A Ladder to the Sky(73)
Or sometimes:
Nurse 1: How long more will they keep her on this, do you think?
Nurse 2: Your guess is as good as mine. It’s down to the family in the end, isn’t it?
There are doctors too. They stand over me and check their charts, telling each other where they went for dinner the night before. I’m privy to their most intimate conversations and all I can do is lie here while the machines by my bed breathe for me. Sometimes I sing songs in my head, whole albums even, challenging myself to remember every word of the lyrics.
You visited a lot in the early days and were very good at playing the grieving husband. Sometimes, when we were alone, you would sit next to me, take my hand and speak in a quiet voice that, strangely, I found very relaxing.
‘The university keeps calling me,’ you said. ‘They’ve been very solicitous. They’re desperate to help in some way but, of course, there’s nothing they can do. At one point, I considered asking whether they might like me to take over your classes for you, but I thought they might think that a bit odd.’
Another time, you worked through the page proofs of The Tribesman while sitting at my bedside and told me whenever you were changing one of my sentences for one of your own. I must admit that your corrections were, for the most part, good ones.
I overheard a conversation between you and Nurse 2 one evening when she said that she really admired how well you were holding it together. Not everyone does, she told you. Some people go to pieces, others cause trouble for the hospital, as if the doctors aren’t trying hard enough. You told her that you had no choice, that you were sure that I could hear every word you said and that if I knew how much you loved me, I’d wake up. You said that you hadn’t told me that enough before the accident – your word, not mine – and that that was one of your biggest regrets. Then you started sobbing, she hugged you and I heard myself screaming, literally screaming like a banshee, inside my head. Only the room, of course, was in silence.
Once, you placed a hand on my stomach, quite gently, and told me I’d been pregnant but that the child hadn’t survived the fall. I knew that, you didn’t have to say it. She would have lived too, had you pulled me back rather than pushing me. I can sense her spirit sometimes, but we haven’t made any connection. Not yet, anyway. Soon, perhaps.
A few nights ago, you arrived with someone else. The room was a dark blur then and I couldn’t identify who it was. Eventually, I realized it was a young woman. She leaned over me and whispered in a familiar European accent.
‘Don’t wake up, Edith,’ she said. ‘Don’t ever wake up. Things are just perfect here without you.’
It didn’t take me long to figure out that it was Maja Drazkowski. Are you a couple now? I imagine you must keep it very quiet, as you’d lose all sympathy if anyone discovered that you were fucking one of my students while I was stuck in hospital, showing no sign whatsoever of recovering. She’s a strange choice for you but I imagine you’ll get rid of her once the novel takes off and you’re back in literary circulation. There are much more significant catches out there lying in wait for you. I almost feel sorry for Maja. Almost.
But, of course, you’re not the only one who visits. Mum comes up from London every few days and tries to be strong but ends up in tears. She tells me over and over how much she loves me and recounts happy stories from when I was a child. I want to tell her that I love her too. She brings a friend occasionally, who puts an arm around her and says things like:
She looks well, all things considered, doesn’t she?
and
Shall we stop off for a bite to eat on the way home? I could murder a cod and chips.
Life goes on, I suppose.
Rebecca came only once. She started by smoothing down the bedsheets and clearing up whatever detritus had been left behind on the bedside table. I don’t know why she bothered.
‘Hello, Edith,’ she said, in a normal tone of voice, as if we’d just run into each other on the street unexpectedly. ‘I brought some grapes. Shall I just leave them over here?’
Why on earth she brought grapes is a mystery to me. I wanted to scream, I’m in a coma, you stupid fucking bitch, and I did scream it, in my head, anyway. She sat down and looked around the room, keeping her hands firmly in her lap. I don’t think she wanted to touch any of the surfaces in case she came down with MRSA.
‘Shall I catch you up on the gossip?’ she asked.
No, I thought.
‘Arjan’s arrived in LA and started shooting. He’s loving it. It’s obvious that the show is going to be an enormous hit. I’ve advised him that he should only commit to two seasons because, after that, film companies are going to want to cast him in movies. And if he’s stuck in a long-term contract with a TV show, then that’ll mess things up for us. That happened to the actor who played Magnum. What’s his name? I can’t remember.’
Tom Selleck, I thought.
‘Oh, it’ll come to me. Anyway, it happened to him—’
Tom Selleck, I re-thought.
‘He was offered the part of Indiana Jones but he couldn’t do it because he was locked into his contract and so Kevin Costner got it instead.’
Harrison Ford, I shouted.
‘And I don’t want that to happen to Arjan. Anyway, the boys and I are going over next Thursday – can you believe it? Me! In Hollywood! I suppose you thought that you’d be the one to end up there because of your novels, but no, it’s me! I’ll write, of course, but I can’t see myself coming back here any time soon. I think England will seem so drab once I’m over there.’