Seventeen
As the ambulance sped across the roads, zipping in and out of traffic, I felt like I had been drugged . My head was overcrowded; there were too many thoughts racing around in there. I blinked, attempting to clear the fog in my head. The shrill noise from the ambulance siren also added to the torture, intermingling with the beeps from the equipment monitoring Mason. A constant cruel reminder that this may be a life-or-death situation. He was still unconscious, and there had been no movement.
Once she was happy that she had stabilised her patient, the paramedic withdrew a clipboard and starting asking me questions about Mason: his name, age, address, the list was endless. She said she needed as much information as possible to register him when we arrived at the hospital and before he went through triage. There were some questions I couldn’t answer, but explained that his brothers were on the way and would be able to fill in the blanks then.
The nearest emergency room was at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Kings Lynn. When we arrived, everything was a blur, and I felt muddled. My throat was tight, either from smoke inhalation, crying, or both. To add to my confusion, I was too wrapped up in my emotional crisis to establish exactly where they were taking Mason.
Mason had remained unresponsive in the ambulance, and I had held his hand through the entire journey. I was praying to feel something from him—the slight movement of a finger, a twitch—but there had been nothing . He had been so still. The only way you knew he was breathing was from the rhythmic beep from the monitor.
The paramedic had lightly dressed the nasty-looking wound on Mason’s head. She’d left the congealed blood in place, probably not to tamper with the area until the doctors with more experience could assess him.
At the entrance into the hospital unit, the paramedics were met by two other doctors; one was wearing blue scrubs and the other green. The medic who had been in the back with Mason went along with the two doctors and a porter, and they quickly wheeled the patient down the long corridor.
The other medic, who had driven the ambulance, escorted me to where the waiting area was. She explained that a member of staff would be along shortly and that I was to wait there and give the doctors time to assess the situation. She briefly checked me over and suggested I rehydrate, pointing to the water cooler in the corner of the room.
I felt so lost and lonely, and there was a rushing sensation in my gut. The waiting area wasn’t overly busy; there must have been around a dozen people, all wearing that same haunted look I imagined I wore. I didn’t make eye contact; I just sat down, clutching the bag containing Mason’s personal items to my chest.
A million questions rolled around in my mind: would Mason be, OK? What if he didn’t wake up? Would he remember me? What if he couldn’t walk or move? Mason had fallen through the first floor; his injuries would certainly be significant, and he was still unconscious.
Misery flooded my insides. How on earth would I get through this nightmare on my own? Where was everyone else? Nixon said they’d follow in the car.
A variety of vicious outcomes continued to cloud my mind, and I knew I needed to distract myself and think about something else. No good could come from being so morbid and negative. There was every chance that he would be OK, wasn’t there?
Putting my face in my hands, I shuddered uncontrollably for a few seconds before managing to pull myself together.
I shuffled further back onto the hard, uncomfortable seating, staring down at Mason’s wallet through the see-through bag. There was a black cord hanging out of the folded leather.
I opened the bag, placed my hand inside, and retrieved it. The wallet was old and battered, and as I popped it open, my brow creased in confusion. As I flattened it out, there were a variety of bank cards in there and what appeared to be a necklace. The chain was a thin leather cord, like a shoelace, and as I tugged on it, a green stone appeared in the shape of a horn.
The horn of life?
My heart raced in my chest as I turned the necklace over in my hand, and recognition struck me. I remembered it from the past.
My father had brought it back from a trip to New Zealand one year. The stone was pure jade, and he’d said it would bring me luck .
My heartbeat started hammering erratically as memories of a moment in my childhood flashed through my mind.
The Past
“If you ever take the Duster out again boy, I’ll give you the hiding of your life,” Mitchell McKenna’s voice roared into my thoughts. He sounded angry . Crosser than Daddy when I’d spilt paint in front of the shed the other week.
I shuffled further back into my hiding place and peered through the wood panel I had come through moments before the noise had started. The slamming of doors and the sound of stuff breaking had forced me further under their house. My head was almost stuck between two beams.
“I wasn’t driving on the road, just in the yard. You let Nixon do it all the time.” I immediately recognised the voice of Mason McKenna, one of the older, annoying McKenna children. Wowzer, that boyish voice was full of sass. I’d never dared speak to my Daddy like that. The boy was a tough old dog. I grinned at my joke.
