“Dr Ford,” one of the nurses calls. “Kath?”
She’s looking at me frantically. I shake myself and grab a pair of gloves from the wall before walking into the room to help. The heat of the gown and gloves on top of the mask feels stifling, but I try to breathe through it. I can do this.
***
A week later, it’s 4 a.m. and I’m at work. I’malwaysat work.
The department hasn’t slowed down since my night shift started, and I still haven’t taken my break. I’m exhausted. Exhausted and hungry. When I finally find the consultant in charge, she nods when I ask to go for my food. Checking my watch I realise I’m just in time to see the first swim final.
They’re just announcing the swimmers as I put my food into the microwave, and I smile as I watch Austin walking out to the poolside, earphones in, head bopping to music. The last few years look good on him. It’s so odd to watch this on the television. I miss watching a race with the smell of chlorine around me and the buzz of the other people in the stands.
Sam qualified fastest. Which I shouldn’t know but I do, because I’ve been checking all the swimming times. Old habits die hard.
He’s the only British swimmer in the race, up against the usual cohort of Team USA and Australian swimmers who dominate in the pool. The commentator starts talking about his last Olympics, the golds from Rio, the medals from Paris. It’s a lot of pressure.
The microwave pings, but I can’t tear myself away from the screen as they take to theirblocks.
By the time they’re on the breaststroke, I’m jumping up and down in front of the television. If anyone walked into the room now I’d look like I was having some sort of meltdown, screaming at the television in an empty room. My heart’s in my mouth as I watch the timer on the top of the screen when they start the front crawl. He’s just holding onto the world record pace; if anything, he is inching faster than it with each stroke.
This is everything he ever wanted when he was younger. I remember him chanting that number on the way to training. I remember him being disappointed after the last Olympics that he was milliseconds off it. I remember him telling his mum excitedly the first time a coach said they thought he might be able to break the record with enough training. I wish I was there to watch this happen in real life. It hurts so much that I’m not, and that he wouldn’t want me there anyway.
When he touches the wall I let out a shriek of victory. The timer reads 4 minutes, 3 seconds, 12 milliseconds. He’s taken the record.
Tears prick my eyes as I watch him celebrate. Austin comes in third and leans over the rope to pull Sam into a hug, ruffling his hair as he pulls off his cap. The commentators on the BBC are going mad, but Sam almost looks confused as he stares at the board. A tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away.
As the adrenaline slowly begins to die down, I remember that I’m actually at work and need to eat my food. I open the microwave and my pasta’s gone cold. Laughing at myself, I heat it up again.
I shake my head. A world record. I always knew he could do it.
I’ve just finished my food, watching the women’s backstroke heats, when my phone starts to buzz. Who on earth is calling me at four in the morning? My brows lift when I see Austin’s name flash up on the screen. I can’t even remember the last time we spoke on the phone.
“Hey!” I say, accepting the call. “Well done for earlier!”
“Hi, Kath. Thanks.” He sounds oddly frantic for someone who just finished a final. “I’m so sorry to call you, but it’s about Sam. I’m a bit worried about him.” He pauses. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot to call you, but… well… I don’t know what to do.”
“What’s happened?” I ask, suddenly on high alert. “Has he injured himself? He looked fine a few minutes ago?”
“No, he hasn’t injured himself,” he reassures me. “We warmed down together and then went to the showers before doing the media.” There’s a long pause. “Kath, I think he’s having a panic attack. I can’t get him to calm down, and I didn’t know who else to call. He didn’t want me to call the coach or a medic.”
I freeze. I’ve never known Sam to have a panic attack. I knew he got anxious but I hadn’t realised that it had become this bad.
My stomach sinks. “Pass the phone over to him. Or put me on speaker. I can talk to him.”
We may not have spoken for over four years, but we were best friends for ten. It’s Sam. I still know what to say.
“Thanks, Kath,” Austin says. “I’m just going to walk back to the cubicle. Luckily no one else is around.”
I wish that Sam had called me years ago. If things were heading in this direction, I wish he’d known that I would be there. That I could talk this through with him.
He looked so tired and worried the last time I saw him on screen. Part of me kicks myself for not realising he’d end up like this, but the other part of me wonders how I could’ve helped someone who doesn’t want help?
I hear a door opening and closing through my speakers and then Austin’s voice again. “Hey, Sam. I have Kath on the phone for you,” he says softly, and I close my eyes to blink away tears.
“Hi, Sam,” I say quietly through the phone. “It’s me. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Can’t breathe,” I hear his voice wheezing out. “I can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.” His voice is choked.
“OK. It’s OK. Austin, am I on speaker?” I squeeze my hands together to stop myself from panicking.
