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49. SUMMER 2013

Nicholas was left outside St. George’s Hospital in South London. A body dumped in the entranceway. The doctor told Catherine and Robert their son had had a stroke. Cocaine, probably injected. Too early to say how much damage had been done. They’d know more over the next twenty-four hours. Catherine and Robert stood side by side at their son’s bed. Opposite them, on the other side, were the machines which were keeping him alive: helping him breathe; checking his heart; vital liquids dripping into him; balance trying to be restored. The ICU was quiet, almost silent. Rows of bodies on beds wired up, eyes closed, frozen, waiting to be reborn. Or not.

Catherine stares at her boy, whom she failed to protect. The doctor was wrong. It has been more than twenty-four hours, two days in fact, and they still don’t know how much damage Nicholas has done to himself. She and Robert are no longer able to stand next to each other so they take it in turns to sit with their son. Robert won’t allow Catherine to be there at the same time as him and so she has to wait for him to leave before taking up her position. She resents the time Robert is there, denying her those hours she could be with her son, but she doesn’t fight him. In a way she is relieved not to see him. She has no room to think about him, all she wants is to be with Nicholas. She is with him now and every moment is precious.

She finds herself wondering if her son has always been vulnerable to an early death. He has been saved once already but she is frightened that this time they will not be so lucky. When she looks at him, helpless, like a premature baby whose system is not able to function independently, it is as if she is newly born too. Her mind and body are raw and, strangely, it feels good, good to feel the outside world touch her at last. She is able to look at her son and really see him as she had seen him when he was first theirs: those first few years before his presence became tangled up with the mess and filth that she deposited on him. Yes, she must accept her part in how they came to be where they are now. She cannot push it away, it must be thought about. And when, if, Nicholas is strong enough to bear it, she will tell him what she should have told him years before. She touches his cheek, gets down on her knees and kisses his forehead, then rests her head on the side of his bed.

Catherine has told her mother that Nicholas is in hospital and her mother was distressed at first, but then neatened up the information, tucked in its corners and reassured Catherine that people rarely die from measles these days. Better that he has it now when he is little. She is almost envious of the way her mother’s mind works now. It is deteriorating and yet with it comes a determination to put a positive spin on nasty intruders. Her mother seems content: she is creating, for now at least, a much nicer world for herself.

“Why don’t you go and get a cup of tea, something to eat? I’ll sit with him for a bit.” A nurse puts a hand on her shoulder. Her kindness brings tears to Catherine’s eyes. She is grateful, but she cannot leave Nicholas.

“I’m fine, really.”

“Go on. I’ll be here. You look exhausted. You should have something to eat. Get some air.”

“Okay. All right then.” She gets up from the floor. There is a chair she could have sat on, but it wouldn’t have allowed her to rest her head so close to her son’s. She needs to be as close to him as she can get.

She leaves the ICU and walks towards the hospital entrance, passing the darkened café, bookshop, newsagents. She buys a coffee and some chocolate from a vending machine and takes them outside.

It’s four in the morning but there are a few people outside smoking. One patient, a couple of visitors like her. She sits on a bench, the cold seeping through her jeans. This is where Nicholas was dumped, washed up on the doorstep of the hospital. They still don’t know who dropped him there, strangers who cared just enough to get him to hospital.

She can’t face the chocolate and puts it in her pocket, taking out her cigarettes instead. One with her coffee. A few minutes to smoke it. She looks at her phone. There’s a text from Kim. It sits amongst a couple from friends, female friends who’ve been in touch since they heard that Nick was in hospital. Catherine had telephoned work and told them, letting them know she was taking extended leave. And she had called one friend, asking her to pass on the news, but she didn’t want to see anyone. They send messages now and again, telling her they are thinking of her, letting her know they are there if she wants to talk. But she doesn’t. She wants to keep them all at a distance. She reads Kim’s text: “I’m so sorry. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Thinking of you all Kx.” Catherine stubs out her cigarette, and sips her coffee. It tastes of plastic and is of no comfort or sustenance. Kim’s message gives her some though. There is no blame in it. She has read the book, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever happens, that part at least is over. If Nick survives, and she believes he will, there will be no secrets. He will know everything. And Robert? She pushes him to the back of her mind.