From my place under their house, I could only see their feet. Mr McKenna’s large clown-footed boots were covered in mud and Mason was wearing his usual scabby trainers. “You’re not Nixon boy. He’s seventeen and a man now. You’re a thirteen-year-old little shit, and a pain in my fucking arse. You just don’t listen,” Mitchell boomed again. The fact that he swore at his son forced me to fist my fingers. How I’d have loved to have punched him in his big fat belly. My parents never swore at any of us.
“I can drive, I’ve done it before,” Mason defended himself, moodily, shuffling on his feet.
Mr McKenna started to pace backwards and forwards. That wasn’t good, I had seen him do that before the last time he’d chewed Mason out. Gave his son a black eye that time!
Their disagreement then kicked up a notch and they both started shouting at each other. The noise was terrifying and I rammed my hands over my ears to stop myself from hearing those horrible, angry words .
Then there was a scuffle and I saw Mitchell’s body shunt backwards before he leapt forward toward his son. The ugly sound of bone against bone reverberated around the crawlspace and I suddenly felt sick. I pushed my fist into my mouth to muffle my cry as I saw Mason drop to his knees. He was breathing heavily. His chest rapidly moved in and out and it looked like he was clutching his tummy. But from my position, I couldn’t quite see.
“Next time you won’t get off so lightly!” Mitchell boomed out before stomping back up the steps of their porch and into the house. The wooden door rattled angrily, echoing the mood between them.
I blinked several times, wishing I hadn’t heard it and how I’d like to un-see everything. I was cross that I had chosen today of all days to go there. I had seen fights between Mason and his dad before, but this one sounded much worse. Like his dad had snapped somehow. And why, because Mason had taken a drive in his truck?
Dragging in a deep breath, I shuffled out of the corner, my eyes searching beyond the panels of the house which covered the crawlspace.
Mason was on all fours now and was moving, inching further away from the house. I watched his movements with a pain in my chest. I wanted to go to him, check he was OK. I could see from how he moved that he was hurting. What had his daddy done to him this time?
I toyed with the idea of running home and getting my dad, but there would be hell to pay if he knew I’d been on McKenna land again. Plus, Daddy hated Mr and Mrs McKenna, including their kids. Dad said Mitchell was a bad apple; greedy and irrational and that his sons would grow up just like him.
Swishing my ponytail back, I rubbed my grubby hands on my jeans and followed Mason. Peeling back the loose bit of panelling which gave me access to my hidey-hole, I made my way toward the fallen boy. He had come to a stop in the longer grass, several yards away from the house and was now lying on his back, staring up at the sky.
As I got closer, I could see his lip was busted and my tummy got mushy inside. Maybe I could kiss it better? That’s what my mummy did with the scrapes on my knees ?
I pushed on, using a crawl my brother had taught me which he’d learned from a video game. It was a grown up one and I was too young to play it at only seven years old.
I flopped my body down next to Mason’s and copied him, looking up into that bright sky, wondering what was up there that was suddenly so interesting. Freedom perhaps, a way out? I was seven but I was clever and had a huge imagination.
Mason grunted beside me, acknowledging my presence with a huff.
“What are you doing?” he croaked. I could tell it hurt him to talk.
“Nothing,” I replied, darting him a sideways look. His hands were by his legs. He wore a pair of grubby jeans that had oil stains on them and a black top.
We lay there together in silence for a while before I asked in a quiet voice, “Do you hate him?”
Mason released a frustrated type of sigh. What? It was only a question. He probably thought me a nosey little cow. That’s what Mattie called me when he’d caught me in his room going through his stuff. So? It was an urgent visit. I needed batteries for the remote control of my new TV.
“No, not really. It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I might do,” I suggested brightly.
“You’re just a kid and an annoying one at that,” Mason hissed.
“Well, I have ears, big ones my brother said.
“Did he now?” he said in a bored voice. Boy he was moody.
Battling on, I pointed out, “My sister says it helps to share your problems.”
He didn’t like that, “I don’t have problems so piss off!”
I sniffed and wiped my hand across my nose, “What does complicated mean?” I asked, my eyes squinted as the sun came out from behind the clouds.
Mason snorted, “It means it’s hard to explain, messed up. As I said, you wouldn’t understand.”
I felt miffed that he’d thrown my question back at me. So, what if I didn’t know all the words? I wasn’t a walking-talking dictionary like Paul Cooper in my class. He had a big nose, bucked teeth, and a large head. My friend Pippa said he needed the space to store his massive brain. It didn’t matter that he was clever, he still stunk of BO all the time.
