Chapter 35
KATE
A good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon.
Bardy had gone with Lou in the ambulance, and now all they know is that he is in the ICU.
Leonard and Linda had taken Tay home with them.
The paramedics had checked her over and given her the all clear.
Kate is not sure whether Tay is still with them or with her mom, Toni.
Maybe she is with her friend . . . Uzma? She hopes so.
There have been a few messages. Leonard had been straight on to a friend in the police.
It seems the car that hit Lou had crashed farther up the road.
The driver, a man the police knew well—older, in his forties—seemed to enjoy hanging around with a younger crowd.
He had been thrown clear, but the passenger, a seventeen-year-old—also known to the police—had been trapped in the wreckage.
Kate wonders what has happened to this boy.
Pia and Satya have been texting her. Satya was shocked by their news.
No fight in her now. Pia is particularly anxious about Tay.
Upset they had fallen out? The messages are sporadic.
But what is there to say? Just checking in on each other.
Reassuring one another: the ambulance came quickly; Lou was still breathing; Linda was there and she knew what she was doing.
But the blood.
Kate has a flashback of Linda and Bardy standing to make way for the paramedics. Hands, clothes, streaked with blood.
She gets up from her chair and starts pacing. She walks into the hallway, grabs her coat, and is out the front door before she even knows where she is going.
The nurse reminds her of Linda. Unflappable, quietly humorous. They might be chatting in the doorway of a coffee shop or garden center, not the doorway of the ICU. Kate has been explaining about Lou and the hit-and-run. “I didn’t really mean to end up here. I was just driving around.”
“Of course, come in.” The nurse points the way. “He’s stable but unconscious, and don’t worry if he comes round and sounds confused. It’s often that way with a head injury. They come and go.”
Lou going.
Kate experiences a sick weakness.
“But he’ll be okay?”
How often have people pleaded with this woman for the promise of life?
“You just go and see him. We are doing everything possible. There may be staff coming to check on him, sort out his meds, and make sure he’s comfortable. So, just be conscious of giving them space if they need it. Not to crowd them.”
She nods encouragingly at Kate. She can’t read anything in the nurse’s look as much as she wants to believe it signifies something positive.
Lou is lying in a small room with three beds.
The other two beds are empty. Bardy is sitting beside him with his back to the door, holding Lou’s hand.
All the machinery and paraphernalia seem familiar yet totally alien.
Too many hospital dramas. Then come the memories.
Oncology. Chemotherapy. The “home touches” are well meant but jarring, opening the door on her fear.
Kate stays half hidden by the doorway, unable to go in.
The sight of Lou’s inert hand in Bardy’s is more than she can bear. She shouldn’t be here.
Bardy is talking softly. “Tay texted me. She’s at Leonard and Linda’s. Leonard went to fetch her friend Uzma, and they’re putting them both up for the night. God, bet that’s five star. She’ll never want to go home. She’s fine, though. Said you punched like a girl.” Bardy pauses, shifts position.
How long has he been here? Should she offer to get him coffee? But still, she can’t move. Cannot drag her eyes off that hand in his.
Kate is taken back to visiting the 9/11 Memorial & Museum in New York.
So many images of hands. Hands over mouths, registering shock.
She recalls putting her hand over her mouth the instant the car hit Lou.
Do we try to keep the shock inside of us?
So pointless. Then comes the reaching out of hands.
Images of hands, covered in dust and blood, holding strangers’ hands.
She thinks of Ellie sitting on the sofa with her.
Her hand clasped in hers as she fought the waves of sickness.
Who was the last person to hold her hand?
Pia.
They had stood beside each other on the drive as the ambulance drove away and instinctively reached for each other’s hands.
All thoughts of anger and arguments carried away on the marsh breeze.
Kate can recall the feel of certain hands.
Her girls. Each different. Even the memory of Doug holding her hand when her dad died comes back to her.
The chemo nurse patting Kate’s arm. Warm and worn.
Alice. Freckles on the back of her hand.
And at the end, so thin and brittle in Kate’s hand.
Birdlike. This brings with it so much regret that Kate has to lean on the doorframe.
Propped up, as she is engulfed in pain and also guilt.
Bardy is speaking softly. “Linda moves fast for a woman of her age. Bloody hell, mate, she was with you almost before you hit the deck. The paramedics were impressed. They’ve all been texting.
Not sure if I’m supposed to use my phone.
So not really replying. But they’re all thinking of you.
Gina and Mark are on their way. Mark should be here soon. Gina’s getting a flight first thing.”
Oh, it must be bad. The family is coming. She really shouldn’t be here.
She spots Bardy’s reaction before she sees Lou move in the bed. Bardy’s back snaps straight, leaning forward. Lou groans beside him. She can’t see his eyes, but Bardy is now talking directly to him. “Welcome back, mate.”
More groaning.
Kate hears the rasping, whispered “Tay?” The urgency within it.
“Mate, she’s fine. Said you punched like a girl. But you got her clear. Shame you weren’t faster on your feet. But you’re in the hospital now. The kids are coming.”
“Fuck. That bad?”
Bardy’s laugh is croaky. But he doesn’t answer.
How bad is it? Has the staff told him anything?
Kate hears an exhale of breath through the beeping of the monitors. “Tina.”
“I know, mate.”
“God, I miss her.”
“I know.”
Then, after a long pause, “Tell me one more time. You know what I mean.”
It seems Bardy does.
She sees his back relax, and softly, quietly, he speaks.
“Tina was citrus orange. The orange of sliced fruit nestling in a glass of ice. Sun beating down. Warm and fragrant. Zesty too.”
He pauses.
“Go on,” a whisper from the bed.
“She was the citrus orange of the sunshine in the Mediterranean, the orange that lingers on your skin late into the evening and that reaches into your bones, warming them.”
“That’s a beautiful orange.”
“Sure is, Lou.”
“And that’s how you saw her?” Lou is a little fretful and anxious now.
“You know it was.”
A sigh from the man in the bed, and Kate doesn’t need to see it to know both men are crying.
She creeps away, feeling she has trespassed on something private. She isn’t sure what Bardy was talking about. Did he associate Lou’s Tina with a color? It certainly seemed so. All she knows is that she can still feel the warmth emanating from the friendship and love between these good men.