Unexpected lessons in lo.., p.23
Unexpected Lessons in Love, page 23
This wasn’t just about her and Dan now, either. It was about Andrea, and the family Andrea wanted so badly. The Christmases, the grandchildren, people to love her and be loved by her. She was already in this family. And it was about Owen. Not letting Owen or his best friend down.
Frightened tears finally burst through Jeannie’s crumbling defences, and she sobbed, ashamed at herself.
‘Oh, darling! I know, it’s such a relief,’ Andrea said. ‘You let it out!’ She threw her arms around her, and Jeannie was relieved to be able to hide her face in Andrea’s shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mr Allcott appeared towards the end of the day to update Jeannie and Andrea on the results of the new tests. Andrea was fidgety with excitement, and maybe because of this, he started with a very clear disclaimer: Dan would be tired and disorientated for the first few days, and they shouldn’t expect too much too soon. He might be irritable and disinhibited, he warned, he might be uncharacteristically rude or tactless – or just inappropriate. It might be upsetting for them, but it would, hopefully, soon pass as the post-traumatic amnesia receded and his brain reset itself.
‘The human brain can’t regenerate dead cells, but it can create new nerve pathways to replace damaged areas, and though it’s not an overnight process, it looks as if Dan’s begun that journey,’ he concluded at the end of a detailed explanation that had covered seven pages of Jeannie’s notebook. ‘We’ll be keeping a close eye on his pain relief and giving him plenty of recovery time, so don’t feel you have to be by Dan’s side every moment at this point. He’ll be sleeping a lot.’
‘Was it the messages that brought him round?’ Andrea had been leaning forward in her chair throughout, desperate for confirmation that Dan was going to be back to normal in no time. Confirmation, Jeannie noted, that Mr Allcott had been careful to avoid giving. ‘Us sitting with him, will he have known?’
‘Very possibly. There’s plenty of anecdotal evidence from coma patients that suggests they’re aware of activity going on around them, although they process it in different ways. Dreams, and so on. You’ll have to ask him.’
‘We can’t believe he’s finally turned the corner.’ Andrea glanced across at Jeannie with a smile that said ‘we’. ‘And now we can start looking forward to something happier: Danny and Jeannie’s wedding, take two. I know, before you say anything!’ She held up her slender hands. ‘There’s a long way to go yet, but I want Danny to know we’re thinking ahead. As a family.’
Jeannie forced out a vague nod of agreement. Andrea hadn’t taken Owen’s hint about dropping the wedding talk. In fact, she’d overheard her confiding to one of the nurses about how she planned to ‘make up for everything’ with ‘a very special day’ in the spring. The nurse, of course, had thought this was a wonderful, generous gesture – which it was.
She hoped Mr Allcott wouldn’t encourage that line of thinking, and to Jeannie’s relief, he just nodded.
‘Daniel’s certainly got a lot to look forward to,’ he said. ‘So! We have some more assessments to do. Let’s speak again in a few days when we’ll have a clearer picture about next steps – rehab units, or home discharge, or whatever the best option is for Daniel’s recovery.’
Whatever the best option is. Jeannie stared at her notes. She didn’t know what that looked like any more.
Although it was getting late, Andrea announced that she was going to talk to the physiotherapist before he left for the day. There was, she said, so much they needed to find out.
‘You need some time alone with Danny,’ she said, touching Jeannie’s arm. ‘This is the day we’ve been praying for, and I know you two will have a lot to talk about …’
The truth was, as Jeannie found out, sitting by Dan’s bedside in complete silence, they had absolutely nothing to talk about.
Firstly, because Dan was still asleep most of the time.
Secondly, because when he was awake, he didn’t have any idea who she was.
‘Hello, sweetie,’ she said when his eyes flickered open. She’d been sitting there for nearly half an hour, not wanting to disturb him, and feeling more and more nervous as the minutes passed. It was like waiting outside an exam room, knowing the second hand was sweeping round, and the moment of truth was coming, whether you liked it or not.
Dan grimaced at her. Physically, his face was the same but something had changed. Jeannie had never seen him radiating tetchiness like this; he’d always been a ray of easy-going sunshine, even in traffic jams and security check queues.