Puffing out a breath, I didn’t let Mason upset me. I was used to him shouting at me all the time.
“You’d be surprised what I can understand. I’m clever you know. I got nine out of ten in my last spelling test,” I informed him proudly.
I couldn’t have been sure as I could only see him from the side of my eye, but it looked like his lip curled at that one.
Carrying on, I added. “I’ve also read the first Harry Potter book and got the story in one go. I didn’t have to ask any questions. Mattie still doesn’t get it and he’s older than me.”
“For God’s sake, you do ramble on. Fine, OK. I take it back. You’re a child genius,” Mason said. He then chuckled to himself. The fact that I had made him smile gave me butterflies. I liked our temporary truce.
We lay side by side, looking up into the sky, sharing a moment of quiet.
After a few more attempts to get me to go away, Mason gave in eventually and told me how his daddy would get cross with him all the time. He said that he felt he couldn’t do anything right.
I asked about his other brothers. Mason snorted, saying how his dad didn’t touch the younger two and that Nixon never got hit as he was always away with the cadets. I hadn’t got a clue what that was.
I told him about my older sister Jenna and how my parents loved her more than me. He got that too. He said he did anyway.
I must have been there for around half an hour and knew the time had come to go home. If Daddy knew I was there on McKenna land, he’d ask my mum to bake me in a pie.
“You should go to the gym and do weights and stuff like my dad does. Then you can get all big and stick up for yourself more,” I suggested but Mason shot back.
“I can stick up for myself fine.” He defended in a snappy voice.
“K,” I responded. “Well, I wish you the best of luck with it. ”
I then pushed my hand into my pocket and drew out the necklace my daddy had brought me back from a work trip. He said that the charm was made of real jade and that it would bring me luck. It was probably the reason I had almost aced my spelling test.
I flipped onto my side and pushed onto my knees, staring down into Mason’s battered face. There was now a purple mark on the side of his split lip. I grimaced as it looked like it would hurt.
“Here,” I sniffed taking the hand that was closest to me. I then uncurled his fingers and pushed the necklace into his palm, before reclosing his fingers around it.
“There,” I said grinning, mission accomplished.
Mason’s face flickered with a mixture of thoughts, none I could name, but his brows were threaded and so I knew he was puzzled.
So, I explained it to him, “You need to keep that on you all the time. It gave me luck. It can do the same for you.”
His face softened as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Mason opened his hand and looked down at the necklace before lifting his head, his eyes meeting mine.
That was the first time I had ever seen him look at me in a friendly way. Mason McKenna usually had the meanest eyes on the planet. My friend Betty and me talked about them all the time.
“Cheers,” he whispered with a slight smile.
I beamed back at him, thoroughly pleased with myself. I wasn’t selfish like Mattie said, “No probs. Laters dog face.”
And with that, I pushed to my feet and skipped off back home. I could feel those McKenna eyes burning into my back. But how many pairs were there?
More than one set, as I was sure Mr McKenna had been watching from his window. The mean old buzzard.
The Present
“Amy,” Nixon McKenna’s voice said, biting into my thoughts. So many feelings were flowing through me. I smiled down at the necklace Mason had kept all those years, before pushing it in the pocket of my PJ bottoms and then stuffing the wallet back into the bag.
Climbing to my feet, I dashed away a tear as Mason’s brother approached, Seth at his side.
“Have you heard anything yet?” he questioned. He was so tall, he cast a shadow over me.
“No, nothing. They’ve taken him for an assessment I think,” I replied, feeling relieved that he was there. If there was one thing Nixon brought with him, it was strength.
“Stay here, Seth, look after Amy. I’m going to see if I can get some answers.”
Before he moved away, I shot forward, “You need to go to reception first, there are some questions on Mason’s admittance form that I couldn’t answer. If he is allergic to anything, past conditions, stuff like that.”
Nixon nodded in understanding, before storming out of the waiting area. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that mood.
Seth and I stood, staring at each other before he offered me a shy smile.
Glancing down at the bag with Mason’s belongings in, I handed it over to his brother.
“Mason’s stuff from his pockets. His phone is dead and his wallet is in there,” I explained as he nodded and pushed them into the inside pocket of his puffer jacket.
