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Nick was brought up single-handedly by his beloved mother Coleen (with the help of his grandmother and Aunt Meghan, Ronan’s mum). A close-knit family, they all lived on the same street in Malahide, a small village north of Dublin, which, I expect, was convenient as far as childminders go. I can’t count the different babysitters George and I had when we were little, none of whom we particularly bonded with, they didn’t stick around long enough. But at least we grew up with both parents. Nick’s father, a plumber from Cork, died when Nick was only five-years-old from a genetic blood disorder, so he never really knew his dad. It was the main reason why Nick didn’t want any children of his own.
“What if I’ve inherited the faulty gene, Audrey?” he told me, shortly after we started dating. “Or worse still, what if it skips a generation? I couldn’t bear to pass it on to one of our kids.” And I knew in that moment that he was in it for the long-haul.
Coleen never remarried, even though she was only thirty when her husband died. When I quizzed Nick over it once he just shrugged his shoulders and said that she wasn’t really interested in anyone else after she lost his dad, that no one could match up to him. But Ronan told me, once I got to know him a little better, that the real reason Coleen never remarried was because she didn’t want another man bringing up her son, couldn’t bear the thought of anyone coming between them, which I thought was rather sweet yet sad in equal measure.
I really wish I’d met Coleen, she sounded like quite a woman, but, sadly, Nick lost his mother a few weeks into our relationship, she’d been ill for a while. And now he’s lost me too and is lying in a hospital bed – alone.
“What happened, Ronan?” I ask, after spending an hour trawling through a mass of voicemails to retrieve his message. His was number seventy-nine.
“I dunno exactly.” He exhales loudly down the phone. I imagine him smoothing down the back of his red hair with his palm. “It was a pretty normal Saturday night, few cans in the fridge, game on the Xbox, when he got this phone call and went all weirdy on me.”
“Weirdy how?”
“Erm…he just went a bit pale, looked as though he was about to throw up, to be honest. To begin with I thought it was you on the phone.” I’m sure that Ronan isn’t deliberately trying to be offensive, but does he really think that a phone call from me would cause Nick to gag? “But then he snatched his keys off the coffee table, said he was off to see a man about a dog, and shot out the door.” He pauses, I think he’s lighting a cigarette. “The next thing I knew the police called round, said he’d been involved in a collision and that the impact threw him off his bike.”
“Jesus,” I say finally, “And then what happened?
Ronan sounds dreadful. I can tell he’s uncomfortable, wants to stop even, but I keep pressing him for details. I want to know everything. How many beers had he sunk before leaving? Were there any other casualties? Did he mention me at all before he left, did they discuss our break-up?
“We spoke a bit about you, yes,” Ronan explains, and my stomach stings. “He only had half a lager before the call came through, we were just getting started, and no, no one else was injured.” Thank you, Lord. At least I don’t have to feel responsible for any other poor soul. “A witness said he skidded off the road and smashed into a parked car.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Nick rode that bike like a professional. “There must’ve been something wrong with the brakes, I reckon.” I hear him blowing out smoke. “Anyway, when I got to the hospital I was told he’d had a blow to the head and a few other injuries.”
“A blow to the head? Oh, my God,” I gather the lapels of my dressing gown tightly, “Is he all right?” Silence. “Ronan!”
“Audrey, he’s been in a coma for five days, love, didn’t anyone tell you?”
The piercing pain in my right temple seems to come out of nowhere. “Whaaaat?”
“But he’s stable now and off the respirator. The doctors are quite optimistic.” Fear burns in my chest. I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, there must be some mistake. I stagger into the bathroom, legs like jelly, and heave over the sink. Angry thoughts flit around in my head as I swallow back the bile with a handful of cold water from the tap – Louise, George and Tina must’ve known how serious Nick’s condition was. Why didn’t they warn me? How could they be so cruel?
“A coma? A respirator?” I blub. “That’s bloody serious.”
“Calm down, Audrey, the worst of it is over,” Ronan says soothingly. “Just take a few deep breaths. Come on now, love.” But I’m in no fit state for mindful breathing. I knew his injuries were serious, but I was thinking more along the lines of broken limbs, fractured ribs, that kind of thing. Normal accidenty things. But a coma? I’ve heard that some people never regain consciousness. My goodness, is he going to die? Will the words, “Get out of my fucking flat, you pathetic little piece of shit,” be the last he’ll ever hear me say? “Look,” Ronan’s voice again, “he’s had all the tests done and…”
“What kind of tests?” I cut in urgently, running my sleeve over my snotty nose in front of the bathroom cabinet mirror. I look like shit. I turn away.
“Well, you know, the usual kind.” No, I don’t know, I want to scream, I’m not a flipping doctor. “Blood tests, an ECG, CT and MRI scans, they’ve run the lot and he’s doing well. There’s a little swelling on the brain but they’re treating that with drugs, nothing to worry about.”
“Will he wake up?” I quiver.
“Yes, of course, he will. Once the drugs kick in, he’ll be fine. I promise.” I know Ronan’s trying his best to put my mind at ease but it’s not working.
“I want to see him,” I blurt. The lip of the washbasin digs into my lower back as I lean against it. “Will you take me to him?
“Yes, we can go first thing…”
“Now, Ronan.”
Ronan exhales loudly down the phone. “Audrey, I’m shattered. I literally just got off the plane, but I can go with you first thing in the morning. Visiting times start at…”
But I don’t let him finish. “You mean he’s there all alone?” I can’t hide the alarm in my voice. “When did you fly back to Dublin? I thought you were here looking after him.”
“A few days ago.” He clicks his tongue, annoyed. “Look, Audrey.” I can hear the guilt in his voice and I feel a little sorry for him, but how could he leave Nick alone at a time like this? What if he’d died? “I had to go back home,” he claims, “Catherine couldn’t cope with work and the kids, and I –”
“What?” I ask incredulously, my anger returning. “Couldn’t she ask her family for help for Chrissake?” Catherine’s one of six children, they’re a close-knit clan. I march back into the lounge, pluck a tissue out of the box and blow my nose loudly.
“Audrey, they’re my family. I –”
“Nick’s your family too, Ronan.” I knot the belt of my dressing gown angrily, pahone jammed between my shoulder and jaw. “He needed someone with him.”
