Chapter 35 #2
‘I hope they do alright in their exams. If nothing else, just to prove you and your prophecy wrong.’ She squeezes his hand to emphasise the jest in her voice.
It feels like a lifetime ago when she first encountered Scott online.
It’s only eight months. She reflects on the roller coaster ride those eight months have been.
Their passionate affair; her wild swimming; Thanksgiving and Christmas with the kids; her new business; reconciling with her parents; the girls' first attempts at independence – some of which haven’t gone to plan.
She thinks of the mercy missions to St Andrews and Dundee after the spiking incident; the second year accommodation debacle; and Todd’s unceremonious dumping of her daughter.
They’ve packed a lot in, the four of them.
As she reflects, Heather is struck by a clarity and a certainty that she has never felt in her life.
‘The thing is, I can be alone. I can cope. I can thrive. I’m stronger now than I’ve ever been.
I just don’t want to be on my own. Not now I know you.
Because Scott-Bloody-Reynolds, you drive me mad.
Utterly, infuriatingly mad. I know what you’ve said in the past. That letting people close leads to devastation, and yes, that can be true.
But it only leads to devastation if lots of living and loving have been done beforehand.
And that’s what I want to do with you. Living.
Trying it out, seeing where it takes us. ’
‘Because I love you, Scott. I do. Wholeheartedly. If you’ll have me, I choose to be with you. To take the risk. To be open about us to our family and friends. So, if you ever feel able to wrestle your demons into shape, I’ll be here, because I know what I want in life. And it’s you.’
Heather places a tender kiss on his hand and bends to pick up her bag.
‘Oh. And one last thing. Lorraine says that Lucy would not hold you to that promise. Not sure what it means, exactly, but that’s what she said.’
Heather stays until the early evening by which time Brianna, her final exam completed, arrives teary-eyed and pale at the hospital, hugs her aunt and takes over the bedside vigil.
It’s up to Scott now.
SCOTT
The bad thing about four days in hospital with concussion and broken limbs is you’re not able to leave. Not when people visit. Or mediators come. Or your daughter and sister-in-law force a conversation.
The first thing Scott sees when he wakes is Brianna’s tear-stained face gradually taking focus.
‘Bee.’ He can’t seem to wrap his mouth around her whole name, but the first consonant is enough to illicit a weak smile.
‘Hiya, Dad.’ She bends over to kiss his cheek.
He hopes he doesn’t stink too badly. There’s something about the sensation in the lower half of his body, a slight stickiness, which makes him question whether he pissed himself.
Probably. His right hand and arm appear to be immobile, and his head hurts like fuck. His thoughts are thick fog.
‘I’m not too sure—’
‘You had an accident, Dad. You fell down the pub stairs and landed on your head.’
He understands the words individually, but not much of the actual event is familiar. He does have some recollection of what triggered his response to run.
Leon is out.
Perhaps he’s more transparent than he thought, because it’s as though Brianna can read his mind.
‘I know, Dad. I know. I think he just wanted to talk.’
He tries to nod, but it hurts like hell. And there are so many questions.
‘How?’
‘Aunt Lorraine was in the pub with you. She followed the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let her in, seeing as she’s not a next of kin …
or anything.’ Brianna winces at this next bit.
‘So, they called me. But I had my last exam, so I phoned Heather. She has some power of attorney thing from when you were away.’
Heather was here? He asks with his eyes.
‘She drove through the night and stayed until I got here.’
His eyebrows move involuntarily, and a shot of pain fires into his head.
The thought of Heather being here, in this room, sitting alongside him when he wasn’t able to apologise or explain hurts his heart.
No wonder she didn’t stick around. Brianna squeezes his good hand.
‘She was really worried about you, Dad. We all were.’
A nurse bustles into the room before he can formulate a reply. She busies herself reading machines and looking at printouts, changes over a few bags and inspects his cannula.
‘Your dad needs to rest now, sweetheart,’ she says to Brianna. And before he can explain, or pacify, or do anything else, he drifts off into another deep sleep.
The next time he wakes, Lorraine is there, talking in a dulled voice, reassuring him it’s all going to be alright.
On the third day, Brianna and Lorraine visit together. He’s sitting upright, his cannula and catheter out, his observations mostly clear, his pain medication closely monitored. They decide it’s the ideal time to carry out a joint assault.
‘You can’t avoid this anymore, Scott,’ Lorraine begins, and the words make the hairs on Scott’s neck stand upright. ‘Even you agreed before your accident that you need to see Leon. It’s time. And in your heart, you know it.’
He knows it’s right?
Scott might not remember the last twenty-four hours but he sure as hell can remember the last eight years and the strategy of self-preservation that got him through. So why, then, would he agree to meet?
The answer is implicit in Brianna’s gaze: Do it for me, Dad.
He shifts uncomfortably on the squeaky plastic of the hospital bed and adjusts the position of his hands on his lap. Perhaps his strategy hasn’t been entirely without its flaws? Perhaps his strategy has landed him, and his loved ones here? Perhaps it’s time to stop fighting.
He reaches over and grasps Brianna’s hand.
‘I’ll do it. For you,’ he says.
Lorraine sits back, appeased. Brianna’s smile is pure sunlight.
‘Thank you.’ She grips his hand. ‘And by the way, I’ve used my holiday money to repair my car. I have my test scheduled next month once my project’s wrapped up and term ends.’
‘Can I help?’ he asks. ‘I can make time for us to go driving together. Maybe in the holidays?’ Because time with his daughter is one of the things he values most in life. He knows that now.
Brianna shakes her head.
‘I’m doing Camp America with Georgia in the summer. We’re working, then we’re travelling. We’re going to meet Georgia’s dad.’
It sounds so familiar.
‘Yes. Sorry. I know that, I think,’ he says.
‘How do you know I’m going to America? I only told Heather.’
Scott’s mind, still hazy after the brain injury, jumps around, because there’s a warm glow of familiarity to what Brianna says.
Heather was here, and she was talking to him.
And slowly, bit by bit, he pieces together her monologue.