We both sat down and Seth explained that Boyd was looking after Chrissy and Jenna and that he had given a statement to the police about the fire.
On their way to the hospital, Boyd had texted Seth to say that the fire was out. I wondered fleetingly what state our house would be in.
Nixon appeared again, looking sheepish and red-faced. “There’s no news at the moment, he’s still being assessed.” It looked like he’d been told off.
As I sat on the cold, hard seating in that stuffy room, Nixon and Seth positioned themselves on either side of me, almost as if they had spread out to hold me up, figuratively speaking. I welcomed their support, considering it was their brother who was in a critical condition .
We all took sips of water, Seth and Nixon didn’t really have a scratch on them. I sat there in my dirty shorty PJs looking the worst for wear and feeling slightly self-conscious.
After seeing me fidgeting with the cuff of my shorts, Nixon offered me the shirt he had tied around his waist and I accepted it, feeling more comfortable as it covered most of my body to my knees.
We all tried to be upbeat, but it wasn’t easy. In between pacing, and light-hearted attempts to lift the mood, Nixon said that Mason had alerted the house around midnight to say he could see what appeared to be flames coming from our farm.
All the McKenna men had then jumped in his truck, having had to take a hysterical Jenna with them.
It was getting light outside now and I checked the clock on the wall to see it was just after three in the morning. I was so tired I ached .
The waiting area was a square room with chairs set out against three walls and then a few more attached to the floor, running down the centre. There were posters promoting good health and a large illustration on the wall near the door which showed you what types of uniforms the different staff wore. I noted that green was worn by the surgeons. The doctor that met the ambulance had been wearing green scrubs. I swallowed away the lump that fact created.
My eyes tiredly searched the room. There was nothing else you could do.
A crabby old man walked past me with a dressing gown on, it was royal blue velour and had the Superman logo on the back. I managed to crack a smile. If he was in there, we were all fucked.
As well as the water cooler, there was a vending machine which was stocked with an assortment of chocolate bars and cans of pop. A few other people had entered the room now and I wondered fleetingly what their story was. It took my mind off worrying about Mason, if only for a few seconds. I noticed Superman by the water cooler, no doubt replenishing his powers in liquid format.
Doctors and nurses ambled around, but no one seemed to have any updates on Mason’s condition. After well over an hour, I started to lose what little patience I had .
“So, you and Mason,” Seth suddenly put in from the side of me. Nixon appeared to have vanished again, no doubt in another attempt to threaten the doctors if they didn’t give him any more information. He was in full-on intimidation mode again, the tats in his arms screaming don’t mess with me.
It was amazing how the same two pretty nurses kept coming into the waiting area to use the vending machine when Nixon was in there. Sorry ladies, you don’t compare in any way shape or form to his wife. No one outshone Jenna. I stuffed the useless thought away, remembering my silent promise to Mason about comparing myself to my sister.
I smiled at Seth without saying anything. Not ready for a conversation about my relationship with his brother just then.
He withdrew his phone, “Just so you know, we’re in touch with Mattie. He’s at our house now and is in contact with your parents.”
I released a sigh of helplessness. Mum would be going out of her mind, but I didn’t have my phone and so couldn’t text them. Of course, my phone would now have been destroyed as well as all my photographs. A second wave of sadness hit me. All those shots I had taken over the years, gone.
As I thought about the fire and how it started, a flare of anger jetted into me. Why and how had it started? Especially considering what happened to the house at Lamb Hill several years ago.
Seth’s voice penetrated those thoughts. “Do you know your mom’s number? You can use my phone if you want,” Seth kindly offered. He really was the sweetest.
I shook my head, “No, if Mattie is in touch with them that’s fine. I haven’t got the energy to speak to my mum at the minute. What about your parents?”
Seth inhaled. “They’re on their way here. Don’t worry, everything is under control.”
“Thank you, Seth,” I said, relishing his warmth.
He shuffled beside me as he pocketed his phone.
“Just forget about everything else and concentrate on Mason. He’s tough you know,” Seth said firmly but I caught the crack in his voice.
I squeezed his knee. He was only fifteen at the end of the day, he may be built like a brick shit house, but he was young and just as terrified as I was .
Suddenly there was a ruckus at the door as Nixon appeared again, with aggression oozing from his shoulders.
