Kieron is burning up. He’s had infections before – many of them – but none hitting as hard and fast as this one. His chest lifts and drops with rapid breaths. His skin is clammy.
I call 999 before soothing him with soft words and impossible promises.
‘You’ll be okay.’
But will he?
My thoughts are dark and chaotic, a murder of crows fighting and scratching for dominance inside of my mind.
I’m so scared.
That’s one thing Aidan can’t always understand. No amount of medical training, experience can detach you from the primal emotional response a mother feels when her child is sick.
I ring Aidan again from the back of the ambulance. Still, he doesn’t pick up.
The paramedics don’t race towards Wheatfield General with flashing lights and a blaring siren but I urge them to drive faster, making sure they know I’m a doctor. In the young medic’s eyes I see the why-are-you-freaking-out-then look. He wouldn’t be quite so blasé if he were a parent. If this were his child.
Treatment starts almost as soon as Kieron is admitted. The staff here know him – know me. Paracetamol is given to lower his temperature – something other parents are always surprised about, expecting some newfangled drug with a complicated name they have never even heard of. Kieron doesn’t flinch as he’s hooked up to an IV to administer the antibiotics to fight his infection. Bloods are taken. He looks so small in the bed.
One of the nurses cracks a joke about not being able to keep Kieron away from the canteen’s jam sponge and custard, but Kieron doesn’t raise a smile. It’s worrying how quiet he is. How resigned he looks to it all. This is the place Kieron is growing up, where innocence is lost. Where children are faced with their own mortality and parents confront their biggest nightmares.
Mr Peters arrives. ‘Didn’t think we’d see you back so soon.’ He smiles at Kieron, a reassuring stretch of his mouth, flash of his teeth, but it does not calm this agitation that builds and builds until I fear I might explode with it all: the emotion, the fear, the sense of helplessness.
‘Are you going to—’
‘Let’s give the antibiotics time to kick in.’
Waiting is a game parents of sick children know so well. I’m an expert player but I still feel there is more that can be done.
‘I really—’
Mr Peters cuts me off again as though I am nothing.
Nobody.
‘Lucy.’ He checks his watch as though he has somewhere more pressing to be. ‘I appreciate your medical training but orthopaedics—’
‘But you know—’
‘I’m sorry. I really have to get to a meeting. I wanted to pop in and see Kieron when I heard he’d been readmitted. I’ll be back later, around six. Let’s talk then.’ He marches towards the doors without a backward glance and there’s nothing else I can do but sit by Kieron’s bed as he sleeps. The ward is busy but I feel so lonely. So utterly, hopelessly, irretrievably lonely.
It’s a relief when Aidan calls me back.
‘Kieron’s in hospital. He’s got another infection,’ I blurt out as soon as we are connected.
‘So soon? Has Mr Peters seen him?’
‘Yes. I tried to talk to him again about Kieron’s long-term prognosis but he…’ My throat contracts. ‘He didn’t listen.’
‘I’ll be with you both as soon as I can. Do you need anything?’
‘Can you pop into the school and let Connor know that Kieron’s been readmitted? I don’t want to tell him by text.’
‘You want me to go to the school?’ Aidan asks me to clarify. I know what he is really asking is does he have to face Mr Marshall. He doesn’t want to. Neither of us do. And yet we send Connor to school every day. It isn’t fair. A wave of guilt washes over me. I’m still feeling terrible from Kieron’s revelation that Connor thinks I love his brother more than him. I teeter on a high wire between my two children. How do other parents make it seem so effortless?
Aidan strides through the door. I fling my arms around his neck, breathing in his comforting smell of hay and horses and something else…
‘Have you been drinking?’ I ask, hearing the note of irritation rising in my voice.
‘Just a quick one.’
Aidan turns his attention to Kieron and they begin to chat. Shortly afterwards, the doors fly open again and Connor hurries towards us flanked by Tyler and Ryan. Five people around one bed will be frowned upon but Tyler and Ryan are fond of Kieron.
‘Ten minutes,’ I say sternly, but I’m pleased they are here. Kieron is too.
‘Doesn’t seem like five minutes since we visited you here last time, Kier,’ says Ryan. ‘You fancy one of the nurses or something?’
A flush spreads across Kieron’s neck but he doesn’t deny it.
‘You do!’ Connor perches on the side of the bed. ‘You never said. Who?’
Kieron shakes his head. ‘No one,’ he mumbles.
‘An older woman! Once you’re home I’ll come round and race you on a game of Forza on Xbox. Take your mind off her,’ Tyler says.
‘I don’t have that one yet.’ Kieron glances at Connor, knowing that if his brother has it, he will lend him it.
‘I’ll treat you to your own copy. I’ve come into a bit of cash.’ Tyler taps his pockets.
‘Yesss,’ says Kieron. Tyler holds up his hand and Kieron high-fives it.
Kieron’s excitement is heart-warming. I glance across at Aidan expecting him to be sharing my smile, but the muscle in the side of his cheek is twitching.
He’s angry.
Tyler must feel eyes on him because he meets Aidan’s glare and something passes between them, thick and private.
‘Are you all right? Aidan?’ I pull his attention away from Tyler.
He shrugs. Tries to smile but then a look of utter despair passes over his face.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I need to tell you something.’ Before I can react, he is taking my hand, his palm is clammy. He leads me out into the corridor.
Whatever he has to say, he’s nervous.
I’m nervous.
He is gripping my fingers too tightly, and when I wiggle mine to loosen his grip, he lets me go. I want to snatch his hand again because I am frightened – I don’t know why – but he has moved away from me. He’s leaning against the wall and I scan his face anxiously trying to decipher what’s going on in his head but I can’t read him.
I’m holding my breath as he begins to speak.
‘Lucy…’ Again the anguished expression. ‘Please don’t judge me for this…’