But we barely heard, too busy celebrating. Your Grandpa Mick gave a whoop of relief, and clapped Uncle John on the back. Granny Heather looked as if she couldn’t decide between dancing and fainting.
You were back from the dead, Beth. Our miracle girl.
Eight
Alien bleeping sounds, a spaghetti of wires, odd machinery and crisp white sheets: I had entered a different world. And in the middle of it all lay you, my love. You were as pale as the bedding, a breathing tube crammed down your throat and a device forcing air into your lungs and out again.
‘So that’s breathing for her?’ I checked.
The machine hissed, and your chest rose. A bitter taste of bile hit the back of my throat.
‘That’s right. Beth is in an induced coma to help her heal,’ said the consultant. It was the third time he’d explained that bit. This was all so hard to take in, I’d asked for a bit of paper and a pen to make notes. A string of incomprehensible words had been jotted down.
The Family Liaison Officer, Britney, had driven us to St James’s Hospital, Leeds. The two-and-a-half-hour journey had been a blur of elation that you were alive, Beth. You probably don’t know, but that’s a really famous hospital. People call it Jimmy’s because they love it so much – it even had a television programme devoted to it years ago. You’re too young to remember that, of course. But it’s a centre of excellence in the treatment of head injuries, so your dad and I had been pleased knowing you were in such capable hands.
Until we’d seen you. Hope had rapidly been replaced with fear again. Beth, you looked like something from a horror film.
A moan escaped through the fingers covering my mouth. I clamped them down harder as I made myself look at you.
Your beautiful long blonde hair had been completely shaved off on the right side, and a tube came out of your skull. The sight of it made me feel faint. Your temple and eye were swollen and blackened, distorting your delicate features so that you didn’t look like you.
Always as slender as a fairy, now you looked insubstantial in the hospital bed. Someone could whisk you away with the bedding, screw you up and toss you to one side without noticing.
This was not my daughter.
You were always rushing about. Hiding round corners and jumping out: ‘Boo!’ Laughing like a loony at the look on your dad’s or my face. You even did it to the dog, who would look at you full of reproach, then leap forward and pin you down for a thorough licking, so the pair of you formed a tumbling, giggling, barking mass of fun.
You would talk in a breathless stream about nature, about working in conservation one day and saving the world. You had an opinion on everything. Like me, you read voraciously – the only time you were quiet was when you had your head stuck in a book. You sang, played guitar. Thundered down the stairs making more noise than was surely possible for one tiny teenager.
Now you just lay there. Dead but not dead. In limbo. I could not equate the empty shell with the lively daughter. Your soul seemed to have fled.
I peered at you, trying to see a spark of life. Something that looked like an inflatable Li-lo covered your body for some strange reason. Then I remembered, I’d been told about it. Something about it keeping you cold to aid healing.
I shuffled even closer, taking in the terrible dark circles beneath your eyes. No, it was smudged make-up. Odd. You never wore cosmetics, and certainly hadn’t had any on when you left the house.
The thought was snatched away by the other doctor speaking, the one who wasn’t a consultant but a neurosurgeon. Yes, you had a team looking after you, Beth.
‘For now, the most important thing to understand is that we have stopped the bleed on your daughter’s brain. That’s good news,’ she said. The blue of the scrubs set off her eyes, which confidently met first mine, then Jacob’s. We moved our heads like nodding dogs.
‘Right now, it’s too soon to say how profound Beth’s injuries are. We won’t have any idea until she wakes up – if she wakes up.’
‘If?’ Jacob’s voice sounded scratchy and thick.
‘The injury to her brain is significant. The blow was to her temple, and caused an epidural haematoma – a bleed to the brain. Although we have stopped it, you need to be prepared for the worst. Beth may not wake up, and if she does, her injuries may be profound.’
‘Wait.’ I flapped my hands as if to shoo away what she had said. ‘You mean Beth might die?’
‘I’m going to do everything in my power to stop that happening. But yes.’
‘I’m going to be sick.’
The doctor grabbed a kidney-shaped cardboard bowl and pushed it under my mouth as my stomach heaved. Just in time.
‘Nurse,’ she called.
One had already appeared with a larger bowl. I heaved again, my whole body rejecting what was happening to my daughter.
Nine
BETH
FRIDAY 22 JANUARY
As she walked down the lane that crisp Friday night, Beth had a spring in her step, only slightly burdened with guilt. She had fooled her mum, and the plan was working a treat. But if her parents ever found out the truth they would totally freak out.
Lying wasn’t something the teenager was good at, but lately she seemed to be getting a lot of practice. So many secrets weighed down on her; and not only her own. She needed this night to let her hair down and have some fun.
Beth checked over her shoulder. Her mum wasn’t watching her progress towards Chloe’s house; in fact, she had disappeared. Good.
No one saw Beth change direction and slip away to her real destination.
Ten
Jacob and I sat side by side, holding each other’s hand and yours too. The machines were a constant percussion.
‘Come on, love,’ I whispered. ‘You can do this. Come back to us.’
Those hours were the worst of my life. I held your hand, willing my strength into you. Wishing I could swap places. Jacob sat beside me, doing the exact same; silently, fearfully, fervently.
Each second that ticked by was an achievement. She’s held on for this long. She’s made it this far. That has to be a good sign.
The conviction that you would wake any second kept us beside your bed well past the point of our own exhaustion. I stood, stretched, my back giving a twinge, then walked around a bit and yawned. A nurse bustled in, chubby hands checking the read-outs from the bits of machinery. Quick eyes running over me, then Jacob.
‘There are private family rooms on the other side of the hospital. You should go there, get some sleep,’ she said. Brisk, efficient, well-meaning.