She gets up and drops her cup into the bin, returning to the inside world. The low throb and buzz of the heat, the light, the monitors, the machinery which keeps this place and those within it ticking over. As she walks towards the ICU, she studies the pattern on the glossy linoleum floor. Even the black scratches have been buffed and she imagines someone sitting on yet another machine, whizzing up and down the corridors. She thinks she has seen this image, but can’t remember whether it was real or on the television.

She presses the buzzer and the nurse looks up, sees her, and lets her in.

“Your father’s here,” she whispers, smiling. Catherine’s tired eyes follow the nurse’s. She looks at the skinny figure hunched over Nicholas’s bed. Her father has been dead for ten years. She doesn’t scream, she yells, running at him. She grabs him, pulling him away, digging her fingers into his bony shoulders. He is so light. She turns him round to face her and pushes him as hard as she can until he falls back, banging against a chair, landing on the floor where he stays and looks up at her. But then she is grabbed from behind and held back. The nurse who had been so concerned before for Catherine is now concerned only for the old man lying in front of her. She crouches over him, talking to him, checking he is able to stand. She helps him to his feet as Catherine watches, a second nurse holding her back. This isn’t right. She struggles against her.

“He shouldn’t be in here. Get him out of here,” she shouts. “He is not my father. You shouldn’t have let him in. Get him out. Get him out of here.” Her hysteria makes the nurse tighten her grip.

“If you don’t calm down, I’ll call security.”

“It’s okay, I’ll go. I’m so sorry.” And the old man trembles, his voice shaking as he says, “I only wanted to see how Nicholas was. I’m so sorry.” He is in control. Catherine is not. He has a small cut on his head, but he doesn’t want a fuss. She watches him being helped to the door, the nurse compelled to support this frail, injured old man. Catherine hears him playing a part, stuttering out more apologies. All he wanted was to see Nicholas. The doors hiss shut behind him and Catherine finds herself apologising before cowering down on her knees, her head resting on Nicholas’s bed.

She is being watched now. The second nurse stays nearby. She cannot be trusted. She begins to cry, tries to explain through her tears:

“She shouldn’t have let him in. He mustn’t be allowed in — he wants to hurt my son….”

“You’re upsetting the other visitors. We can talk about this outside. I can call someone for you to talk to….”

Catherine shakes her head.

“No, no.” She doesn’t want to leave. She can’t leave Nick alone in here. It isn’t safe. “I’m sorry,” she says. “But it can only be Robert or me, no one else can come in.” The nurse walks away.

Robert arrives earlier than usual and Catherine rushes over to him in relief.

“He was here. The father. He was trying to get to Nicholas. He was going to hurt him.” But he shakes her off.

“The hospital called me. I know what happened. I told him he could come. I invited him. He has every right to see Nick…”

“You asked him to come? Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

He looks at her as if he can’t believe her question.

“He knows what it’s like to lose a son.”

“Have you met him?” Her voice rises, but his stays quiet.

“No, not yet. If I’d known what his son had done for ours I’d have been in touch with him and his wife years ago. I would have thanked them. It’s too late for me to thank Jonathan’s mother but I can at least try and make it up to his father.”

It is the first time she has heard him say Jonathan’s name.

“How could you, Robert? How could you ask him here?” He ignores her question and walks past her to Nicholas’s bedside. She follows him, hissing in his ear. “Why do you think he chose four in the morning? Don’t you see that he wanted to come when he thought no one would be around?” He turns and grabs her, his fingers digging into the tops of her arms.

“I saw him leaning over Nicholas. He was—,” she starts to protest.

“He was what? The nurse told me exactly what happened. She told me what you did….” He is pushing her towards the door.

“Please. Mr. Ravenscroft…” A nurse marches up. “We can’t have this in here….”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Robert says, “my wife is leaving now.” He turns his back on Catherine and takes up his place at Nicholas’s bedside.