Before I Saw You(14)

‘I’ve always been obsessed with them. Never go anywhere without a puzzle book, just in case, I don’t know, I find myself stuck on a long-term-sick hospital ward with every day full of nothing to do. It’s good to keep the brain active.’

She hoped that his brain would shortly become very much inactive. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. The silence seemed to be egging him on, as if she was challenging him to try harder. But despite the constant stream of words bombarding her, she remained stoic and mute.

‘Alfie, what the hell are you doing?’ One of the nurses’ voices interrupted his monologue.

‘Nothing. Just talking to myself.’ He didn’t even sound a tiny bit embarrassed to be caught out. Alice rolled her eyes and silently praised the nurse for her timing.

‘Sure … well … you have physio now, so I need you up and out of here.’

‘OK, I’m coming. Give me a second to put my leg on, will you?’

‘Of course. Darren is waiting for you in the normal spot.’ Alice heard the nurse’s footsteps fade away.

‘I’ll be back in a bit, neighbour. Don’t get too lonely without me,’ he called back as she heard the curtains close behind him.

Alice bathed in the glorious silence once more, allowing her thoughts to come and go as they pleased, an opportunity she was never really afforded in her old life. There was always something to do, somewhere to be and lists to be worked through. God, how she missed being busy. Now the only activity on her list was keeping an ear out for the sound of her neighbour’s returning footsteps.

A mere two hours later, she was greeted once again with the sound of him.

‘Christ, that was a tough one.’ He was trying to sound upbeat, but Alice could hear the weariness in his voice.

‘Darren doesn’t go easy, does he?’

He’s tired. He’ll shut up in a minute.

Luckily this time Alice was right. As the day wore on, his attempts at conversation grew few and far between, and eventually, as night fell, the only sound she heard from his side were the deep sighs and yawns of someone on the cusp of dreaming.

‘Wake up!’

Her eyes snapped open. It was pitch black. What the hell was going on?

‘Please.’

Alice was wide awake now and hit with the sharp realization that the cries were coming from the man next door.

‘Ross, please.’

His mumbling was growing more urgent. As far as she could tell, he seemed to be reliving something awful. Alice held her breath as she bore witness to his pain. The moans and the cries. It was all just muffled noise. Terrible, heart-breaking noise until—

‘Ross. Ross. Please God, wake up!’

The murmurings were getting louder and more panicked. Alice prayed that someone would come and shake him awake, but no respite came. What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn’t wake him up. Wait, what if this was some sick joke he was playing? What if this was his twisted way to get her to talk?

Then she heard it.

‘Ciarán, no! No. No. No. Please no.’

It was a cry that shook with horror, a cry that rang out with such pain it reduced Alice to tears. This was anything but a joke.





12


Alfie





He woke with a start.

‘Jesus Christ, pull yourself together.’ He couldn’t help the words coming out. Tired of going through his own version of hell and back, Alfie’s fear had morphed into deep frustration. Why was he doing this to himself again?

Such a weak, stupid idiot.

As he said the words over and over in his head, his fist started to punch his surviving leg hard on the thigh. He wanted to fight this stupidity out of him, drum in some sense and logic.

‘Don’t do that, it’s the only one you’ve got, remember,’ a quiet voice came from just outside his curtain.

‘Mr P?’ Shame flooded him. Thank God his face was hidden from view.

‘Aye, kid. Now try and get some rest. Got some tricky crossword clues for you in the morning and I need you on top form.’

‘OK.’ A tear escaped down his face. Alfie closed his eyes and swallowed down the ball of sadness that had lodged itself in his throat. He heard the shuffling of his friend’s footsteps making their way back across the room. If he’d woken up Mr Peterson, there was no way his neighbour was still sleeping. Still she’d not said a word.

As he lay there coated in sweat and barely able to breathe, he grew frustrated at how regularly he was finding himself back here. He’d spent so long trying to block out the flashbacks and bury what he couldn’t bear to remember about the accident. It seemed that just when he thought he’d done it, his brain served him up a cruel reminder that the battle wasn’t over yet.

When he’d first come around after the crash he hadn’t been able to recall much. The head injury he’d sustained had wiped most of the details from his mind. This, he often thought, was a small blessing. Then the flashbacks started. Thick and fast. He couldn’t believe it – as soon as he was starting to feel more stable, it was as though his brain had decided to flick the switch and take him right back to square one. His mind would revisit the wreckage regularly, sometimes multiple times a day. No sleep needed. It would take him over, at random and without permission. He’d never felt so out of control in his life. This wasn’t your average nightmare. This was real. This was time travel. His nose would burn with the toxic mix of petrol and rubber. His ears would be filled with the deafening crash, the screaming and the crying. He could see the broken remains of their car from where he’d been thrown on to the tarmac. Crumpled like paper. Trapped under the lorry whose path it had been forced into. Then he’d see them, and his world would come crashing down around him all over again.