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I can't answer for a moment. I try to swallow down the bile that's collected in my throat. I think about all those arguments, about the drugs, the band, the fact I wanted Max more than he did. He's making his feelings painfully obvious, choosing his music over his wife and son. Choking up, I realise I'm all alone in this now. The man I thought I could rely on turns out to be no man at all.
I finally reply, my voice thick. “Don't bother. I don't want to talk to him.”
* * *
When I walk back inside I can’t bring myself to look at Tina. Can't tell her that her son is refusing to come home. Instead I stick to Max like glue, avoiding her suggestions I try calling Alex again. Something stops me from telling her the truth. A misplaced sense of loyalty, perhaps, or the knowledge she's finding it hard to cope. Either way, I keep my fury to myself.
My father leaves at five o'clock, hugging me tight before he goes. He isn't used to spending a night away from home, and though he offers to stay, I gently refuse. As the night creeps in, one by one they take their leave. Amy goes first, muttering something about meeting Luke, while Andrea needs to go home and feed her cat.
Tina stays a little longer, coming in to squeeze Max's hand a final time.
“Alex will be here tomorrow.” She sounds so sure, I don't have the energy to steal any hope from her. It's a rare commodity around here.
“I hope so.” It isn't a lie. He needs to be close enough for me to kick his butt.
She hugs me close, still smelling of flowery perfume. I pat her back in the same way my dad did to me earlier.
Finally, only Beth and I are left. She sits on the chair while I help the nurse clean Max up. For the first time, his eyes focus enough to catch mine.
“Hello, baby,” I whisper. “How are you doing?”
He stares silently.
“We miss you. Everybody wants you to get better.” I pat his red skin with the cool flannel. He blinks twice, still looking up. When I brush his hand he tries to grab my finger.
“Feisty little thing, isn't he?” The night shift nurse finishes fastening his nappy. “The doctor's pleased with his progress.”
It's like being told your child is a genius. That he's won a Nobel Prize. When he curls his fingers around mine a little smile pulls at my lips; I can tell he knows I'm here.
Later still, Beth and I talk quietly, while Max sleeps. There’s a glow from my phone as it charges, and I've changed into the fresh clothes that David brought.
“He didn't mean it.” She sounds so sure. “I bet he doesn't realise how poorly Max has been.”
I sip from the plastic cup of water the nurse brought for me. “I didn't leave him in any doubt. In my messages, my conversation with Stuart, I made certain he knew.” Max coughs and we all hold our breath. Then he calms and I feel my heart slow. “Not to mention the hysterical voicemails his mum left. He knows exactly what the situation is, he doesn't want to come back.”
She slips her hand inside mine. “Don't make any rash assumptions. You need to talk this through with him.”
When did Beth become the wise one? Out of the two of us, I've always been the stronger. The one to lean on, the counsellor. Yet I cling to her words, wishing they were true.
“Max is in hospital, fighting for his life. He can't possibly have an excuse. What reason can there be?” I ask these questions, as I’m lost for the answers. “What possible thing can ke
ep a man from his sick child?”
“All I'm saying is wait and see. I've learned that making assumptions only leads to heartache.” Beth knows what she's talking about. After a whirlwind romance, it took her nine years to get together with Niall. I know she regrets the time they lost. “Promise me you'll hear him out.”
I lean back heavily on my chair. It's an impossible promise to make. Not only because I'm not sure I can ever forgive him for not being here when I begged him to, but also because he was too much of a coward, hiding behind his band mate like a frightened child.
I don't believe there's any way to forgive him for what happened. For putting the band before his son's health. And though Max is beautifully unaware right now, one day he's going to know.
A missed school play, a broken promise, a million tiny heart aches. They line the road in front of us, all the ways my son's life can be broken.
Like a lioness, I swear I'm going to protect him. No matter the cost.
20
Three days later, Max has not only stabilised, but his condition has improved enough for his tubes to be removed. He's started feeding from a bottle, finding enough strength to suck from a teat, his cheeks hollowing out as he tries to take in more milk.
When the doctor makes the rounds that morning, he offers me a smile, listening to Max's chest before pulling the stethoscope away from his ears.
