21
The next day I feel like I’ve contracted the flu or a bulldozer has run over me a couple of times. My entire body aches, my stomach is in tight knots, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow has settled over my bones like a layer of tar, making every move cumbersome. I recognise the symptoms and guess at the cause. But this time, I’m not willing to let my heart be shattered into pieces by someone who doesn’t seem to understand me or want me.
I ward myself mentally. I’m not going to let this happen again; I need to take control. I go to Jane’s office and ask to be assigned to a different mentor. She doesn’t ask me any questions, only nods in acknowledgement. After, I feel like a weight has lifted off my shoulders, and I can finally breathe.
I know I can’t avoid him in school completely, but outside of school, I can forget that Alex has ever existed.
My phone in my bag keeps buzzing, but I studiously ignore it because I don’t want to risk getting another pathetic excuse from my dad which I’ve been getting since yesterday. I can’t pretend like nothing is amiss any more, but I also don’t know how to move forward yet. I never expected all the men in my life would turn into adulterers, but here we are.
Halfway through the science lesson, somebody knocks on the door and abruptly truncates my thoughts. The children are creating electrical circuits and are so engrossed in the task that they’re oblivious to the intrusion at first. Alex’s sombre expression peeks through the glass, and something in me flinches. My body gets stuck in a freeze response. He walks in stiffly, and his presence fills the room the way only his presence does. The children halt, and their heads lift like a mob of meerkats, immediately picking up on the change of atmosphere. Their curious looks flicker between me and Alex like they’re watching a tennis match.
My feet start working again, and I take a hesitant step towards him. ‘Yes, Mr Bennet?’ I try to speak as calmly as I can, but I know something is fundamentally wrong, even though I’m not sure what exactly. All my resentment is forgotten at seeing his strange expression.
‘Apologies, Miss Collins. Do you have a minute?’ he says overly politely, his posture more rigid than an ironing board.
I nod and motion for the children to carry on. Only half of them follow my instruction. I take a sweeping look across the classroom, and soon, all heads are down. At least they have the decency to pretend to carry on with their learning.
When I trail behind Alex, my muscles tense at the sight of Danielle who is hovering behind him in the corridor. She’s supposed to be on her non-contact time, so I can’t fathom what she’s doing here.
‘While we’re speaking, Miss Davies will step in,’ Alex informs me, and Danielle passes me with a not-quite-convincing neutral expression. It’s obvious she’s more puzzled than I am. I get this strange gut feeling like the other shoe is about to drop. Surely this is not about me asking for a different mentor. Whatever this is, it’s more serious.
My dread is confirmed when he continues, ‘Let’s step into the outreach office.’ He heads towards the only place that doesn’t have a glass panel in the door, and henceforth, the only private room in the whole school.
The office is empty and meticulously tidy. With dread, I watch grey clouds gather behind the only window in the room before I make myself look at Alex.
He offers me a seat on a blue sofa, but I shake my head; I’d rather be standing if I’m being fired, but he shocks me with a completely different kind of message.
‘The reception had a phone call from your mother. She’s been trying to reach you the whole morning.’ His tone is forcibly calm, and it loosens something inside me, something that is now rattling like a loose cog in a broken watch. ‘Your father is in hospital. He’s had a heart attack.’
My ears fill with white noise. I know his words are simple, but they don’t make sense strung together. My mouth opens, but no words come out. Somebody makes this strange, whimpering sound, and because there’s nobody else in the room, it must have been me. He squeezes my arm, and I nod helplessly because I’m certain that if I try to speak, I’ll vomit.
His voice softens. ‘Do you want me to wait outside while you call her?’ If anybody else suggested this, I’d feel offended, but from Alex, it sounds kind and considerate. I want him to stay here and hold my hand and tell me that everything will be fine, but I don’t let myself imagine this fantasy because it’s damaging. Instead, I just nod again. I feel like one of those car nodding figurines because it’s all I’m capable of. He looks almost relieved, as if he was worried I might say no.
The door closes behind him with a soft click and immediately a myriad of emotions floods my system and sends it into overdrive. Fear, dread, anxiety and helplessness followed by guilt and shame, but also, unexpected gratefulness that it was Alex who delivered the news and knew exactly what I needed when I didn’t know myself.
