Left You Dead

65

A few minutes later, feeling like his shoes had lead soles, Roy walked with Cleo through into the Intensive Care Unit. They followed Bray and Elizabeth along past three occupied beds and stopped at the curtains surrounding Bruno. They were ushered in and heard the swish of fabric closing behind them.

Grace stared down at his son, who was looking tinier than ever amid all the apparatus, and felt a knot in his stomach at the sight of him now dressed in the red shirt and shorts of his beloved Bayern Munich football team strip. A large white T with four small white squares, and two smaller emblems, were on the shirt, and the emblems were repeated on the shorts.

Bruno’s eyes were closed and he looked, as before, pale and peaceful. His hair was a tousled mess. Roy Grace bent down and kissed him on the forehead and Cleo did the same.

‘Hey, chap,’ he said. ‘Cleo and I are here. Can you hear us?’

Bruno showed no reaction, and nor, from what Grace could see, did any of the digital displays. It was as if he was in a deep, peaceful sleep.

‘Hey, chap!’ he said again, louder. Desperate at this last minute for some sign to show that Bruno was reacting to them, that he still had brain activity, that he might yet, against all the odds, pull through.

But nothing changed.

Some minutes later Imelda Bray indicated for them to follow her back outside.

Along with Charlotte Elizabeth, they walked along the unit, past other patients in their beds, and stopped by the nursing station, well out of earshot of Bruno.

In a quiet voice, Bray said, ‘We’re going to leave you alone with him now. Let us know when you are ready.’

A few moments later, the two women departed.

Roy and Cleo returned to Bruno’s bedside. His grandparents had already been in to say their goodbyes and had now left. They had agreed, after an initial reluctance, with the decision to donate Bruno’s organs, having been persuaded they would get some small comfort knowing that their grandson would help others to live.

They sat on the two chairs beside the bed. Cleo took a jar of Bruno’s hair gel from her handbag, along with a brush and comb, and set to work on arranging his hair, as best she could after his surgery, in the meticulously neat way Bruno always wore it.

Grace smiled appreciatively at her, then stared at his son’s face, trying to put out of his mind, for a moment, all the technology around him and attached to him, to both monitor him and keep him — even if only technically — alive.

‘Want me to leave you two alone together for a while?’ Cleo whispered when she had finished.

‘No, thank you for offering,’ he whispered back. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ He turned back to Bruno. ‘Hey, fella! I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. I love you from the bottom of my heart and even though I didn’t know you until recently, it doesn’t change how strong my feelings for you are. You have taught your stepmum and me so much in such a short time. It’s OK to be a bit different, a bit quirky. But now, my son, you are going to do the most significant thing in your life and we will be forever proud. You are going to give your organs to someone who needs them more than you. You will live forever in them. You will live forever in our hearts and in our minds.’

He and Cleo were sobbing now. ‘Bruno, you have made us so proud and we love you. Now be at peace. Goodnight, sleep well, my love.’

There was no response. Just the constant beeps from around them, beyond the curtains.

Grace stared at Bruno for several minutes, willing his eyes to open, even though he knew it wouldn’t happen. He looked around at the machines again and again, looking for some change, some signal. But nothing.

With tears running down her cheeks, Cleo stood, indicated with her finger for him to stay put, and slipped out through the curtain.

Grace took his son’s motionless right hand. ‘Goodbye, little chap,’ he whispered, his chest heaving. ‘I’m sorry we never had the chance to get to know each other more. I’m sure you’re full of kindness — and life never gave you a chance to show it. But at least we can give you a different kind of chance to show it.’

He broke down crying, his head in his hands.

He was still crying when Cleo returned with Imelda Bray, Charlotte Elizabeth, a doctor and a nurse.

A male voice — the doctor — asked kindly, ‘Are you sure you are ready now, Mr and Mrs Grace?’

A disembodied voice that sounded like it might have been his, said, ‘I guess.’

He looked again at Bruno.

And for the very first time since he had seen his son, over in Munich, Bruno actually looked at peace.

‘We’ll leave you for a few more minutes,’ the doctor said.

A swish of curtains.

Now it was just him and Cleo again. He took Bruno’s tiny hand and entwined his fingers in his. ‘Oh God, why did this have to happen to you?’

Was it his imagination, Grace wondered, but had he felt the tiniest pressure back?

He pressed his face against Bruno’s and sobbed and sobbed.