a lot, Lucy. Give yourself time to catch up. Simple things first, deep breaths, let your eyes adjust to the room. If you can feel your toes and fingers then move them, move your neck from side to side too. We will get there.’

My breaths feel slow, shallow. Breathe, Lucy.

‘Did Emma tell you, you’d made the news, too? It went viral. All these pics and videos. Kids were crying because they thought Elsa was dead. The headlines in the papers were that you had “frozen” the traffic.’

She laughs under her breath.

‘Why was I on the bridge? On a bike?’

‘Emma said you were on your way to a party? It’s what you do – you dress up as princesses and perform at parties.’

‘I do? I dress up?’

‘You do. But they had to cut your dress off at the scene to rescue you. That is why you also made the news. You were in a thong and Converse and someone got a picture on their phone, a less than conventional princess.’

‘I wear thongs?’

She laughs again, with her whole body. ‘Emma told us it was lucky as normally you prefer to go commando.’

I do? I am pretty sure I don’t as Beth told me that spiders can crawl up my minnie while I’m asleep. Their leftover legs then stick to you and become pubes.

‘Emma told us you were the funny one.’ I grab Zahra’s hand suddenly and she grabs it back. ‘She also told us you were a fighter. The feisty one. Classic Lucy to take on a double-decker in fancy dress and stop the traffic. But she had no doubt that you would wake up. I’ll go and chat to your doctors to see what we do next. The call button is here if you need me but I think this lot have it covered.’

I glance over to Emma. I’m very much drawn to her feet. Emma, those are old lady moccasin shoes. Mum has slippers like those in burgundy velvet. She does look different. She goes in to hug Jag and they look over at me, HOLDING HANDS. Emma! She has that jerk doctor boyfriend called Simon. I’ve seen him ogling my boobs before. Have they broken up? Has being in a coma and nearly losing me meant she thought long and hard about the love she deserved and hooked up with this Asian dude? I like him. I don’t remember him though. Jag? The door suddenly whips open and Meg surges in, dropping her bags to the floor and launching herself at me.

‘Oh my LUCY!’

I put my arms around her but, in truth, words scream inside my consciousness even louder. MEGGSY, YOU ARE FRICKING ANCIENT. Is that grey? Behind her is a man I recognise. That’s her husband, Danny. I never quite got the physical appeal of him as I thought he looked like a sad lumberjack but now there’s a paunch there. Did he stress-eat while I was in a coma? Meg pulls away from me and studies my face.

‘Don’t you dare do that to us again, OK? We have been out of our goddamn minds.’ Her eyes fill with tears and she cups my face.

‘Meg? I don’t get it.’

My breathing becomes more shallow as I look into her face. You’re Meg. You’re definitely Meg. But you’re old. I have a tattoo and wear thongs. I am really confused. My lip goes and I start to cry, using the palms of my hands to wipe at my tears. Meg grabs me harder and I rest my head on her shoulder. This feels the same. This definitely feels the same.

‘I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just… Lucy.’

‘She’s been through a lot. She’s really out of it…’ Emma says. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I got so excited. This must be so much for you to take in.’

‘Danny and I were just about to jump on a train when Tess called…’

‘Yeah, Meg ran back, actually sprinted. Only time she ever does that is in a Next sale,’ Danny jokes.

Meg narrows her eyes at him. I can tell she’s been running from the sweat patches under her boobs.

‘How are you feeling? What don’t you get?’ she asks, wiping a tear from my face.

‘I just don’t remember being on that bike at all…’ I continue. ‘Why the hell do you look so middle-aged?’

‘Well, that part of her isn’t broken at least,’ Meg says, laughing. Another person stands in the doorway. She’s young, a teen, and carries a takeaway coffee. She stands there in denim shorts and a cropped top, a checked shirt tied around her waist. She certainly likes her eyeliner.

‘Aunty Lucy?’ she says, her face beaming.

I look up at her, my mouth open. She looks just like Meg. Just how Meg looked but slightly different. My stare seems to scare her though. Jag looks over at Emma as she starts to work it out.

‘Lucy, you know who this is, right?’ she asks me.

I shake my head.

‘It’s Tess… my daughter. Tess?’ Meg says, almost like I may be joking.

I still stare blankly. Tess comes over to squeeze my hand and I burst into tears. ‘But… you’re a baby. The last time I saw you. You were a baby.’

Emma and Meg don’t utter a word. Tess runs back and hides in her father’s arms, distraught. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to scare her.

Jag comes to the end of the bed. ‘Lucy, do you know what time of year it is?’

It must be the summer. The sky is blue. Meg’s in shorts. She’s not shaved her legs but I won’t bring that up. It’s the summer. I remember it being the summer. I still can’t say anything. Why can’t I remember?

Jag approaches the side of my bed as Meg stands to hug Emma, both of them lost for words. For once. This is normally not the case.

‘Spit it out, you guys. Is this some sort of really bad joke? This is not funny. Who is that girl? Tess is, like, tiny. She has really fluffy hair. She looked like a duck.’ Jag puts an arm to mine, trying to calm me down. ‘I don’t even know who you are. Where’s Simon? Emma was going out with some other doctor called Simon?’

Emma looks absolutely mortified that I’m saying his name out loud. Jag smiles and shakes his head.

‘Emma divorced Simon,’ he explains to me. ‘Emma and I got married a few months ago. In Bristol? You were there?’

I don’t even remember her marrying Simon. She’s been married twice? I bury my face in my hands. I love a wedding. I’d remember a wedding.

Jag takes my hands gently. ‘Lucy, I want you to take some really deep breaths. Do you know your full name?’

‘Lucy Victoria Callaghan.’

‘And when were you born?’

‘August twenty-first, 1992.’

‘And how old are you?’

‘I’m seventeen. I’m pretty sure I’m seventeen.’