With shaking hands, I dial my mother’s number, and she picks up after the first beep. But it’s worse than I thought because all I hear on the other end of the line are her sobs as she’s trying to speak but is unable to utter a single word. My always perfect, stiff-upper-lip mother is barren of words.
‘Mum?’ I pull myself together, trying to sound like I’m in control, but I’m not fooling anybody here. I can’t remember the last time I called her mum, but she doesn’t notice. Things must be really bad.
‘How is Dad?’ My breathing slows right down as if somebody has hit a pause button. I’m suspended in the air like when you jump and there is a moment of nauseating weightlessness before gravity catches up with your body.
‘He…’ she manages to say between sobs. My fingers tighten around the receiver in a deathly grip while I’m waiting for her to finish the most important sentence of our lives. ‘…he was in a critical state the whole morning but is now stable.’
Air whooshes out of me so forcefully I sound like an extractor fan. My body slumps, and I end up half sitting on the desk.
The thought of my dad being stable – whatever that means – makes my tongue swell up until it feels alien in my mouth. Stable is such a stupid word. Does it mean he was at the brink of death, but he’s not any more or that he’s completely fine and there’s a full recovery ahead?
My mother’s muffled crying rattles me. ‘He was in a bad way, Holly. We were just bickering about some nonsense or other, something that he found in the newspaper earlier in the morning. I told him he should go paperless and be more conscious of the environment. He said his usual old-man nonsense about being interested only in a proper piece of news that can’t be found in the digital trash that shares every celebrity break-up and dieting trend. Your father can sometimes be so dense and stubborn.’ She hiccups a little. ‘All of a sudden, he clutched his arm and then he went so deathly pale. Within a minute he collapsed.’ She breathes heavily on the other end.
‘Which hospital are you in? Do you need anything? Food, magazines, a change of clothes? I can swing by the house on my way to the hospital.’ I sound almost rational, but I think it’s the autopilot kicking in rather than me being composed.
‘Just come. Come fast,’ she whispers, her voice small like that of a child. ‘Just in case,’ she adds quickly like we have barely any time left, and then her words undo me.
‘OK,’ I force calmness into my voice and hang up before I break down on the phone and make things worse. I need to be strong, I tell myself, but as soon as I press end call, my vision starts spinning like I’ve been stuck on the Gravitron for one ride too long.
I stand on wobbly legs; my bottom has gone numb from sitting on the desk. When I leave the room, I quickly send a message to Catherine and Lydia in a group chat, but my hands shake so badly that there are a lot of typos.
Alex rushes to his feet as soon as he sees me, his eyes under furrowed eyebrows tense. Suddenly, all the guilt sharpens and hones into a single point that feels like the tip of a dagger being inserted between my ribs with excruciating slowness. Weight presses against my shoulders, lead spreading through my limbs and making them unwieldy. The last time I spoke to my dad, I said some truthful, but horrible, things. The fear of losing my dad shakes me so much all that feels insignificant now.
Just as my legs slip under me, Alex grabs me by the waist. ‘Let’s sit down for a moment.’ His face is a few inches from mine, but all I can focus on is my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that it’s like I’m standing under a waterfall.
‘I’m fine.’ Despite my words, I slide down onto the nearest bench.
‘When was the last time you ate?’ Alex crouches in front of me, his hands protectively on my knees. When he realises that, he drops them to his lap.
I’m trying to rack my brain, but it’s too jumbled to be able to process his question.
Alex rises on his feet. ‘OK. Stay here. I’ll grab your stuff and something for you to eat. I’ll give you a lift.’ Before I can protest, he’s gone. I must zone out because he’s back in what feels like no time, my bag and coat in his hand. He passes me a protein bar but carries on holding my stuff.
‘Sorry, that’s all I had in my locker.’ He looks apologetic.
I shove half the bar in my mouth and chew mechanically. ‘You don’t have to drive me. I can drive myself,’ I manage to say between two bites. I feel a little better, my head clearer. Maybe my sugar levels were too low.
‘Like hell am I letting you drive like this. We can get your car later. I’ve already spoken to Jane.’
