Chapter 46
I sat up in bed, swung my legs over the edge, put my feet on the floor and stood up.
I walked to my window and watched the world outside awaken.
The postwoman doing her rounds. An early morning jogger.
A family packing for a summer holiday, loading up the boot with suitcases, and a little boy with a bucket and spade ready for the beach, his parents wearing hiking shorts and T-shirts that were just a bit too colourful to be worn at any time other than when going on holiday.
Life inside my house began to awaken too, as I heard Dad peeing in the bathroom, the creak of his steps down the stairs, Mum walking across the landing and turning the shower on, the mumble of the news on TV downstairs as Dad began his breakfast ritual.
Sounds that were all so familiar and yet I felt like I’d never heard them as distinctly as I did then.
‘Time waits for no man,’ as Mr Feeney said.
With my first step away from the window, the gauntlet of the day opened up.
I dressed. I stepped out of my room, the sweet smell of Mum’s coconut shower gel coming from behind the bathroom door.
I went downstairs to the kitchen with steam from the just-boiled kettle in the air and the hum of the porridge pot in the microwave.
‘Morning,’ said Dad, standing by the kettle. ‘Happy birthday.’
The words must have sat strangely on his tongue the way he said them, I could see it in his face, and they were strange to hear too, somehow the traditional greeting felt out of place on that day with what was ahead; but what else do you say to someone whose birthday it is?
‘Thanks,’ I replied.
‘Are you taking something to eat?’
‘Aye, maybe just a banana.’
‘You’ll need more than that. Bowl of porridge?’
He knows I don’t like porridge.
‘No, a banana’s fine.’
‘Bit of toast?’
‘No, just the banana.’
‘No peanut butter or nothing with it?’
‘Dad, can you not just let me eat what I want to eat?’
I squeezed the words out to cap the frustration; the day had enough in store without an argument to start things off.
‘No, aye, that’s dead on,’ he said as the microwave pinged.
I went into the dining room with my banana and sat at the table eating it. By the time I’d finished Dad came in and put his bowl of porridge down opposite me.
‘I’ll maybe have a cup of tea,’ I said, going back into the kitchen.
I reboiled the kettle.
‘Did you sleep at all?’ said Dad from the dining room.
‘Not really. You?’ I said from the kitchen.
‘Not really.’
I poured hot water onto the teabag in the mug.
‘What time will we head to the test centre?’ I asked.
‘Whenever you’re ready, we’re time enough yet.’
‘Dead on,’ I said, getting milk from the fridge, splashing a bit in the mug and fishing the teabag out; making every second of the tea-making process stretch, but when it was done I went back into the dining room and sat opposite Dad. He’d finished his porridge and was staring into the empty bowl.
‘Keeps you going,’ he said, meaning the porridge.
‘Yeah,’ I said, taking a sip of tea.
‘Do you want to do presents later?’ he asked.
It was tradition on my birthday to open presents after dinner in the evening, but life on the other side of my driving test was impossible to imagine at that moment.
‘Yeah, we’ll just do the same as always,’ I said.
‘Aye, that’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘Right, that’s your mother out of the shower. I’ll head up and brush the teeth.’
I was sitting in a daze when Mum came down in her robe.
‘Morning, Brendan. Happy birthday.’
I could see it felt odd for her too when the words left her mouth.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘All set?’
‘Think so.’
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Not really.’
‘No, I didn’t either, plenty of time to get a few extra prayers in for you and … for everything.’
I’d said a fair few prayers myself, probably could have said more. It’s hard to know when to stop when nothing feels like it’s enough.
‘Did you get something to eat?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Is your wee friend Jennifer still meeting later?’
‘Aye, she’s going to wait for me at the hospital.’
‘Right, you’re going there straight after the test? Will I meet you there too?’
‘Yeah, perfect.’
‘Does your wee friend Jennifer want to join us for dinner later?’
‘Why do you call her my wee friend?’
‘Well, is she … what should I call her?’
‘Well, I think she’s my girlfriend,’ I said awkwardly.
‘Oh right,’ said Mum.
‘I don’t know, I’ll see how things go today, I can ask Jennifer about dinner later.’
‘OK,’ she said.
I heard the jangle of keys as Dad came back into the dining room.
‘Will we head?’
‘Aye,’ I said.
‘Good luck,’ Mum said, twisting her hands. ‘I’ll see you after.’