“If some fucker doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to start to smash stuff,” he bit out under his breath. He was careful not to shout as we weren’t the only family members waiting for word about a loved one. I studied the intensity on Nixon’s face, he was losing his shit. To be honest, we all were, but in our own silent ways.
Then, time stopped still. A white-coated doctor appeared, one that looked all official and we all stood as he approached.
My heart was in my throat, I had never been so uncertain in my life.
He stepped further into the room and then beckoned us all outside into the corridor. We moved out of the way of the door and the doctor provided us with an update on Mason’s condition.
“Mason has sustained a significant head injury and we need to operate,” he said with an unreadable expression. What happened to bedside manner and all that? Where was the sympathy and why did my heart feel like it was being held in this man’s fist? I took a deep breath and focused on what he was saying, jumping slightly as Nixon slid a comforting hand around my shoulders.
“We may have to put him into a coma.”
“A what? Why?” I shot out before I could stop myself as fear lanced up my spine.
The doctor held up a reassuring hand, “Its common practice with these types of injury. It would be a medically induced coma.”
BOOM! The tears I’d been holding breached the surface and poured down my cheeks. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Was I having a panic attack? No, no, no! I didn’t understand, what did he mean? Was Mason going to die? Why put him to sleep? Wasn’t a coma that thing that people never woke up from or did but only years later? I managed to choke out a cough and the air spewed from my lungs.
Nixon pulled me into his arms and I leaned against him, my legs wobbling, “Please, calm down Amy. You need to be strong,” he said quite firmly down into my hair. Emotion shook my entire body.
I took a few more gasps of air, Nixon’s chest was calming, his scent so like Mason’s .
Mason, please be OK. I need you. You don’t know how I feel yet. I must tell you… unfairness was stamping all over my heart.
I pulled away from Nixon and shot him a look of thanks before turning back to the doctor, who now wore an understanding expression.
“Please, try to be positive. We don’t know the full extent of the situation yet. The coma is temporary and for his safety. It is used to protect the brain from any swelling. It shouldn’t be seen as a negative thing.”
“Could he die during this procedure?” I stuttered; not sure I wanted an answer to that question.
The doctor offered me a warming smile but it did nothing, “We are doing everything we can. Please just bear with us. I have asked a staff nurse to take you to a private waiting room which is next to the surgery ward. You can stay in there and it may be more comfortable if you need some sleep. Once the procedure is over, I or a colleague will come and update you all.”
Closing my eyes, I released a breath of pain, scrunching my fingers into balls by my sides. It wasn’t good enough! I wanted an answer now , a reassurance that Mason would be fine.
Seeing that I was about to freak the hell out, my brother-in-law intervened, “Thank you doctor,” Nixon responded in a calm voice. The tall wiry man nodded and then introduced us to the staff nurse who would take us to the other room.
Darkness draped over my spirits as she escorted us over to a small, private room. I was thankful to be out of the other area as it was becoming quite full. One of the guys in there had busted his face up and reeked of alcohol. I felt it disrespectful that he should be there getting attention when he’d caused his own injuries and my Mason was faultlessly battling for his life.
As we entered the room, Mason’s mother was in there. She shot to her feet and ran over to Nixon and Seth, hugging them both. Melanie McKenna was a tall thin lady with dark grey hair. She was pale as she turned to look down at me. This was the closest I had been to her apart from one time when I’d seen her in the village. She’d blanked me back then, but I suppose I’d done the same. Now she was staring at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Her chocolate colour eyes searched my features. I must have looked a fright.
“Hello Amy, it’s good to finally meet you in person,” she said. Her voice was soft and comforting and my chest surged as I thought about how much I now wanted my mother there.
“You too.” We gave each other that look that said it would have been nicer to meet under better circumstances, and she gave my arm a quick squeeze. She had to know about Mason and me. Had he told her about me or had she guessed? She looked like a shrewd woman. I had always ached to know the story of her past and her relationship with Mason’s father.
My tongue felt heavy in my mouth as we moved further into the room. Nixon and Seth stood with their backs against the wall, both of their faces were pale and drawn. They were plainly suffering too, but doing that ‘I am a tough man’ thing boys did. Mason had done the same thing that day his father had busted his lip.
“So, they are going to operate on our boy,” Melanie explained, stating what we already knew.
The fact that she called Mason ‘our’ boy made me well up again, but before the tears could fall, she pulled me into her arms and I welcomed her hold with every part of my body.
The minutes bled into hours and I felt numb.
