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‘I will.’ I climb out and turn to look at him. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘Go,’ he says, waving me off.
Tom’s waiting at the baggage check-in with my boarding pass.
‘Any update?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘We’ll know more post-surgery. I phoned Dawn to let her know what’s going on. Didn’t think Bridget was up for that particular phone call.’
We join the line of passengers, emptying our pockets onto trays. ‘And?’
He stares down at the watch he’s removing. ‘And… now she knows. She didn’t say much. Shock, probably. I’ll keep her posted.’
It’s a hard situation for me to get my head around. I know she loves Annie, so why isn’t she here at the airport right now?
We arrive at the gate just as boarding opens.
‘Bridget mentioned that you and Annie spoke before the accident,’ Tom says, eyes ahead. ‘Didn’t realise you two were still in touch.’
I glance at him. ‘If you want to blame someone, you can blame me. It might be my fault.’
He eyes me as we creep forwards in the line. ‘I’ve already spoken to the police. The bike was behind a car. She didn’t see it in time. Her phone was in her bag.’
That does little to ease my conscience.
The next few hours pass in a blur of agitation and crying infants. When we land, we take a taxi straight to the hospital. The tired nurse at the front desk asks if we’re family. Tom tells the woman he’s Annie’s father, then glances at me.
‘And he’s… with me.’
The nurse looks up Annie’s information and informs us that she’s in recovery, then directs us to the waiting room. I like the idea of Annie being in recovery. It gives the illusion that she’s on the up.
It’s close to midnight when we step into the dimly lit waiting room. We find Bridget curled up in a chair, half asleep, with an open bag of chips on her lap. She stands the moment she sees us.
‘Hey,’ she says.
Tom approaches his daughter slowly, like one does a nervous horse, and I head over to the vending machine, where I spend a few minutes browsing the items in order to give them some privacy. They fall silent when a doctor in scrubs enters.
I wander closer, bracing.
He tells us his name is Dr Singh. Then he talks about the surgery, saying things like ‘blood pressure’, ‘stopping the bleeding’, and being ‘stable’. My brain takes in only fragments, but judging by Tom’s relieved expression, it’s predominantly good news.
‘Can I see her?’ Bridget asks.
Dr Singh looks at her. ‘She’s still asleep, but I’m happy for one of you to visit with her for a few minutes.’
‘You go,’ Tom tells Bridget.
She follows the doctor, and we sit and wait. When she returns, she’s a little red-eyed. I know too well how confronting it is seeing people you care about unresponsive, with tubes everywhere. I swallow down my questions, and Tom does the same.
At some point I fall asleep, and when I wake up, I see Annie’s mum is here. She actually came. She and Tom are speaking on one side of the room while Bridget remains on the other. Rising, I walk over to check on her.
Dawn’s face hardens when her eyes land on me. ‘What’s he doing here?’
I could ask the same question of her.
‘He’s here for Annie, like the rest of us,’ Tom says quietly.
I focus on Bridget. ‘You okay?’
