Chapter 32
Olive
“But you said he’s OK?”
Dad agrees at once, and I have to fight down the urge to jump up from the sick-bay bed I’m sitting on. Dad came over to the school to fill in Mrs. Sinclair on how Colin’s doing. And to tell me that he’ll still be in hospital overnight.
“I did, and he is, pet.” I can hear how hard he’s trying to sound reassuring, which is actually worrying.
“He can’t be, though—otherwise, why won’t they let him out?”
“He’s in a stable condition, Olive, but such a bad case of hypoglycemia is exhausting for the body. Colin was lucky that no complications set in, but it would be irresponsible not to keep an eye on him a bit longer.”
“But you can do that here,” I say.
“Not as thoroughly as they can in the ICU, though.”
“Is he still there?” My throat clenches.
“Just to be on the safe side,” Dad says promptly. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to come back to school tomorrow so long as he keeps on improving. There’s no need to worry, love.”
I nod, my lips compressed. That’s easy for him to say—he wasn’t the one sat next to him when he just keeled over. I can’t shake off the mental images. Or the feeling that I couldn’t breathe once Colin stopped responding.
I want to ask Dad if Colin asked about me, but I don’t dare. Why would he have? He can probably barely remember a thing. He was drunk out of his skull, so that on its own probably wiped his memory, never mind the hypo.
“It’s just as well you were with him,” Dad says, to my surprise. After all, we were breaking the rules.
“I don’t suppose Mrs. Sinclair sees it that way.”
“Speaking purely as a doctor, you understand.” Dad raises an eyebrow with mock severity, then grows serious again. “You did a very good job, darling. I’m proud of how calm you kept.”
Calm. Don’t make me laugh. I was anything but calm.
Whatever it looked like from the outside.
Inside I was the total opposite. Not just because of the worry about Colin, but also because of everything else I found out last night.
It was too much, and since then, I haven’t had a minute’s peace to think it all through.
“Would you like me to call Ms. Vail?”
I slowly shake my head. I only recently told Dad I’d been speaking to her. He was surprised at first, but I think he’s mainly relieved that I’m taking up the offer of help. “I’m seeing her tomorrow anyway,” I say.
“That’s good . . . You can always come to me, Olive. You know that, don’t you?”
I can’t help swallowing. “I do know, Dad. It’s just . . . sometimes it’s easier to talk to somebody neutral.”
“I can see that.”
After a struggle with myself, I ask, “How’s Nathalie?”
Dad’s slightly taken aback, but I can tell from the way he answers that he’s glad I asked. “Fine, great. She says happy birthday from her, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I smile. “That’s nice of her.”
“Do you think you’d be up to having dinner with us the next time she’s in Edinburgh?”
I knew that would come sometime. But something about the way Dad poses the question stops me instantly saying no. He hasn’t said “We’d like to take you out for dinner”; he’s left me the choice. “Yeah . . . that would be nice.”
“Really? I’m sure Nathalie will be pleased. I certainly am.”
“I want you to be happy, Dad.” Sometimes it’s better just to say straight out what you feel, without spending ages thinking about it. Dad pauses, and I realize I’ve caught a nerve. “You weren’t happy with Mum anymore, were you?”
He shakes his head with a sad smile. “Your mother and I were happy together for many years. And I wouldn’t have missed those times for anything in the world.”
“But now you’ve grown apart,” I say quietly.
“Sometimes a thing can be amazing, but not last forever,” he says.
“I know.” I glance down. “I’m learning that just now.”
Dad lifts his eyebrows. “With Colin?”
“No,” I say hastily. This thing with Colin is complicated, painful, and intense, but it’s only just beginning.
Only God knows why, but I’m absolutely certain of that.
“With my friends . . . I was determined to switch up into the upper sixth as soon as I turned eighteen and you couldn’t tell me what to do anymore. ”
Dad grins, as if he knew that all along. “Well, it looks like we can’t tell you what to do anymore now. So what are you going to do?”
I take a deep breath. “I think I’m better off in the lower sixth.” It hurts to say the words. But anything else would be untrue. “I miss my friends, and I’m still angry. Not with you, Dad, but with . . . the whole world. The fire, the way everything’s changed.”
“And you have every right to be, love.”
There are tears in my eyes, but I blink them away. “I know. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t get me anywhere. That it only wrecks the stuff I do have . . . And that’s a lot, Dad.”
