Chapter 43
The machines did the breathing for Ronan as he lay in the hospital bed with his parents on one side and Dad and me facing them on the other.
‘No communication, no,’ said Mrs McCoy in answer to Dad. ‘He does open his eyes a wee bit sometimes but it’s likely just a reflex.’
‘And that’s been the way of it since he was taken in?’
Dad was asking all the questions because my speech seemed to be stunted. My eyes fixed on Ronan, hardly believing that the boy who had been soaring so high had taken such a plummet.
‘More or less,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Well, more, since he hasn’t come round at all but sure …
but sure we’ll see. The machines are keeping him going at the minute so he’ll have to stay on them for the time being until we see what’s what.
’ He took a slow inhale and rushed it out as if to blast away the uncertainty.
‘So that was your last exam today, Brendan, all over now?’
‘Aye, that was the last one today, yeah, so they’re all over now,’ I said in one tone, apparently only capable of forming an answer by recycling words from the question I’d just been asked.
‘I’m sure that’s some relief?’ said Mrs McCoy with an encouraging nod as if she was begging me to be normal, to tell them something good, something distracting.
‘Yeah, it was definitely a relief for a while,’ I said, ‘but Mum and Dad only just told me about Ronan when I got home so … so I don’t know … em … I don’t know about “relief” anymore.’
There was a smouldering feeling inside that was working itself into a blaze.
Everyone had kept me in the dark about Ronan’s condition for so long.
How could they have let me just go to school and pretend like nothing was happening?
I couldn’t make sense of how the hell I could have been sitting in an exam hall that morning and now I was sitting in a hospital room looking at my best friend on a life support machine.
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me before now?’ I burst out.
Mr and Mrs McCoy jolted and it took a few seconds for Mrs McCoy to speak.
‘I know, Brendan, that must seem very …’
‘… because I can’t understand how with those times I was speaking to you last week you couldn’t have said to me …’
‘… we’d agreed, Brendan, we’d agreed that …’
‘… who agreed?’
‘… for your exams …’
‘… I didn’t agree! Everybody else was making all the decisions for me! There’d have been nothing wrong with me spending the past weeks with Ronan, everything would have been OK, I’d have been OK and Ronan would’ve been too, and maybe he wouldn’t be … we wouldn’t all be …’
I looked around at everyone and no one said a word.
‘It wasn’t fair!’ I said, hearing my voice crack slightly. ‘It wasn’t fair on us.’
When my eyes landed back on Ronan I could hardly bear it so I leaned over with my head practically between my knees.
‘We’re sorry, Brendan,’ came Mrs McCoy’s voice over the sound of my breath which seemed so loud, folded over the way I was. ‘We’re sorry … it felt like the right thing at the time.’
I slowly sat up and met the gaze of Mr and Mrs McCoy; faces full of pain, full of fear, full of too many things that probably don’t have a name.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I think I’m just in shock, that’s all. I didn’t expect to see him like this.’
Dad leaned forward.
‘No,’ he said. ‘In all honesty, I wasn’t prepared for Ronan being on machines or anything so I hadn’t said that to Brendan.’
‘Sorry,’ said Mrs McCoy, putting her hand to her forehead and rubbing back and forth, ‘we weren’t thinking … you see, we’ve only had a couple of visitors so far and you’re the first outside the family.’
‘Although we absolutely regard you as family, Brendan,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Whether you like or not.’
I felt my cheeks ache as a smile forged its way through the clenched muscles in my face.
‘So what happens now?’ I asked.
The McCoys looked at each other.
‘I think,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘I think we just have to wait.’
I wanted to ask for how long, but knew it wouldn’t get an answer.
‘Results come through for some of the tests tomorrow, we think,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘so you’re not the only one waiting on results, Brendan, but at least all your tests are out of the way.’
‘Well, one more test to go so don’t be relaxing too soon,’ said Dad.
‘Which?’ asked Mr McCoy. ‘Oh aye, the driving test, some birthday celebration that!’
The very notion of me taking my driving test, never mind celebrating my birthday, seemed completely absurd sitting by Ronan’s side.
‘Well, let’s see how things are here first,’ I said.
‘Now Brendan,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Things’ll be fine here, there’ll be no reason for you not to go ahead with anything, we’re in good hands, I’m sure we’ll be back home again in no time. But if we are still here on the day of your test I need you to promise me something: when you pass …’
‘… if I pass …’
‘… when you pass I want you to drive straight here, or if we’re at home go there, bring your L plates with you and tear them up, tear them right up and throw them in the air like confetti for us all to see.
There’d be no greater boost than to see that.
What do you say?’ He put his hand out across the bed over Ronan’s knees. ‘Shake on it?’
‘Mr McCoy, that’s an awful lot of pressure.’
‘Nothing you can’t handle, son,’ Dad said.
‘Aye, because you’ve paid for the test already,’ I said.
‘Belief overrides money, Brendan, and I believe you’re ready.’
