Page 122 of When We Are Old

“Morning.” I thrust the paper bag full of muffins on the nurses' station, casually sweeping my gaze over the white board behind the desk to check for Matthew’s name. “Hannah made some muffins.” I pointed to the bag. “Eat them at your own peril.”

She chuckled, but my heart raced too fast to be able to join in with my lame ass joke. “How is he?”

“Doctor will be along soon.”

Gah. Why were they always so cagey?

Sarah smiled. “But he’s okay. Today’s the day.”

My stomach flipped like a pancake. Today was the day we’d find out if they’d managed to stave off the worst of the damage to Matthew’s brain. Broken legs could be fixed, walking would come back, but the head injury was a literal grey area that no one knew the outcome to.

“Okay.” My voice wavered and I swallowed down a mouthful of sick. Who knew whether it was ‘I’ve got a secret baby in my tummy’ sick or ‘why won’t this nightmare go away’ sick? Either way I swallowed it down and took a sip of my decaf latte.

“Go on in. I’ll be along in a minute and I think the doctor will be around early.”

This was happening. Matthew would wake up today.

I slipped into the room, the familiar press and whoosh of the ventilator making me at once sag a breath of relief, but at the same time ache deep down low in my gut.

Perching on the chair, I picked up his fingers in mine as I examined his face. The bruising had smeared into yellow and purple streaks, but the swelling was definitely better. “Jack had a nightmare,” I said, keeping my tone light. “A Triceratops was chasing him down a ravine.”

I smiled and brushed gently at his face as I recalled my middle of the night conversation with Jack.

“Ewan decided this morning he thinks porridge is disgusting, but Hannah says it's more like the way I’ve been making it. Your mum said to put a pinch of salt in it. That can’t be right, can it, Matthew?” I gave him a pause to answer, which of course he didn’t. “Ma’s coming later to get Hannah back ready for school. I wish you were going to be around to watch her meet your mam for the first time. It seems like a big event; not sure I want to do it by myself.”

Hell, I didn’t want to do any of this by myself that was for sure.

I rubbed my thumb along the curve of his palm, the slightly rough edge to his skin imprinting itself in my memory bank… just in case… No. I couldn’t even think that way. Wouldn’t think that way.

With my free hand, I swiped at my face, trying my absolute hardest not to give in to the bubble of emotion that threatened to envelop me and carry me off to a distant place where fear and regret ruled existence.

When the door opened, I sat up straighter and sniffed hard.

“Morning, Ronnie, love.” Lynn edged in, a giant bag of food supplies coming with her. She’d gone into survival overdrive the last four days, determined that by making sandwiches and feeding us all she could make everything better.

“Here, I made you a smoked salmon bagel.” She rooted about in the bag, so she didn’t have to make eye contact with me, and then thrust a round parcel in my direction.

“Thanks, Lynn.” I’d realised early on you couldn’t say no. The look on her face when she thought she couldn’t fix an issue with food was simply heart-breaking. It was better to pretend.

“Your mam still coming tonight?” She smoothed down the already straight bedsheets.

“Yep. She’s making a fuss about the flying, but I think she'll be okay.” I trailed off, struggling to see a way for Ma to fit into the Carlings' loud and brash existence. Eventually, I shrugged to myself. It would all come out in the wash as they said. As someone said, at some point.

We both jumped as the door opened and Dr Metcalf walked though. “Morning, ladies.”

Dr Metcalf had an amazing ability to make Lynn blush. True to form, her cheeks tinged pale pink.

“We did early morning scans, everything looks good. No sign of any further intercranial swelling and Matthew’s blood pressure is nice and stable.”

I held my breath, waiting for him to give me the golden ticket to my future I so desperately craved. Lynn reached for my hand and squeezed.

“Healing is looking good; pupils are even and responsive." Dr Metcalf smiled at us both. “It all looks good. We are going to reduce the barbiturates this morning and should see some response by lunch.”

Lynn looked at her bag of goodies. “I don’t think he’s going to wake up and ask for a sandwich,” I smiled at her.

“You just never know with Matthew.” She shot me a pointed look and for the first time in days the intense band around my chest loosened a notch.

“Hope you made it a cheese and pickle.” God, I ached to see him with his mug of builder’s tea in his hand—normal things that until they were stolen, you didn’t realise how essential they were.