Eventually, Boyd arrived with Mitchell. He was in one of the hospital’s wheelchairs and he looked frail and confused.
Boyd explained that my parents were on their way back to the house and that Jenna, Chrissy and Mattie were at Lamb Hill and would meet them there. He said that only part of the house had been destroyed and that none of the land had been touched. I was grateful for that news. I wondered if the flames had made it into the cellar, to my darkroom. If I’d lost all my photography work, I’d be crushed.
Melanie and Mitchell spoke quietly in the corner and Nixon spent most of his time on his phone, texting Jenna, I imagined .
Both Seth and Boyd attempted to close their eyes a few times but didn’t sleep. We all helped ourselves to the water provided to the point where cups were eventually strewn around the room.
Mitchell glanced my way as if he didn’t know me and, he didn’t, not really. His skin was crinkled like leather. I knew he was ill now but I still despised him for how he’d treated Mason. My Mason.
The waiting was agony , the not-knowing part fuelling my angst.
I felt desperate, as I hadn’t had the chance to tell Mason how I felt. He needed to know that I loved him and couldn’t live without him.
Why had I been so stubborn and so blind to the truth all those years? We must have cared for each other, even when we were children. And then when we became adults, those feelings morphed and deepened? That’s the way I now saw it anyway. I wondered what Mason would think.
Why had I been so blind and so bitchy and why had we both wasted so much time. Now it felt like our journey together was over before it had even fully begun.
The weight of possible outcomes sat heavily on my chest.
I drew my legs up onto my seat. Suddenly feeling cold, shrinking against the light cushioning.
My eyes were still gritty and I pulled Nixon’s shirt further around my knees, before finally falling asleep…
Someone was gently shaking my arm and my eyes fluttered open. I lifted a hand to shade my vision from the harshness of the lights, before I realised, I was still at the hospital.
I shot upright, “Mason!”
“Easy,” Nixon said as he took a step back and dropped his hand.
“The doctor’s here Amy.”
Numbly, I shook my pounding head and pushed to my feet to join the cluster of McKenna’s who were standing in front of the doctor. Mitchell was in the corner asleep in the wheelchair .
My mouth was dry and fear trickled down my spine as I tried to call the expression on the man in front of me. Searching for a sign of good news. Again, I found little written there. My stomach curdled.
“So, I have some good news, the procedure went well. We’re still not out of the woods yet though as he needs time to recover from the surgery.”
His words made me want to do cartwheels of joy around the room.
“Is he awake, can I see him?” I questioned rapidly, my eyes wide, I was so desperate.
The doctor’s eyes glanced around all of us, before falling back on mine. He gave me a tight smile.
“He isn’t conscious at the minute and isn’t up for visitors yet. I would suggest you all go home and get some sleep. A family liaison nurse has been assigned to you and you will be given her direct contact number so you are updated every step of the way. At the minute he isn’t in any immediate danger and so I am happy for you to leave the site.” I was relieved Mason appeared to be recovering, but felt appalled that we couldn’t see him.
My brow creased and I took a step forward, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Can’t I stay here? Wait for him to come around?” As I spoke those words, I was mentally plotting a way of weaving around him. Trying to see Mason anyway.
“I must admit it, as his mother, I’d also like to stay?” Melanie said. She placed her hand in mine, a united front.
“I’m sorry ladies, but that won’t be possible.” The doctor replied in a firm voice.
Melanie and I glanced at each other with miserable looks.
“Can we at least see him?” I asked, before the doctor could leave. He turned back around, his face suggesting that he was weighing up his response. I pursed my lips, hope channelling through me.
“You may not want to see him. It isn’t a pretty picture when you’ve come out of surgery. The machines we have for life support can be overwhelming.”
I squeezed Melanie’s hand, “I don’t care. I must see him.”
The doctor asked us to wait again and then left the room.
Nixon turned to look down at us, “Are you sure you want to see him like that?” he said, directing this question as his mother. She smiled up at him and nodded .
He turned to me, “Amy?”
“I have to see him Nixon,” I said impatiently. He nodded his understanding.
The doctor came back around ten minutes later.
“We can only have two people in the observation room. That’s the room where staff keep an eye on Mason around the clock. You will be able to see him through the glass screen, but you won’t be in the same room as him.”
My heart dipped, as surely it would be parents first. Mitchell was still sleeping and his rights where Mason were concerned were removed along with his fist. Melanie must have noticed my body language and the way I glanced at Mason’s poor excuse for a father.