‘How are you feeling?’ A pretty stupid question to ask, but her mind had gone blank, and she had to start somewhere.
‘Are you a nurse?’ His voice was rough and laboured but definitely his.
‘No. It’s me, Jeannie.’
‘Jeannie?’
She felt uncomfortable as he carried on squinting at her; now she really didn’t know what to say. Was Dan’s vision affected? Maybe he didn’t recognise her voice the way he instinctively knew his mother’s. She leaned closer, so close she could smell his skin, and the E45 lotion Andrea had diligently rubbed into his hands and feet to stop them drying out. It was a hospital smell, not the intimate, warm smell she remembered. ‘Dan, can you see me? It’s Jeannie.’
‘I can see you fine. Who are you? Leave me alone.’ And Dan raised his hand and pushed her away with a weak but petulant gesture, and collapsed into the pillow, breathing roughly with the effort.
What? Jeannie felt as if she’d been punched much harder, and in the stomach. She slumped back on the plastic chair and blinked back tears of shock.
Dan didn’t know who she was. She should feel relieved – what a way out! Not her fault! All over! – but, she didn’t. She felt hurt.
He closed his eyes, ignoring her. One of the nurses came in for an early-evening check, probably alerted by the bleeping machines which seemed to be registering the abrupt lurch in atmosphere around the bed as much as Dan’s raised heart rate.
‘Hello, Jeannie, how’s everything in here?’ She checked and reset the monitors with comforting efficiency. ‘Getting this young man overexcited, are you?’
‘He doesn’t know who I am.’
The nurse stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t take it personally. Most coma patients go through this, the first few days after they come round.’ She went to the bed and touched Dan’s arm, getting his attention. ‘Hon, can you tell me what your full name is?’
Dan didn’t open his eyes. There was a pause, then he said, ‘Daniel Richard … Anthony Hicks.’
The nurse looked over her shoulder at Jeannie, encouragingly. ‘Excellent. And can you tell me what day it is?’
Another long pause. ‘Thursday?’ he said eventually.
It was Wednesday.
‘Pretty close,’ said the nurse. Jeannie discreetly checked her badge: Lauren. Her own memory was constantly tested by the multi-headed team surrounding Dan day and night. ‘Dan, it’s Wednesday today. Lemon meringue pie in the canteen! Wednesday. I’ll ask you again later, OK?’
Dan grunted.
‘This is Jeannie,’ Lauren went on, without being asked. ‘She’s your girlfriend. Well, actually – she’s a bit more than that, aren’t you?’ She grinned conspiratorially; Jeannie wondered if she was the nurse Andrea had been talking to about the new wedding plans. Everyone was involved. ‘Do you want to tell him or shall I?’
Dan’s eyelids flickered, and Jeannie felt a tug of protectiveness that overrode her own complicated feelings. He still looked vulnerable lying in the cradle of white machines. She could never leave him looking so helpless, so damaged his brain wasn’t functioning properly.
‘You tell him,’ she said.
Lauren obviously thought Jeannie was too devastated to say the words. But then you would, wouldn’t you? If you had to remind the man you were going to marry who you were.
Maybe I’m the one whose brain isn’t functioning properly, she thought.
‘Dan, Jeannie’s your fiancée,’ Lauren informed him in the calm, clear tones that the intensive care nurses all seemed to have. ‘You were on your way to get married when you got hit by a bus. Jeannie’s been sitting here next to you ever since you were brought in. Jeannie, and your mum, and your mate Owen. They’ve been here the whole time.’
With a superhuman effort, Dan opened his eyes and fixed them on Jeannie.
They were the same beautiful blue eyes that had melted her heart, but the gaze was so intense and so unfriendly – so completely unlike the Dan she’d fallen for – that Jeannie’s skin crawled. He examined her, closely and slowly, and she could almost sense him thinking as he searched his own brain for glimmers of recognition. Jeannie felt as if she was being scanned for secrets; she didn’t dare move. What would he remember?
‘No,’ he said definitely. ‘That isn’t my girlfriend.’ And then he fell asleep.