‘See you after,’ I said.
Dad drove. When we arrived at the test centre we sat there, side by side in the same car we’d spent hours in together, knowing that the next hour would be my first one behind the wheel without him.
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘thanks for everything.’
‘You’ve got it in your bones, Brendan,’ he said, ‘you’ve got it in there,’ he said, pointing to my head, ‘and in there,’ he said, tapping my chest. ‘Just as long as you don’t let it come out of there,’ he said, leaning forward and pointing to his bum.
I couldn’t help bursting out laughing for how stupid the joke was and how much I maybe needed relief from the nerves.
‘But seriously, Brendan,’ he said, ‘you’ll be grand. Just do your best.’
‘It’s all you can do,’ I said.
He clapped me on the shoulder and nodded. I looked forward through the windscreen and nodded too. I took a breath, opened the door and walked across the tarmac for my test to begin.
To say the test went by in a blur wouldn’t be true, that would imply that it went quickly, which it didn’t, it was more like the memory of it was a blur once it was over and I was sitting in the car with the examiner as he scratched a pen on his clipboard totting up whatever points I had got or had lost. My underarms were soaking wet.
My heart had been going double speed the whole time and I must have been holding my breath for long periods because I felt lightheaded.
I looked through the driver’s side window to see Dad sitting in the Honda at the opposite end of the car park; his nose could have been touching the glass for how far forward he seemed to be leaning.
‘Well, Brendan,’ said the examiner.
My head snapped from Dad to him.
‘I’m pleased to tell you …’
I don’t know what else he said because I drowned him out with some sort of bellow; it sounded just like how Ronan and me greeted each other in our laughter language.
I spun my head back to Dad and beamed my face across the car park and he mirrored my beam back like a beacon.
The examiner was still saying things but I wasn’t hearing him, he handed me the sheet from his clipboard, I think I thanked him.
Then, in an instant, I was at the other side of the car park with Dad.
‘Can we go to Ronan now?’ I said.
‘Aye,’ he said, holding the keys up, ‘but you’re driving.’
I turned the key, started the engine, did all the things my dad taught me how to do and drove.
When I parked up at the hospital I peeled the L plate off the front windscreen.
‘I’ll get the back one,’ said Dad.
We ran towards the front doors of the hospital where I could see Jennifer standing beside a bench. She quickly turned and hunched over with her back to us when she spotted us. When we got closer she peeked round and held up a finger as she turned back to the bench.
‘Two seconds, two seconds!’ she said.
Dad and me slowed to a walk, and just as we reached her Jennifer turned round holding a chocolate-frosted cake with a ring of candles lit all round it.
‘I can’t light the candles inside,’ she said, ‘so we’ll have to do it here, sorry. Happy birthday.’
‘Jennifer,’ I said, not knowing what else to say. I hadn’t expected this.
‘Go on,’ she said, ‘blow them out and seal your birthday wish.’
In my head I made the wish again:
I wish Ronan will be awake for my birthday.
I blew; they all went out.
‘Now go!’ said Jennifer. ‘I’ll come along in a bit with this all sliced up.’
I wanted to hug her, I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to lift her up and swing her around.
‘Go!’ she said.
I ran into the hospital with Dad following behind and took the same route to Ronan’s room in record speed. Even the lift was open on the ground floor waiting for us and it was a non-stop ride to Intensive Care. We ran down the corridor and knocked on Ronan’s door.
‘Come in,’ came the voice of Mr McCoy.
I opened the door and there were Mr and Mrs McCoy standing in the same clothes they’d been wearing the day before and there was Ronan; eyes closed, machine pumping, looking blueish-white in the face.
And there, by his side, was the doctor. I looked around at them all, breathless, holding the L plates to my chest.
‘You did it,’ said Mr McCoy, coming towards me and giving me a heavy hug.
‘I did it,’ I said, held in Mr McCoy’s embrace and looking around his shoulder at Ronan in the bed; not awake.
‘Well done, Brendan, well done,’ said Mrs McCoy, coming over and hugging me too.
‘You were taking your driving test today?’ said the stranger in the room, the doctor. ‘You passed, well done, good man.’ He was standing over Ronan.
‘Is everything OK?’ I said, feeling that my arrival had interrupted something.
‘If you want to close the door there and take a seat I can explain,’ said the doctor.
