Chapter Twenty-Eight
December 2016
Theo’s body felt heavy, as though he was under deep water and his limbs were weighted. He opened his eyes and into focus came a room he didn’t recognise. Everything was white – white sheets covering his body, white metallic finish on the wardrobe opposite, white window surrounds and downlights in the plain ceiling that had a crack in the far corner. His jaw felt heavy, his mind disorientated. He was alone and terrified. It was a Herculean effort to turn his head to the side but doing so gave him no answers and he felt his eyes roll back and his body succumb to sleep.
Theo had no concept of time, but when he opened his eyes again he heard a sound, a sound he knew but couldn’t distinguish. It was a person – female – humming away, a tune that said whoever it was, they were content. He tried to move his mouth but nothing came out and then his eyes fell back again.
Where was he? What was happening to him?
The same thing happened again and again, sometimes in the daylight hours, other times when it was so dark outside that the only company he had in the room were eerie shadows cast from the furniture or the positioning of the curtains.
And each time, he could barely move, and he couldn’t speak.
January 2017
It was happening again. Theo opened his eyes to the stark, clinical surroundings, and this time a woman moved past his bed and he smelled something: flowers? a light perfume? Whatever it was, it made him remember being a kid, those long summer evenings where he and Grace would be out in the back garden on the swing, competing to see who could jump far enough to clear his mum’s veggie patch without squashing anything. Tears pooled in his eyes at remembering this tiny piece of information, giving him a sense of who he was. Up until now he’d been so confused, had no idea where he was and what was happening to him.
He realised the woman was talking to him. She was saying what she’d done that morning: she’d been to the library and the bakery, and when he realised it was his mum he wanted to yell, find out what he was doing here. His body felt strange, like it wasn’t really his. He could move everything very slightly but it felt heavy, like he was pinned to the bed.
He opened his mouth again. He knew he wanted to speak but couldn’t form the words. He watched as his mum pulled something out of her bag. She’d looked over at him several times, unfazed his eyes were open, which was weird. If they were open, why wasn’t she talking to him and waiting for a response?
Out of her bag came something colourful, a mix of blues, but other than that he had no idea what it was. She was talking about making a jumper so he figured it was knitting although he’d rarely seen her pick up needles, not since he was a little boy. She’d loved to make them clothes until they got too old for them to be considered trendy enough.
Was she making him something? Did she think he’d want to wear an old-fashioned knitted cardigan again when he hadn’t since he was about six years old?
When she bent down to get something else, he tried again and this time his mouth did what he wanted. His jaw woke up enough to let him do what he needed to do.
‘…that for me?’ The words slurred out of him as though he’d had ten pints down the rugby club. Ah, another memory! Rugby, he played, didn’t he? And he wasn’t too bad at it either.
His mum dropped the colourful wool and was at his side in seconds. ‘Theo? Theo, can you hear me?’ But his eyes rolled back and off he went again.
Over the next few days, Theo wasn’t awake much, and when he was he could barely utter a sentence before he’d fall asleep. His mum barely left his bedside. She continued to talk to him at a rate of knots and as she did, he remembered more about his life. He remembered learning to ski, the first time he got behind the wheel of a car and he remembered his girlfriend, Lydia. He’d dreamt about her that morning and wondered why she hadn’t been in to see him but his mum explained Lydia had a new job that involved a lot of travel and she’d been unable to reach her.
The days passed by and gradually Theo had longer periods where he was awake. He could talk more, he was more coherent, and everyone assured him he’d get stronger in time. He knew he’d been in an accident and when he told his mum he felt like he’d been hit by a truck, he knew he wasn’t far off the mark when she explained the black ice, the car crash, how they thought he was going to die.
Theo succumbed to the attentiveness of the staff. He wanted to know more, so much more, but his body and his mind were working overtime as it was, trying to stay awake, trying to deal with the here and now. He had urges where he nearly demanded to know where Lydia was, but something held him back. He wanted to run up to her and wrap her in the biggest hug, but he couldn’t stand the thought of her seeing him like this, weak and pathetic.
One day, feeling more alert, he asked outright, when his mouth cooperated and he could form the words: ‘I need some answers. I don’t know what’s happening.’
‘You’re awake, that’s the main thing.’ His mum’s eyes filled with tears as they did most times she looked at him.
He sipped from the straw in the cup of water she held close to his mouth. ‘Where’s Lydia?’ He demanded.
‘I keep calling her but there’s no answer.’ She put the cup back on the bedside table. ‘She may have gone away. Perhaps she’s visiting her sister. Or maybe she’s gone away with work.’
‘She works from home.’
With a tight smile she said, ‘Lydia has a new job. I told you that.’
‘Oh.’ How long had he been here like this?
He shut his eyes; even the daylight was too much for him on occasion and after a minute or two he opened them again. He studied his mum’s face. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ He got his words out with minimal stuttering. His speech wasn’t great but it was better every time he tried. ‘How long have I been like this? Has she been to see me at all?’
The look on his mum’s face was one he couldn’t place. Words were jumbled up in his mind but he thought she looked scared. That was it, scared and worried. But what was she worried about? He was getting better.
He watched his mum get up and walk over to the window looking out over the parked cars and the gravel driveway. He could see the outside through the low windows, even though his body was too weak to move off this bed. The physio had already suggested they get him up soon and into a wheelchair so he’d be upright, and to be honest, he couldn’t wait. He didn’t really understand what the hold up was.
‘Mum…what are you keeping from me?’ He heard his voice and a tone he barely recognised. When she muttered something he asked, ‘How long have I been here?’. Something just didn’t add up.
