AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I attempt to grab the camera from his hands, but he has the strap wound around his arm. Another man approaches, slightly older with curly brown hair, who looks like he spends more time waiting around and eating than chasing people down the street. He doesn’t show concern for the guy I’m grappling with, instead gleefully photographing the incident.
I turn to him and seize his camera too. He’s off guard and I manage to snatch it from his hands. “Stop doing this to me!”
The camera crashes to the floor as I fling it across the street.
“You stupid bitch! That’s criminal damage!” snarls the man. The first guy laughs and takes his turn at photographing me.
Worried the guy whose camera I broke might attack me, I turn and run down the street, the adrenaline of the encounter flooding my already anxious system. I chew the inside of my cheek, desperate to stop the tears in case someone else is around who’s ready to take more photographs. I veer around a young woman holding a little girl’s hand, almost knocking her out of the way.
“Sorry,” I say breathlessly and continue.
No footsteps follow, but I don’t turn. I stumble back through the heavy front door of my flat and slam it closed. Breath coming in short pants, I squeeze my eyes closed. This is reminiscent of the day the world discovered who I am. This will always be my life if I’m with Dylan.
Only this time, the thought of losing Dylan sickens me more than any threat to my privacy. We need to get out, create a niche somewhere between our worlds and live there.
Back in the flat, I collapse on the sofa. I need to leave before the ghouls appear at my door, screaming for pictures and information. Reluctantly, I call the number Dylan gave me in case I need help or change my mind about leaving my flat.
I can’t stay in England while Dylan is in the mess he’s in. Defeated again, I head to my room to pack. Before I go, I need to visit Tara and although she won’t be aware, I hope she understands.
* * *
The large blackAudi pulls up around the rear of the hospital and I slip out. Not wanting to hang around in the busy car park for long, I tell the driver to return in an hour. The smartly dressed man nods but his lined face creases with concern. “I was told to take you straight to the airport.”
“I’m a big girl; I make my own decisions. If there’s any problem, I’ll call you.”
I’ve attempted to cover my state of fear and grief with make-up and wrapped a different coloured scarf around my head. I’m half-expecting the police to appear and arrest me for smashing the dickhead photographer’s camera. Managing to get out of my house before more photographers arrived amazed me, especially as news about Dylan still filters from the other side of the Atlantic.
The neon strip-lights in the hospital hurt my sore eyes as I head toward the room Tara is in, and I’m hunched down against life. This news is huge—a new episode in the Blue Phoenix soap opera that’s taken hold this year: dead girlfriends, arrest warrants for rape, and now Dylan’s overdose. The early reports I’ve caught suggest this was deliberate, and fanciful stories of how the rape charge and our breakup led to his suicide attempt ripple across the media.
My time at the hospital is limited—I’m in a public place. The world and his dog know I currently spend the majority of my days at Bristol Royal Infirmary.
There’s no change to Tara’s situation. Her perpetually haunted-looking partner sits outside the room, head against the wall and eyes closed. I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, and I creep past.
Every time I see Tara, I want to cry. I try to hide this from her parents and Tom, and marvel at their strength. Each time I come here, I worry I’ll hear the news they can’t do any more for her.
My awareness of how precious life is, and how it can be cut short at any time, increased a hundred times this last week. I haven’t experienced grief before, not really. Both my parents are alive, as are the grandparents I know. My life pre-Grant breakup was constant and steady and I never expected anything to change.
I had my life planned and compartmentalised, right down to how many children I’d have, where we’d live in five, ten, and twenty years. Because of this, I pushed away a world of opportunity, denying a chance of happiness because of some weird belief that I have total control over my life.
As I look at the pale-faced person in the bed who is a shadow of my best friend, I know this isn’t true. Happiness should be seized from wherever it comes because there’s no guarantee you’ll find happiness where you decide it should be. Dylan’s early words about love and logic resonate. Why did I ever deny something real in the hope of something else that fitted my opinion on what’s correct?
As I sit here, I imagine Dylan too. Is he still unconscious? What does ‘accidental overdose’ mean? What if Liam only told me half a story and he’s really sick? Despite the pull to be with my best friend of twelve years, I know I have to return to Dylan.
I spend a while with Tara, listening to the funnelled noises of the hospital—footsteps, quiet voices, and the machines in the room—willing her to wake up so I can say goodbye. There’s no movement and I end by kissing her cheek, heart ripped apart in my chest in case this is the last time I see her. When I turn, Tom hovers in the doorway and he catches sight of the tears in my eyes. I’m about to ask the question when he shakes his head.
“No better?” I ask hoarsely.
A muscle in Tom’s cheek twitches as if he’s trying not to break down. I don’t know him well, but we’ve comforted each other the last few days and I hold him, wishing he were Tara, and hope I can pass on to him the strength he needs. His muscles are stiff, and he smells of the sterility of the hospital.
“You’ll tell me as soon as anything changes?” I ask.
He nods, still not speaking.
“Okay. Tell Jim and Carol I called in.” I’d hoped Tara’s parents would be here, so I could try to give them some strength too, but I’m happy they’re taking a break. Her mum’s vigil by her daughter’s bed broke my heart. Mothers shouldn’t have to watch their children in Tara’s state.
I hitch my leather handbag onto my shoulder as I leave the room, rummaging inside for my purse. I need some quiet, to contemplate everything and get my head together to face the next challenge. Finding a quiet corner, behind a fake plant I sit and sip a can of Coke from the vending machine. Caffeine probably isn’t the best idea as my heart races, but I want to stay awake as long as I can.
Between the plant fronds, I watch people pass by. In this part of the hospital, the only visitors are sombre. Confused looking children hold tightly to the hands of serious faced adults, aware something is wrong but not exactly what. The palpable sadness of the ICU isn’t brightened by the yellow paintwork or colourful pictures of tropical paradises. A boy hugging a bunch of flowers, a mix of pink roses and carnations, glances at me and I smile weakly. Nobody else pays any attention to the sad girl on the plastic seat in the corner.