Jeannie’s house felt darker and emptier than usual when she came home from the station. The silence swamped her from the moment she dropped her keys on the hall table and swept up the post: more bills, junk mail, another Vet Times with a scabby guinea pig on the front cover.
Jeannie hesitated on the threshold. With one knock on the door of the Fenwicks’ noisy, airy, chatter-filled house, she’d be eating toast, stroking Gem and listening to Rachel recounting the story of the latest wedding dress donation. But she couldn’t. It was far too late. Plus, Rachel would want to hear about Dan – obviously, since there was good news to share – and much as Jeannie longed to ask Rachel how she could stop Andrea going on about the wedding, she didn’t know how to do that without telling her the truth about why she didn’t want a second one. The thought of Rachel – and Natalie – finding out she’d jilted Dan moments before his accident made Jeannie feel sick. Their friendship was based on her bravely coping with his accident, and them supporting her with their generous trust. But how long before everyone found out?
She walked into her empty kitchen and sank down at the table. No dogs, no toast, no drying pants.
Something was buzzing in her bag – her phone. Jeannie hunted for it.
Have you called Edith yet? Just heard your song on the radio again and I was so furious I had to pull over and text you. Don’t let her get away with this! O.
Jeannie stared at the screen. The entire text summed Owen up in three lines. The practical instruction, the fact that he’d found a safe place to stop before texting – and the loyal indignation on someone else’s behalf. He was looking out for her now, the same way he looked out for Dan, his best mate. Probably all his friends. Owen was that kind of bloke.
She wondered where he was, right now. It had been an emotional day for him, too. Where was he driving so late? He’d had to leave before their meeting with Mr Allcott – family reasons, Andrea had said – so she’d texted him a summary. Maybe he’d been supermarket shopping? Seeing his niece? But before Jeannie could start a reply, another message popped up.
I meant to say before, your song has a GREAT key change. All classic songs have a great key change.
Her finger hovered over the screen. Thanks, she typed.
She wasn’t expecting Owen to respond so quickly, but he did.
Living on a Prayer.
Pause.
Then If I Could Turn Back Time.
Another pause.
Then Total Eclipse of the Heart.
Jeannie laughed out loud at the last one. Bon Jovi, she might have guessed at. But Bonnie Tyler? Owen had a secret power ballad soft spot?
That’s flattering company to be in, thanks.
So? he texted straight back. Phoned her?
He made it sound very straightforward, but then Owen hadn’t met Edith. Jeannie flung herself on the sofa and sank into the soft cushions. She could feel the weariness draining from her bones. Not yet. Just back from the hospital.
Jeannie knew as soon as they started talking about Dan, everything else would seem trivial, including her song, and she felt ashamed of that.
Need to hear everything – sounds positive! But you have to call Edith while you’re angry. Otherwise you never will.
That struck home. Jeannie chewed her lip. Owen was right; she had to confront Edith before she had time to think herself out of it. Life was already moving on; if she didn’t think Edith’s betrayal was important, who would?
I’ll phone her. Promise.
Do it now! Just tell her what you told me.
Ten minutes later she wouldn’t be able to say how she’d done it, but Jeannie found herself scrolling through for Edith’s number in her call list, and pressing the green dial button, replaying in her head the moment when she’d heard her song on the radio. It was only when it was ringing that the reality of what she was doing struck her.
The phone rang, and rang, triggering an unhappy echo in her memory.
Jeannie’s heart expanded in her chest, swelling with every ring until the sound felt as if it was coming from inside her head. She had no idea what she was going to say if Edith picked up, but her mind swirled with indignation and pride: bright acid colours, not words.
Then the generic voicemail started. ‘This is the mailbox for’ – Edith’s sardonic interjection: ‘Edie Constantine’ – ‘please leave a message after the tone.’
And then the beep. The beep that set Jeannie’s tongue running on autopilot.
‘Edith, this is Jeannie. I heard “I Didn’t Know” on the radio. You stole my song. You stole it. What kind of friend are you? I mean, what kind of person are you?’ Her words snapped out, cold and steely; Jeannie barely recognised herself. She had a bad feeling that she was accidentally quoting song lyrics. ‘I just want you to know how disgusted I am that you lied to me. I just wanted you to … to know that. I’m not putting up with this any more.’