‘I second that,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘I third it,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘And he fourths it,’ said Mr McCoy, nodding at Ronan.
‘Well, if Ronan fourths it then …’
I shook Mr McCoy’s hand.
‘Good lad,’ he said. ‘Something for us to root for over the next wee while; can’t have Ronan stealing the spotlight altogether.’
‘And do like Aaron said,’ said Mrs McCoy, nodding rapidly, almost desperately. ‘Come here, or to the house if we’re there by then, after your test and rip those L plates right up and we’ll celebrate the new driver and the birthday boy.’
I nodded and smiled tightly, worried I’d just made a promise I had no guarantee of keeping.
We chatted for a while longer as Dad went and brought back cups of terrible tea.
‘Not like we brew at home,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘If we’re here much longer I’m bringing the teabags in.’
‘Doctor’s not given you some sort of timeframe?’ Dad asked.
‘Not really, no,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Plenty of tests done already and more scans tomorrow so we’ll probably be here for another while yet.
He’ll need to show signs of stability for us to get him home.
But I’m happier he’s here and being looked after properly.
We’ll just keep the prayers going and hope it’s not too long until we’re back up and running where we left off. ’
‘And will Ronan be like how we left off?’ I asked. ‘With his speech and everything?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘When he comes round they’ll be able to do all those kinds of tests.’
‘We’ll just keep the prayers going,’ said Dad. ‘It’s all we can do.’
‘I’ve been praying to St Joseph,’ I said spontaneously and then felt embarrassed when everyone looked at me.
‘Because he’s the patron saint of pilots,’ I said, ‘and I somehow thought Joseph would be good because of Ronan’s speed of progress, you know how we say here in the north, ah sure he’s flying!’’
Everyone chuckled.
‘Aye, he was indeed flying,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘We could even pray to St Thomas Cruise.’
Dad laughed and I looked at him.
‘Top Gun,’ he said.
I knew it was a film but I’d never seen it.
‘Sure just keep St Joseph on the case, Brendan, he’ll do rightly,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘And isn’t Brendan the patron saint of something like that too?’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘Sailors,’ said Dad, ‘as far as I remember.’
‘What about Christopher?’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Patron saint of drivers and travellers, get him to join the gang too, with your driving test coming up.’
‘OK,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘so we’ve covered air, sea and land.’
‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles,’ said Mr McCoy.
Dad laughed and I looked at him again.
‘A film,’ he said to me. ‘Great film. Steve Martin and John Candy.’
‘Comedy duo made in heaven,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘I think you two should start a movie club,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘Well, I’ll just pray to them all anyway and see how we go,’ I said. ‘And can I visit while Ronan’s still here?’
‘Of course, there’s set visitor times, we’ll get those to you but please visit as much as you like and we’ll keep you updated every day on the phone too – promise,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘It’s actually just past visiting time now,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘there’s this matron-type who takes no nonsense, she’ll be here any second, wait’ll you see.’
‘We’d better head anyway,’ said Dad. ‘Are yous not heading home yourselves?’
‘We’ve been taking it in shifts, making these plastic chairs our snoozers. Is it your turn tonight, Emma?’
‘I thought it was you,’ Mrs McCoy gently jibed back. ‘Actually, neither of us have felt like going home, but we’ve had doctor’s orders. I think I’ll stay tonight.’
‘Grand, I’ll head home and stick the football on,’ Mr McCoy said with a wink. ‘No, only joking, you go home, love, run a bath and get the head down for a few hours, there’s all those scans tomorrow.’
‘I know, you’re right, maybe I will.’
They shared a little kiss.
‘Yous do need to be looking after yourselves,’ said Dad. ‘So anything you need brought in, food or anything, we’ll get it for you.’
‘Just give us the list,’ I said.
With a few goodbyes under the presence of the matron lurking in the doorway and one last look at Ronan, Dad and me left.
The smell of food when we got home was welcoming but it was hard to swallow, despite the extra special effort Mum had gone to in making my favourite chicken korma. I ate most of the huge portion she’d piled on for me, spoke the few words I could manage and then went up to my room.
It was a shock when I realised I was still wearing my school uniform.
I didn’t feel like a schoolboy anymore. I didn’t know what I felt like but it wasn’t that.
I took the uniform off and threw it in the laundry basket.
I wondered if Mum would wash it, iron it, fold it up and put it away in a box as some sort of relic?
Or would she give it to a charity shop for some other boy to live out his teenage years in?
For him to wear the skin of the boy I had been?
Would he feel the things that I felt? Would any trace of my experience linger in the stitches?
Would he sense the ghost of me and be haunted by the memories I had had when I wore it?
They weren’t all bad but few were easy. Did I really want anyone else to feel all that?
I didn’t know. Maybe in the morning when the uniform had been washed and dried I’d know what should be done with it.
All I knew that night was that I’d never wear it again and something about the shedding of it offered me a sad kind of hope.