“My husband is incapacitated and I’d like Amy to come with me, if that’s OK?”
My heart swelled, “Thank you,” I whispered at her.
The doctor’s eyes narrowed, “I see and please could I ask who you are to the patient? Apologies that I must ask, but its hospital policy,” the doctor said. I wanted to stick his policy where the sun doesn’t shine.
But there it was, that question. What was I? There had been no ‘labels’ given to our relationship (Mason’s words).
Nixon answered for me, “Amy is Mason’s partner.”
Disbelief roared through me and I twisted and looked up into my brother-in-law’s features, searching his face. The look of understand between us was a first. We were now on the same page; he must have known that my feelings for his brother were genuine. I wanted to throw my arms around him but I pulled myself together and awarded him with a grateful smile.
The doctor appeared appeased by that information, “OK then. Follow me please.”
Melanie and I hugged the boys and then Seth collected Mitchell in his chair. Melanie had driven in her own car and we arranged to meet everyone back at Lamb Hill. Hopefully by the time I got there, my parents would have arrived. I so needed them.
As Mason’s mother and I followed the doctor down the long stark white corridor, my heart was thumping in my chest. Adrenaline was also doing the rounds, circling my guts like a cyclone. I was so afraid of what I would see .
As we entered the small dimly lit room, there were a couple of doctors in there, one on a computer and the other completing a chart. The viewing area was a large glass window which ran across the wall above the desk they were working at.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and glanced into the room which held Mason. A queasy feeling twisted my guts.
A pool of relief filtered into my system as I saw him. He didn’t look as bad as I thought he would have. He looked peaceful almost.
He was laying down on the hospital bed, the section with his upper torso and head was slightly raised. His whole head was heavily bandaged as was his right hand. You couldn’t see his body, as the white hospital sheets covered it. And then there was the machinery.
Yes, there were wires and tubes everywhere . A scary sight, but I wasn’t afraid. They were there to help Mason recover. I forced myself to try and remain positive, he had come out of the operation successfully. It could have been so much worse.
Melanie also appeared relieved but we still squeezed each other’s hand.
Mason’s eyes were closed and he didn’t look his usual self. He was pale, his lips drawn and lifeless looking. My heart squeezed. How I wished I could be in there, stay by his side. I didn’t care how tired I was, I’d stay awake forever if necessary.
That feeling of despair was overpowered by frustration, as after around five minutes we were escorted from the room. Melanie was then given the contact details for the liaison nurse the doctor mentioned and she texted them to Nixon.
On the journey back to the farm, we spoke briefly, but not about Mason and I. Mainly Mitchell’s worsening condition. It all felt a bit forced, considering we had only just met properly for the first time and were strangers.
When we arrived at the farm, everyone was there. There was also a police car. As we’d passed our house, I’d decided not to look. You could still smell the embers in the air.
Mason’s brothers, my family and the police officer were congregated in the large living room. The one I had passed when I’d hightailed it out of there the night of my heatstroke .
My father was speaking with a policeman, but as he saw me, he pulled away and dragged me in for a massive hug. I was met by my mother who joined us, also placing her arms around me. I felt safe and home.
“My darling girl, I’m so sorry. Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” my mother said, pulling away and glancing down at me. She had been crying even before I’d arrived and why wouldn’t she? We had just lost our home.
It was now daytime and no one had slept, apart from Mitchell who had been taken to bed by Boyd when they’d arrived back from the hospital. His sons were so attentive, considering the man put the M in mean.
I was asked if I saw anything suspicious the night of the fire and I remembered that orange van that had been parked close by. They asked me if I had taken a registration number and of course I hadn’t.
Once the police left, Nixon explained that he had the number of the liaison nurse on his phone and he would keep us updated. He then said that we all needed to get some sleep. Nix took control, as he usually did and the funny thing was, no one batted an eyelid. Even my dad nodded thoughtfully in agreement with him.
It was odd really, as I didn’t feel bad for invading the McKenna family’s person space, they were so welcoming. It was almost like we had been friends for years.
Nixon allocated rooms we could all use as they had plenty space, but my mother and I were told we could use Mason’s room.
We lay together, nestled, face to face on top of Mason’s bed with the curtains pulled to block out the sunshine. After a brief discussion about Mason and me, I fought the urge to cry and slept.