over me. There’s a text from Sarah. About Thea. My God. Thea. All this time I haven’t even thought of Thea. I feel the tingle, the swelling of my milk ducts. Oh God. She needs feeding. I am a shit mum.
All ok with Thea. We’ve given her formula. She’s fast asleep. We’re thinking of you. We’re here for you if you need anything at all.
Thanks, I text back. Still waiting. Jack in surgery. Can Thea stay the night in case we aren’t back? Not sure what’s happening.
Of course, comes the swift reply. Don’t think about anything other than Jack. Let us know any updates if you can Sx.
I start typing a reply. Telling Sarah that she needn’t berate herself about what happened, but I put down my phone. I’ve got to concentrate on the matter in hand.
The doctor comes in with Gav. She’s still in scrubs, her dark hair pushed up under her cap. She’s very pretty, with kind features and a reassuring expression, which makes me want to start crying all over again. I stand up and go to Gav’s side. Without realising it, we are gripping each other’s hands.
‘I’m your surgeon, Mahim Qureshi,’ she says. ‘Nice to meet you. Sorry I didn’t catch you both earlier.’
Please, tell me he’s going to be all right, I plead in my mind. I’ll die if he’s not. I’ll die.
‘Jack is going to be OK,’ she says. ‘He’s going to survive.’
Gav snaps his head up, ripping his hand out of mine. ‘Survive? What do you mean, survive? I had no idea …’ I will the doctor to start talking, to put us out of our misery.
‘He had a very lucky escape,’ says Dr Qureshi, looking at me. ‘He’s broken a wrist. And he’s had a greenstick fracture on the seventh cervical vertebrate. That’s to say that in adults, it would have resulted in a clean break. But children’s bones are a lot more supple. We’ve operated on his wrist but you’ll have to keep him lying down for the next few months whilst his vertebrate repairs and he’ll have to be in a neck brace. He’ll be able to move a tiny bit. But it’ll be painful for him and we can’t be a hundred percent certain that it won’t have a future impact on things.’
For a second, I think about asking what things but I’m unable to process everything she’s saying to us. The only words that are flashing through my mind right now are survive and lucky escape.
‘So he’ll be OK? He’ll be able to walk again properly and everything?’ I ask, desperate to hear one more time that he’s going to be all right.
‘With the right care and support. But at the moment, I cannot stress to you how important it is that you keep him still. No knocks. The bone needs to heal right.’
I think of how the hell I’m going to do this but then I don’t care. I don’t care. He’s alive. He’s going to be OK. I feel like collapsing with relief. My boy. My beautiful boy. It’s all going to be OK. I start to cry.
‘You might want to arrange things at home so that …’ her gaze flicks from me to Gav, ‘it’s comfortable and easy for you to reach him.’
‘We’re …’ I can’t bring myself to use the words, even though it has been weeks now.
‘We’re not together any more,’ Gav finishes for me. I look over at him. His presence fills the entire room. ‘But I still live there and am watching Liza and the kids all the time.’
He glances over at me. I imagine him ending the separation. How we might be able to make things work if I can show him that we’re meant to be together. That we are a family unit of four. That I’m a good person. A good mother, who has just made some mistakes in her life.
‘It’s OK,’ says Dr Qureshi. ‘I’m sure you’ll work it out and we’ll send support for you, of course.’
I think about our house. My room in the loft. Jack’s on the floor below and the living area two more floors beneath that with a spare room attached to the end, where Gav sleeps.
I’ll move downstairs, or move Jack to the bottom room, and then we can be together. Thea can be in the … fuck. My mind feels like it’s spinning with all the options. Gav would never, ever agree to moving back upstairs to the room we used to share. And I can’t move downstairs to be nearer Jack – I wouldn’t be able to cope with being on the same floor as Gav, breathing down my neck all the time. And besides, Jack would pick up on the bad atmosphere if we’re forced to spend long periods of time together.
I’d begged Gav, after all, to move out. To end things in a better, cleaner way than him still living in the house. But of course, he’d refused over and over.
‘I’m staying. To watch you,’ he’d warned me.
What am I going to do?
And then, a flash of an idea. And I think about Sarah’s earlier text.
If you need anything at all.
Sarah and Tom. Their lower-ground-floor flat. It would be perfect. They aren’t getting it developed for another year. Maybe, just maybe, I could ask if we might stay for a bit. We’d all be on one floor. Me, Jack and Thea. I’d have to get Gav onside, and no doubt he’d be over every five minutes. But I’d know that Sarah and Tom would be right upstairs if I needed them. It would work perfectly. If I could get them to agree. Do I dare ask?
‘I’d best get back but I’ll come and see you later to answer any questions you have,’ says Dr Qureshi, leaving the room.
We both sit and my phone pings. Sarah.
What’s going on? I can’t stop thinking of you all.
He’s ok. Fractured his neck.
Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Liza, I’m so sorry.
Why are you sorry? I’m just grateful you were there to take Thea.
What does that mean? He’ll be able to walk again, won’t he? Will he be ok?
Doc says he’ll be ok. But very difficult. We won’t be able to move him at all for a bit otherwise it’ll disrupt his healing, so he has to lie flat on his back. It’s going to be tough. For him mostly. And I think she said there might be knock-on effects. But was too overwhelmed to ask what they were. I feel so upset for him. He should be running around in the park with his friends. Not lying like this in a bed for the foreseeable future.
I think about asking her there and then. Just come out with it. She wouldn’t say no now. But then I tell myself to slow down. Wait, at least, to find out if Jack is going to be OK. Focus on his recovery. And then, only then, will I think about how to move on from this.
From: [email protected]
Hi
I saw you’ve been covering quite a lot of The Vale Club’s new opening of late. I’m not sure if you’ve got some form of tie-in with them but I thought you might like to know that there was an accident there earlier today. A small boy fell off from high up a post in the playground. I believe he is ok but I thought you should have a look at what went on – us residents and members would be keen to know the truth behind it all.
Yours,
Derry
That night, Sarah lies in bed, terrified of Thea waking up. She listens to the snort and shuffle of tiny arms and legs. She hovers over the Moses basket, holding her hand under Thea’s perfect upturned nose. She’s breathing. This time five years ago, she’d done the same thing every night, with Casper.
She