Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
KATE
Ouch!
Tears roll down my face as the nurse stitches up my head. But they aren’t from pain – at least not the physical kind.
I don’t really remember the journey here to the hospital. The day has passed in a blur of tests, questions, and being poked and prodded. I’ve lost track of time, because hospitals do that thing – no natural light, no normal rhythms, everything feeling disconnected from the real world.
Rosie called in, I think – I was still pretty confused by that stage, my head pounding and everything still all mushed up in my mind. I know I fell, even though I don’t really remember it actually happening. And I know why I fell…
I fell because I was distracted, not paying attention. I fell because I told Brody I loved him, and because of the look on his face when I let those stupid words slip out.
He was terrified. There’s no getting away from it. It’s not just that he didn’t say it back – I would never expect that – it’s that he seemed so very deeply disturbed by it. I think about it as the nurse continues to stitch up my head, which is probably not a good idea as I keep crying.
‘Och now,’ she says, sounding like an exasperated mum, ‘don’t be such a baby!’
She thinks I’m crying because of the procedure, and I let her think that.
She’s a nurse, not a psychologist, so she probably can’t help me with the other issue.
Truthfully, the stitches don’t hurt that much, they gave me a local anaesthetic.
I just wish they could inject some directly into my shattered heart.
I can’t believe I told him I loved him. I’ve been feeling it, creeping up on me like a stealth emotion bomb, lurking behind all my thoughts.
I don’t think, though, that I’d even fully acknowledged it to myself until today – I was as surprised as he was when I spoke like that.
Surprised and, I remind myself with an embarrassing sob, horrified.
I am in love with Brody. I don’t think there’s any doubt about that now.
But he very clearly does not feel the same, and I have to learn to live with that.
He never promised me more than what we have, and he was always honest about what he could offer.
His life, his heart, his memories – they all live in Chicago, and I only ever had him on a short-term basis.
I knew all of that, I accepted it – but it still hurts.
Replaying the shocked expression on his face, the way he froze like a hunted animal, makes me cringe inside.
I’m an idiot. Harry was a complete moron, and he didn’t love me, so why would I ever think that a man like Brody would?
I’m not exactly the catch of the century.
I have no career, no family, nothing to offer apart from sex.
And while the sex has been spectacular, admittedly, I now know it’s not enough.
It’s not just my body that’s fallen for him, it’s my whole being.
I’ve fallen harder for him than I did from that stepladder.
He’s currently hanging around outside the cubicle, having been chased away by the nurse when she started the stitches.
We haven’t been alone since he arrived, between the tests and moving between different departments.
I’m glad, because part of me really does not want to face him.
I feel so foolish, so incompetent. Like such a bloody disaster zone.
The nurse finishes up with my stitches, sits back and admires her handiwork. ‘There. I can tell Moira you’re all patched up now.’
‘Moira?’ I echo. ‘You know Moira?’
‘Aye, of course I do – everyone knows Moira McLeod! You’re one of her waifs and strays, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose I am.’
She nods, and continues. ‘You’re lucky it was mainly on the scalp. Only a wee bit on the forehead, so you won’t look too much like Frankenstein.’
Wow, I think. That’s a low bar. I can now add facial scars to my list of attractive features. I thank her, and she settles me back in the bed, tucking my blankets in with a maternal efficiency that threatens to make me weep again. I don’t think I’ve ever missed my mum and my gran so much.
‘Now,’ she announces, ‘I’m going to let the big man in. He’s been pacing around out there since you arrived, scaring my staff. Is he your other half, hen? Are we allowed to talk to him about your care?’
‘No!’ I say firmly, shaking my head in a way that makes me feel instantly dizzy, and not a little nauseous. ‘No, he’s… uh, just a friend.’
She looks at me doubtfully, but replies: ‘If you say so.’
She leaves, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I cannot cry in front of him. I cannot make this any worse than it already is. It’s time to put on a show, for both our sakes.
He pushes his way through the green cubicle curtain, almost tugging it down, and stands over me. Big as ever, but now pale and drawn as well.
Our eyes meet, and I see him examining me, looking at the stitches, taking in the plasters and dressings where most of my blood has been drained away for more tests. I must look absolutely irresistible.
He drags a chair over, sits beside me. Gently takes one of my hands in his.
‘How are you doing?’ he asks quietly.
‘Oh, fantastic!’ I reply brightly. ‘I’ve had some awesome drugs. How about you?’
He frowns, and obviously doesn’t like the fact that I’m concerned about him. ‘I’m good, Kate. Just worried about you. What did the docs say? They wouldn’t talk to me.’
‘Well, nobody seems overly bothered, Brody, and I haven’t been rushed into surgery – I was told someone would see me later to give me my test results, but I’m guessing it’s just a concussion. Luckily I have a very hard head.’
He looks sceptical, but realises that’s as good as it’s going to get.
I know him well enough now to see the signs of stress and tension in the set of his lips, the twitch of his eye, the way he holds himself.
If he was scared earlier, he’s now petrified.
He runs his hands through his hair, leaving it in unruly tufts.
I can tell he wants to say something, that he’s holding back. That he doesn’t want to upset me.
‘Brody, can we forget about what I said earlier? I think I might have amnesia anyway. Who are you again?’
That earns me a little half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. A wave of dread flows over me. Maybe I’d hoped there was a way to retrieve this, to salvage something from the rubble, but looking at him now I don’t think that’s going to happen.