It’s hard not to cry when he hugs me. A while ago, getting so emotional would have really embarrassed me.
But this is who I am now. Lots of stuff has happened to me, so I’m allowed to have big feelings.
I’m OK with that, and I feel a wee bit lighter and freer as I walk back to my room once Dad’s driven away.
I try to work on the school paper to take my mind off things, but my thoughts are everywhere except in this room. Mostly with Colin. It might be silly not to text him, but something inside me refuses.
Dad relieved my worst fears, but I can’t truly believe Colin’s doing OK until I see him again on Tuesday.
He was discharged yesterday. I knew that, and I didn’t go to see him, even though every fiber of my being longed to be close to him.
But for the most part, I’m still just disappointed and incredulous about what I learned at the weekend.
I spent a long time thinking about how to act when I saw him again. I’ve got nothing to say to him, yet at the same time, I have a ton of questions.
I forget every one of them when I see him before breakfast. The corridor outside the dining room is deserted—most people are already inside, but I’m running late because it took me ages to plait my hair.
I used to be the champion of complicated plaits, and it’s OK that that’s changed since I’ve been unable to lift my arm above shoulder height without pain.
But today at least I’ve managed a respectable Danish braid.
I’m just coming around the corner when I see him. And Colin sees me as I slam on the brakes.
He looks good. That’s my first thought. Not amazing—the shadows under his eyes are too dark for that—but he’s not as deathly pale as he was that night in my room. Fortunately.
He stands there, he looks at me, and although I can’t be certain how much he can remember, I see from his face that he knows exactly what happened before he passed out.
Before he came to me and begged me to believe him.
I didn’t want to think about it—it hurts too much—but the images are seared on my brain.
Colin, distraught, and although he looks more together now, I can tell at a glance that his emotional state hasn’t changed.
And neither has mine. I’m still shocked, hurt, and overwhelmed, but I’m feeling something else just now, which eclipses all other emotions. Relief, which gives way to burning desire, and steers me toward him.
Colin
After two nights in the hospital, they let me go back to school.
It feels like an eternity. Olive’s dad gives me a ride, and although I’d never have thought it possible, the only thing I feel when I get out of his car and see the tall brick buildings of Dunbridge Academy is relief.
First of all, Mrs. Sinclair is waiting for me, along with Ms. Vail.
The head is justifiably pissed, but I can see concern in her face.
Dr. Henderson must have filled her in on the contents of the discharge letter from the hospital, including the psychiatrist’s notes and his recommendation that I get therapy.
Anyway, after a long sermon from Mrs. Sinclair on breaking the rules, Ms. Vail takes me off to her office.
Even after talking to the psychologist, I’m not too sure what to make of it. I guess it was kind of a relief but also really tiring. My mind is still swirling the next day as I go in for breakfast after the morning run, during which I felt like the PE teacher was watching me very closely.
I haven’t seen Olive yet. She doesn’t do the run, of course, and I hadn’t spotted her at dinner yesterday either.
I’m just scanning through my schedule for the day, to work out when I’ll next be in class with her, when she comes around the corner of the cloisters and sees me outside the dining room door.
She stops, rooted to the spot, and suddenly I can’t move either. Her eyes roam over me, and I find myself remembering what the doctor said.
You were very lucky that your girlfriend was with you and called an ambulance.
My girlfriend who isn’t my girlfriend and who hates me. I was sure of that, but now I read all kinds of emotions in her pale face, which have me doubting myself. Olive looks like she’s had a few sleepless nights, and I hate that I might be to blame for that.
Do I need to say anything? Apologize to her? I really should, but I suddenly can’t remember how to speak. Or move. But I don’t have to, because Olive’s already walking toward me.
She doesn’t look at me, only gives me a fleeting glance once she’s right in front of me. And then she hugs me. Harder than I expect.
I feel her fingers in my sweater and her head against my throat.
I’m so overwhelmed that I don’t put my arms around her, and by the time I’m considering changing that, she’s let go of me again.
She takes a step back and looks up at me.
Her green eyes sparkle threateningly. “Never fucking do that again,” she says, through gritted teeth, gazing so intently at me that a shiver runs down my spine. “Got that?”
Loud and clear. It’s impossible not to get it, given the way she’s looking at me. I swallow hard, then salute. “Yes, ma’am.”