She stopped abruptly – so much had happened since she’d last spoken to Edith that she could hear the changes in her own voice. Her disaster of a wedding, Dan’s near-death experience, the abused dogs, weeks of hospital visiting, even the ukulele orchestra. But Edith didn’t deserve to know about that. All she needed to know was that she’d gone too far and, finally, quiet little Jeannie McCarthy was mad enough to pick up the phone and call her out on her behaviour. What had happened since their last meeting to change Jeannie so much was none of her damn business.
Jeannie felt drunk. She hung up before she could spoil it.
Then, with trembling hands, she texted Owen. Done it.
Silence filled the house again. It was so quiet out here, so still and soundless. But she didn’t feel alone. Jeannie stood in her unlived-in living room, swaying gently with the effort of keeping her breathing steady. It had been a long, weird day and now she was in a house that should have been her sanctuary but instead felt full of secrets. Hers and Dan’s.
I need a dog, she thought. This house needs a dog in it.
And then her phone buzzed. This time Owen wasn’t texting: he was ringing.
Jeannie wasn’t sure whether she had enough energy left to drag the pieces of herself back together for a conversation, but then her finger pressed the answer button and she had no choice. ‘Hello?’
‘Hope I’m not disturbing you.’ As soon as she heard Owen’s softly spoken voice, she realised how much she needed to hear someone tell her she’d done the right thing. ‘Just wanted to check you were OK.’
‘I’m fine.’ She didn’t sound fine; she wondered if he could hear her heart banging away in her chest. ‘Edith didn’t pick up. I just talked, and then I stopped talking.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’ve got it off your chest. Don’t you feel better for doing it?’
‘Um, yes.’ The weird thing was, Jeannie did feel better. She had the same sense of euphoric exhaustion she remembered from cross-country running at school: she hadn’t enjoyed doing it, and it definitely hadn’t been pretty while it had been happening, but the knowledge that she’d done it was … satisfying.
‘Good for you. It’s not easy, saying things people don’t want to hear.’
‘Thanks. I don’t understand how she thought she could get away with it.’ Jeannie squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Didn’t she think I’d notice?’
‘She didn’t think you’d make a fuss.’ Owen’s voice in her ear sounded very close. ‘She’ll get the shock of her life when she sees you’ve phoned.’
‘She won’t.’ Jeannie pictured Edith’s familiar ‘surprised’ face: the pointy nose wrinkled cutely in shock, the pierced eyebrow hiked high. It was heavily seasoned with sarcasm, because nothing really surprised Edith. She didn’t let it.
Owen changed the subject. ‘Great to see Dan talking, wasn’t it?’
‘Um, yes. Did he … did he seem all right to you?’
‘As well as any bloke who’d just come out of a coma, I guess. Why?’
‘He didn’t recognise me.’ Jeannie struggled to form her next words. Speak out. Don’t bottle it up. ‘He looked me up and down and he said, “That’s not my girlfriend.”’
It was the way Dan had said it, as if she were some sort of imposter. Had she been crushed out of his memory? Or was he making a point about her nervous call before the wedding? If he had listened to her first message, then it must have been one of the last things he did before the bus hit him, so was it even possible that he remembered? But she didn’t want to have to ask Owen that.
‘He’s still on a ton of medication, Jeannie. He’s probably lost some short-term memory.’
‘Yes, but to wipe out a year? A whole year of us?’
‘Don’t take it personally. It’s early days. Let’s see what the next weeks bring.’
‘I know.’ Jeannie hugged the cushion – one of her favourite things from the flat she’d left to move in with Dan. It had a gold embroidered horseshoe on it, a present from her mum for her eighteenth birthday. It fitted perfectly behind her back when she sat cross-legged on the floor, playing her guitar.
‘While it’s in my head,’ Owen went on, ‘Sam’s a barrister – remember Sam, from the messages? He told that story about the time Dan organised cat races for Rag Week … He could write you a legal letter to send to Edith about your copyright.’