I nod again uselessly, following him with wooden steps. Who would have known that Alex bossing me around would feel steadying?
My mind is blank while my body is gliding through the corridors and down the main staircase. I feel like I’m on one of those airport moving walkways, my surroundings passing by in a flash. I keep waiting for the tears to come, but instead of tearing up, my eyes feel uncomfortably dry, like there are metal shavings embedded in the tissue of my sockets. I keep blinking to chase the sensation away, but it won’t go.
What sort of a person doesn’t cry when their dad is in hospital? I must say this out loud because Alex whispers in a soothing tone, ‘You’re in shock.’ The warmth of his hand around my shoulders steadies me.
Alex guides us through the reception where he signs us out. Mary, the blonde receptionist, is craning her nose over her desk as we pass, but Alex shields me from her view. Wordlessly, he leads us to the Mercedes I’ve been seeing late in the evenings in the car park. He opens the passenger door for me, and then I’m seated in the front. It takes me a few goes to buckle up, but by the time Alex is behind the wheel, I’m strapped in and pretending I’m more composed than I feel.
He manoeuvres smoothly out of the overflowing car park and onto the main road, his demeanour calm and focused. Alex has always been steady in a crisis. Why is it he’s always the one to save me?
I keep myself busy to stave off the dangerous thoughts of what awaits me. I scan around the interior of Alex’s car. It feels solid and reliable in the same way Alex always used to. It also smells of the expensive, clean smell that I now associate with this Alex. I almost wistfully think of the old days when he smelt of the cigarettes his mum smoked and Lynx.
I watch him, but he’s completely focused on the road ahead, unaware of my staring. For long moments we don’t say anything. Other people would have felt the need to fill the silence with empty words, but Alex never did. I used to find it equally comforting and unnerving.
Something in me breaks a little. ‘My dad cheated on my mother when I was younger. Last week I told him I knew. I said a lot of other things that I’m not proud of. I’m not even sure whether I spoke or shouted them.’
He considers my words. ‘When did you find out he cheated on your mum?’ he asks without looking at me.
‘When I was seventeen,’ I rasp. He must connect the events because his hands tighten around the steering wheel.
‘That’s a long time to carry something like that.’ His voice acquires a gravelly quality.
‘I thought if I pretended nothing had happened, everything would be fine. But I realise that’s not how it works.’
He looks pensive and almost vulnerable for a moment. ‘Love is complicated. Just because you don’t approve of his life choices and because you’re angry at him doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving him. I’m sure he knows that. Your dad always seemed to me like a very intelligent person.’
I’m surprised he has anything nice to say about my dad after the way he treated Alex when we were teenagers. I think he’s not only speaking of my dad, but I have no energy to work out what he means.
The urban landscape slowly changes behind the windows as we hit one of the A roads surrounded by fields and farmhouses.
‘What if he doesn’t make it and we never have a chance to clear the air?’ I hate how weak I sound.
‘You don’t always get the end you wish for, but that doesn’t change the get-going.’ He sounds so sad I can’t stop looking at him.
‘Your mum?’ My voice is barely audible above the steady rumble of his car. It starts to rain outside, heavy raindrops pounding against the roof, cocooning us in the white noise of the elements. For long moments, I don’t think he will answer my question, but he does.
‘She passed away three years ago. Liver failure. All that drinking caught up with her in the end.’ He gives me a strange look before he focuses on the road ahead of him again.
‘You took good care of her. I remember that.’ I say the words that nobody has probably said to him, words that he maybe needed to hear. His lips press together in what I now know is not disapproval but processing some strong emotion. I feel this sudden raw need to understand him.
‘Why are you doing this?’ The question comes out in an almost unintelligible stream like water rushing through a too-narrow opening. There’s too much inside me; my head and chest are overflowing, and there are no channels to release the pressure. Soon enough I will burst like a pinata into tiny little fragments of confetti and scattered thoughts.
‘Because you needed not to be alone,’ he says matter-of-factly like it’s a given. I’m glad there’s no trace of pity or satisfaction in his explanation. A part of me wonders whether he was alone when his mum passed away, but I don’t ask. I hate the idea.
