‘What happened out there this morning?’
Cherry told Howard the same story she’d told the police. Once again she cried when she mentioned the paddle that hit his head. She hated saying that bit, as she felt it incriminated her. She made it clear, conversationally, that it wasn’t the blow that caused the injury. At the end, she was expecting questions, but Howard just stirred his coffee, which unnerved her. Did he believe her? She could hardly ask him, as doing so would suggest that she had been lying.
He looked at her. ‘Do you have his bag, his things?’
Cherry had forgotten about them; she’d hurriedly grabbed them from the locker at the rafting centre and stashed them safely in the holdall they’d shared, and had felt a sense of responsibility and care for looking after them. She’d assumed she would continue to do so and it felt odd to give them up. She hesitated, but he continued to look at her and she retrieved the holdall that she’d been carrying around all day from under the table.
‘There’s both of ours in here . . .’
‘You keep the bag.’
She pulled out Daniel’s personal possessions and handed them to Howard over the table. He took them and placed them on the chair next to him.
‘I need to find somewhere to stay. The nurses said he’s going to be in hospital for a few days at least.’
‘I don’t think Laura’s going to let you see him. Not for a while.’
Stunned, she stared at him. ‘She can’t stop me.’
‘I’m afraid she . . . we can. As his next of kin.’
The hurt deepened. ‘You too?’
‘My wife is already extremely upset over this. Minimizing her stress can only help Daniel to get better.’
‘What about me?’
‘It’s just for a while. Until he’s got through the worst.’
Cherry blazed with anger. ‘She doesn’t seem to understand that I love him.’
He watched her for a moment. ‘Did you book this weekend to deliberately upset my wife?’
Her eyes flashed to the floor.
‘Because if you did . . . then you don’t love him that much, do you?’
She sat numbly as he got up.
‘Are you going to take Daniel’s car back to London?’
She shrugged: I suppose.
‘Drive carefully,’ he said kindly.
She watched as he walked away, Daniel’s things under his arm: his clothes, wallet, phone, flat keys. She had effectively been dismissed.
TWENTY-FOUR
Wednesday 27 August
‘From his scan we believe he should be regaining consciousness,’ said Dr Raina. She waited while this news sank in.
They were back in the consulting room. It was early morning and the sun was streaming through the window, making the dust spin in the light. Dr Raina was compassionate but professional, passing on facts without embellishment; Laura and Howard were exhausted and frightened. Laura had spent three days at Daniel’s bedside and then last night the doctors had stopped the sedation. At some point over the last twelve hours, he should have come round.
‘So why isn’t he?’ Laura’s voice sounded small, shrivelled.
‘We don’t know yet. We’ll start investigating this morning. He’ll have another scan, and we’ll also perform EEGs and other tests.’
‘How long will it all take . . . ?’
‘We’ll have some results in later today, but I must warn you that they may not give us the answers we need,’ Dr Raina said gently. ‘The brain is very complex and sometimes it takes a while until we find out exactly what’s stopping someone from coming out of a coma. Sometimes they recover before we do find out.’
‘Can you tell . . . can you tell how long he’s likely to stay like that?’ Laura felt Howard put his hand gently on hers.
‘I’m afraid not. We just don’t know. The good news is that he is breathing unassisted so he’s off the ventilator.’
Laura nodded, but she couldn’t help feeling this was a scrap of good news. Something small to cling to when the bigger problem loomed large and dark.
Dr Raina’s bleeper went off and she looked down at it. It was clear she was required elsewhere, and they could have kept her, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
‘Will you keep us updated, Doctor?’ said Howard.
‘Of course I will. As soon as we have any news, I’ll be in touch. Can I suggest that you take a rest for a couple of hours? Have a change of scene?’
He nodded just to close off the conversation, but neither Howard nor Laura knew where they might go. Their only reason for being there was Daniel.
‘Daniel, it’s time to wake up now,’ said Laura, as she leaned over his bed, holding his hand and scanning his face for signs of life. ‘Open your eyes.’
He lay there unmoving, the bleeps sounding in some torturous rhythm.
‘Can you wiggle your fingers? Your toes?’ She stared, but still nothing. ‘Just a flicker . . . Come on, Daniel,’ she said, growing increasingly desperate. She determinedly pulled up a chair, squeezed his fingers hard, too hard probably, but she just wanted to get through to him. Any movement, any sound, just something to tell her he was there, he was trying.
‘Please?’ she begged, her voice cracking, silent, frantic tears rolling down her face.
By the next day, nothing had changed. The tests had not thrown any more light on why Daniel wasn’t regaining consciousness, and he lay there silently, eyes closed, palms down on the sheets. It was the same the next day, and the next. Laura had already been making enquiries, calling friends of friends, researching on the Internet, and had found out that one of the best consultants in the country worked at the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital in London. After speaking to Dr Raina, it became clear that they could request for Daniel to be transferred, something that was arranged quite swiftly. Laura hoped that the move might produce some change in him but was to be disappointed. The new consultant said the same: it was impossible to predict when he might come out of his coma. It began to sink in that it could continue for many weeks or even months and this sent her spinning into a whirlpool of terror and anguish that threatened to get out of control. She had to stay positive, she reminded herself, a word that was rapidly becoming overused but was all she had to cling to. Her son’s life had been reduced to a series of clichés. Take each day as it comes. Just be there for him. Stay positive.