Dad closed the door, which seemed to vacuum seal the room. The L plates dropped from my hand, sailed a little along the floor and lay still.
Everything seemed still.
Everything except Ronan, rhythmically pumping like some terrible instrument, looking more lifeless than ever.
‘Shall I explain or …’ said the doctor, aiming his eyes at Mr and Mrs McCoy.
They nodded for him to proceed. ‘Alright. Well, I have spoken with Aaron and Emma regularly over these past few days. I believe you’re aware that since Ronan’s last seizure it’s been a bit of a battle and we’re just not winning and we’ve been forced into a corner we never wanted to be in.
These machines have been the only thing keeping Ronan going, brain activity has depleted rapidly to the point where there is, unfortunately, no activity.
We’ve reached the point of having to make a decision on whether to continue or not.
I know this is an incredibly difficult time and an incredibly difficult decision for Emma and Aaron to make, but, as we have been speaking again this morning, I think we all feel that the decision has been made for us.
We’re left with no choice, we really have tried everything we could and sometimes that’s simply not enough. ’
I turned to Mr and Mrs McCoy. Side by side, they looked so composed. They looked strong. They looked sad.
‘You’re … letting him go?’ I said.
‘The case, I’m afraid,’ said the doctor, ‘is that he’s already gone.’
‘How can he … he’s not!’ I said. ‘He can’t … he’s not!’
‘I know it’s hard to understand but really all we’re doing at the moment is keeping his body going.
Ronan, as you know and love him, is gone.
I know it’s the worst possible news, it’s devastating for me as a doctor to have to deliver this and I can never know the hurt it causes. I’m incredibly sorry.’
Mrs McCoy shook out of her solid state, collapsed towards her husband and sobbed in his arms. Dad, from behind, put both hands on my shoulders and squeezed tight.
‘When?’ I said.
Mrs McCoy looked at me with desperate eyes.
‘We were waiting for you, Brendan,’ she said. ‘We wanted you to be here, we wanted you to be with us and know why.’
A blade sliced down through me as I realised what she was saying.
‘Now?’ I said.
Mr and Mrs McCoy looked at me and then at the doctor.
‘I’ll leave you if you all want to take a moment,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘Of course, please let me know if there’s anything,’ he said, walking towards the door and placing a hand on my shoulder briefly on the way. ‘I am so sorry.’ Then he left and closed the door.
What happened next in that room lives in my brain as a type of ceremony.
We spoke quietly, prayer-like, to Ronan as he pumped and pumped.
We spoke into his ears that couldn’t hear us.
We gazed at his eyelids that never opened.
We watched his mouth that never replied but maybe we could hear his voice in our heads anyway, the answers he would have given.
‘I’m going to miss you so much,’ I said to him.
‘I’m going to miss you too,’ he’d have said.
‘I passed my driving test today, you know.’
‘I know,’ he’d say, ‘why are the L plates on the floor? I thought this was a celebration?’
I went over and picked them up.
‘Rip them up,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘Yeah,’ Ronan would have said, ‘rip them up!’
‘Alright,’ I said and tore them up with desperate, teary laughter. There was a boisterous release of ‘hurray’ from everyone.
‘Happy birthday,’ Ronan would have said.
‘I made a birthday wish, you know,’ I said. ‘I wished you’d wake up and celebrate with me.’
‘Sorry, man,’ he’d have said. ‘I let you down.’
I stared into his closed eyes, his blue pallor making me feel sick with pain.
‘Ronan,’ I said, tears now pouring down my face, ‘I love you. I’m going to miss you so much.’
I took his hand, limp and cool. Mr and Mrs McCoy took his other hand and we hugged ourselves down over his pumping body like a human blanket.
I don’t know when the doctor and nurses came to be in the room, I don’t know when the procedures started to take place, I just know that I never, not for one second, let go of Ronan’s hand or stopped staring into his sleeping face with his mum’s hand stroking the top of his head and his dad’s voice intoning low words into his ear.
Our cluster around him, our ring of love shaking with sorrow and juddering from the rhythm of Ronan’s breath until it stopped and Ronan lay still.
Pure silence.
The thump of my heart in my throat as it broke.
It broke so loudly that it seemed like the windows of the hospital room smashed inwards.
Ringing in my ears.
A steady ring.
The machine that had metronomed Ronan’s heart held the note.
A clicking noise.
A switch.
Then there was nothing.