Alex parks in the visitors’ car park, the closest he can get to the inpatients entrance. He opens the door for me, and I lift myself heavily out of the passenger seat and into the breezy air that attacks the layers of my clothing with cold fingers as soon as I’m out.
Hurriedly, we walk through the automatic sliding doors to reception. I’ve always sensed where Alex’s body is in relation to mine, so I can feel his hand hovering behind my back like he’s waiting for me to need it at any moment.
My mind bottoms out as soon as we start walking through one of the long clinical corridors after we get sent that way by an older nurse at reception. My back comes in contact with Alex’s hand when I come to a halt.
I can’t stop the words, ‘What if…’ but break off before I can finish the question out loud.
‘Until you go in, you won’t know and not knowing is much worse.’ His steady presence settles into my ribcage in a burst of warmth. It soothes the brittle edges of my lungs. A small part of me hates that he’s seeing me like this, but a bigger part of me is grateful.
We walk through the entrance to the cardiology ward, big black frightening letters stamped uncompromisingly onto a yellow sign.
‘Whatever happens, you’ll deal with it,’ he says simply. I’ve missed Alex’s pragmatism. He didn’t say my dad was going to be OK or it always looked worse than it was. None of the empty phrases that Aaron would fill the space with. I appreciate the words more than anything else that could have been said.
I nod briskly, suddenly feeling that a thank you would be inadequate, and yet, I need him to know that I appreciate this, him. He copies the gesture but changes his mind and reaches the space between us with his steady freckled hands and tenderly takes my shoulders. He envelops me in his arms, and without overthinking it, I fit my body flush against him; his heartbeat is my anchor. I breathe him in for a few moments until a throat clears behind his back, and I plunge back to reality. I look over Alex’s shoulder and step away quickly. It’s my mother.
Alex coughs and says, ‘Mrs Collins. I’m sorry for intruding. I’m just dropping Holly off.’ My mother stares at him strangely for a few beats but eventually snaps out of it and whispers thank you . Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her fingers are gripping her elbows so stiffly I’m worried she’ll break the skin with her nails.
He turns to me and adds more formally, the gap between us opening once again, ‘Please let the school know if you need anything.’ This impersonal Alex is a whiplash to the warm, solid Alex of a minute ago. With those words, he turns around and leaves me alone with my mother.
The faraway beeping machines and rubber shoes sticking to the lino flooring as staff move briskly from one end of the corridor to the other are the only sounds between us.
Does she blame me for what has happened? I’m terrified to move, but then the time unravels, and my mother rushes to me and hugs me so hard my ribs are about to crack despite her not ever being a hugger. I embrace her back, even though I take after her in that respect, and bury my nose in her hair. The smell of hair spray and Chanel are bitter in my nostrils, and yet, I revel in the scent. She feels different in my arms, more fragile. Over her flattened-down hairdo, I spot a male nurse giving us space. He’s clearly here to see us but doesn’t want to intrude on a private moment.
When we separate, the nurse steps closer to us and informs us kindly, ‘Mrs Collins, Dr Sanjiv is ready for you.’
The nurse leads us through the warren-like corridors at an efficient pace. Finally, or too soon, I can’t decide which, we end up in the main open-plan ward. It’s separated into sections by blue curtains, some drawn shut tight and some drawn partly back. They separate the room like an ice cube tray, cold and impersonal. The smell of disinfectant and rubber is turning my insides. A doctor in her forties is waiting by the farthest bed that is blocked from view by a partially closed curtain. I stiffen. My mother carries on walking and because she has wound her arm through mine, I’m propelled forward by the motion. At the sight of the person in the bed, I flinch.
The man lying in the bed is and is not my dad. His usually unruly grey hair is flattened around his pale face that is barren of his old-fashioned glasses, and his lips are chapped. He doesn’t smell like my dad either, of old books and cologne. The sight of him looking diminished and with a machine beeping along with his heart makes me take a proverbial step back. I’ve been so angry at him for such a long time, and now, at the sight of him so helpless, my anger unravels like a coil of string into nothing. That’s when the dam breaks and tears leak down my cheeks. I let them run.