I have a moment of pure regret: regret that I missed my bus that rainy day in London, a lifetime ago.
Regret that I found the book. Regret that I came here, and met a man whom I loved.
My life before was a dull monotone of slow disappointment.
Right now I’d go back to it, exchange it for this rollercoaster of feeling.
I was higher than I’ve ever been, and now I’m not just back down to earth, I’m buried beneath it.
No, I tell myself. That’s not fair. Whatever happens with Brody, I must take the positives from this, from the changes I’ve made.
‘It’s nothing we need to discuss now,’ he replies simply. Except it is, I realise. I might not be at my best, but I need to get some of this out there, or it might cause more damage than the fall.
‘Brody, look,’ I say, putting as much conviction into my voice as I can, ‘I broke the deal, I know that. This was never supposed to be about love, was it?’
He shakes his head sadly, his fingers tight around mine. For a second I have hope. Hope that he might feel the same way about me as I do about him. That ends with the next words from his mouth.
‘No, it wasn’t, Kate. I’m… I’m sorry. I’m just not ready for that.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. You were always honest. And if it’s any consolation, I’m sure this is just a crush that got out of hand. I’ll probably forget you even exist as soon as you leave!’
We both know that’s not true, but he smiles and nods, accepting the lie. This is where we are now, it seems – walls up between us, barricades on both sides, both protecting ourselves from the hurts we know are hiding in plain sight.
‘I bet you will. It really doesn’t matter right now anyway,’ he replies. ‘All that matters is making sure you’re okay, and getting you out of here. If it’s just a concussion they’ll send you back to the cottage.’
The fact that he has retreated into calling it ‘the cottage’ instead of ‘home’ does not go unnoticed, and it drives the splinters of pain even deeper into my heart.
Brody is a good man, and he would never abandon me in my hour of need.
But is that what I want? Pity? Being a duty?
I can see the stress on his face, the anguish in his eyes.
I know what he has endured in his life, and it is a lot.
I refuse to be added to his list of burdens.
‘Probably,’ I say firmly. ‘And I’m sure I’ll be absolutely back to normal by tomorrow, or as normal as I ever am. There’s no need to worry. Everything is going to be fine.’
‘Is it?’ he asks, his tone uncertain. ‘Are you going to be fine?’
‘Of course I am. Seriously, Brody, there is no need at all to be concerned.’
I know he’s not just talking about the concussion, and he looks as though he might be about to argue. At that moment, though, the nurse pops her head through the curtain and eyeballs him.
‘The doctor is coming around to speak to Kate,’ she says before nodding at Brody. ‘Time for you to disappear.’
Brody glares up at her, and her lips compress with the kind of take-no-shit attitude that reminds me of my grandmother. She folds her arms over her chest and adds: ‘Off you go, son! The café is open.’
‘Go, Brody. It’s okay. I’ll fill you in on what the doctor says later. For now, go and get yourself a coffee. In fact, get me one too.’
I glance up at the nurse, and add: ‘Is that all right? Can I have a coffee?’
She ponders this, and nods. ‘Maybe make it a decaf.’
I see the wheels turning in Brody’s mind, and he relaxes a fraction.
If I am allowed to have a hot beverage, that means I’m not about to be wheeled into emergency surgery.
He nods, scrapes his chair against the floor as he gets up.
He kisses my cheek and tells me he’ll be back in ten minutes.
The nurse watches him go, and shakes her head.
‘Good Lord,’ she mutters. ‘It must cost a fortune to feed him…’
She bustles around, and when the doctor walks in she stays with us.
She stays at my side, actually sitting down – which is not something that nurses often do.
I immediately start to panic a little – is this the bit where they tell me I have an incurable brain tumour?
Maybe I’m not being wheeled into surgery because it’s too late for all of that!
I fight the urge to call Brody back. If he doesn’t want me when I’m fit and healthy, he’s not going to want me if I’m seriously ill. And anyway, I’m probably overreacting as usual.
The doctor is about twelve, and still has braces. I can only assume that she was some kind of child prodigy.
‘Kate,’ she says, smiling briefly and looking at her notes, as though reminding herself of who I am.
I hope it doesn’t say ‘tumour the size of a planet’ on those notes.
‘First of all, everything is fine after your fall. You have a very mild concussion, nothing at all to worry about, and I see Sandra has done a top-notch job on the stitches.’
Phew. No incurable cancer. That’s a huge relief – but why are the curtains still closed? Why is the nurse still here?
‘That’s great, thank you. Can I leave now?’ I ask.
‘You can, as long as you promise to take it easy – we’ll give you a fact sheet about concussions, and any warning signs to look out for.’
‘Oh good. I do like a fact sheet.’
‘But before you go, we need to talk about one of your test results.’
I nod, trying not to look terrified. Maybe I’ve got a vitamin deficiency, or I’m anaemic, or they’ve discovered I have a rare genetic condition that makes me tell men I love them at inappropriate moments. I like that last one. It would be nice to have something to blame other than myself.
‘So, you weren’t really communicating very well when you arrived, which is understandable. We have standard tests that we do on women of your age before we proceed any further, in case it affects the course of treatment.’
She frowns a little, and then makes eye contact with me. ‘Kate,’ she says, ‘did you know that you are pregnant?’