Open Your Eyes Page 7

  ‘Doctors don’t allow children inside the intensive care unit.’

  Inspector Ledecky planned to visit Leon later in the day if he was deemed well enough for questioning, and I felt queasy with excitement when I thought of this.

  Soon we would know.

  We’d know for sure.

  We’d get our answer on who attacked Leon and I’d be able to say goodbye to that mounting terror I’d experienced every time I got into my car in the driveway, every time I went to bed each evening, that feeling that someone was going to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.

  We were walking across the hospital car park when my phone began ringing inside my bag.

  Juliana.

  She didn’t wait for me to say hello. She said, ‘He’s awake!’ before I had the chance to speak.

  She was sniffling and crying and I was aware of voices in the background. It sounded as though she was in a busy office rather than the ICU ward. ‘He’s sitting up and he’s awake!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Are you far away? Because he’s desperate to see you. Come fast. Come now. He wants you.’

  ‘How is he?’ I dropped my voice. ‘Is he … OK?’

  ‘He’s confused and he’s a bit all over the place, but he’s fine. He keeps asking for you. He just wants you, Jane.’

  I lifted Martha into my arms so that I could get across the car park faster. ‘Come on,’ I said to Jack, pulling on his hand a little. I was trembling. ‘Let’s hurry. Daddy’s awake.’ He looked up at me, his expression serious. In his white shirt, navy tank top and cream chinos he looked as though he was on his way to a job interview.

  ‘You all right?’ I asked, and he nodded without speaking. He was nervous. Me too, but I tried not to let him see it. This was what we’d waited for. This was what we’d prayed for and now it was finally happening.

  As we passed through the main reception area, we got an excited wave from one of the records clerks. ‘I’ve heard!’ she called out to us. ‘Such great news!’ she said, before her gaze landed on the kids. She put her open palm to her breast, tilting her head over to one side. Her expression was one of Oh, those children are just adorable, and I could see she wanted to approach. Pet them. Fuss over them. The kids tended to do that to people.

  Another time though. She curled her fingers into a childish wave and mouthed, ‘Good luck.’

  We turned on to the main corridor and I put Martha down. ‘You can walk now, honey,’ and she and Jack held hands while I adjusted my handbag and the bag of nonsense items Gloria had insisted I bring: bunting, balloons, a banner with ‘Welcome Back’, paper plates for the cake, plastic cups, candles, a disposable lighter.

  Coming towards us was Becky, one of the staff nurses from ICU. Her blond ponytail swung rhythmically from side to side and her trainers squeaked softly on the polished floor. Such a huge sense of indebtedness overcame me whenever I saw these people, such a surge of emotion, I could be literally knocked sideways. Particularly if I saw them outside of the unit, say, in the canteen, or, as happened a few days ago, by the tills at Primark. I’d been picking up some extra underwear and socks for the kids as I wasn’t getting through the laundry as often as usual and when I saw him, Lorenzo, the small, stockily built nurse from Madrid, buying a school uniform along with his wife, I felt as if I’d spotted some long-lost relative, who’d been thought of as dead up until that point. I started to sob spontaneously on the spot and Lorenzo rushed to my side. I apologized. Said I didn’t know what had come over me, and he assured me that it happened to him all the time. That he had that effect on lots of the patients’ relatives. He didn’t mind, he said, and then he and his wife insisted on taking me to a nearby café and buying me an omelette. ‘For jour estrength,’ he explained earnestly.

  I think the problem was that we owed the nursing staff so much. When you saw how they dealt with Leon: with such tenderness, with the kind of simple – I hesitate to use the word ‘pleasure’, but I can’t think of a word more fitting – simple pleasure at being able to keep a person comfortable, clean, alive. Well, it could take your breath away.

  ‘Today’s the day, folks,’ Becky said as she approached.

  Then she squatted on her haunches in front of Jack and Martha so that she was at Martha’s eye level. Hospitals are scary places, I could feel her thinking. Make yourself small.

  ‘Your mummy’s told me all about you two,’ she said brightly. ‘How you’ve been so brave whilst your daddy’s been in hospital.’

  This was not true. Not one word. I’d never told Becky this, but bless her for saying it all the same.

  Jack beamed back at her, proud that his behaviour had been noted, commented upon, but Martha turned and clung to my leg, hiding her face from this woman in the strange uniform. Martha couldn’t give a hoot if she was told she was a good girl or not. Which was something I admired in her and hoped would continue through to adulthood.

  Becky straightened. ‘He’s asking for you.’

  I nodded.

  I was pleased she knew. Like Jack, I was proud that my behaviour had been noted. That it had been noted I was a good wife and my husband needed me. More than anyone else, it was me he needed.

  Then a thought struck: Does he remember the children? I intimated as much to Becky and she smiled sympathetically, before whispering, ‘Not yet. But don’t let that worry you. It’s entirely normal.’

  I felt as if I’d been dealt a blow to the centre of my chest.

  He didn’t remember the children. What if he never remembered the children?

  How did I go about shielding them from this? This would scar them. They wouldn’t be able to make sense of it. How could their daddy not know who they were?

  Becky sensed my alarm. ‘Go to him,’ she said. ‘It’ll all work out.’

  The corridor had never seemed so long. Once at the ICU, I pressed the buzzer, smoothed down my hair, repositioned the straps of Martha’s rucksack. ‘Don’t worry if Daddy doesn’t seem exactly himself,’ I whispered, and Jack looked up at me, panic in his eyes.

  ‘Mummy?’ he said, but the door opened too fast and there wasn’t time to offer more in the way of explanation.

  I grabbed both kids by the hand and made my way to the far end of the unit. Martha pulled back, as she sometimes did, wanting to turn this into some kind of game: half hopping, half skipping. I yanked on her wrist and she stumbled.

  At Leon’s bedside were Gloria and Juliana. They both had tears in their eyes and they glowed with happiness. On the chair against the wall sat Eden, Juliana’s sixteen-year-old son. He smiled quickly my way. I’d not seen him in a few months, and his chest had broadened, his short dreads had grown longer. Though usually an affable, relaxed kind of kid, Eden was clearly uncomfortable in this setting. I said hi and he dropped his gaze and began scrolling through his phone.

  I made my way to Leon.

  He was sitting up.

  ICU patients are generally kept naked but now Leon wore a T-shirt and I wondered where it had come from.

  ‘Leon,’ I said, my voice catching.

  And he smiled.

  ‘Hi,’ he said and something inside me released.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ and he continued to smile.

  But then I realized that it wasn’t really his smile. And a layer of alarm crept over me.

  Leon’s whole face usually shone. It was a gift he bestowed upon the recipient. This new smile was cautious, guarded; it was the kind of tight smile you’d use when entering a shop selling luxury items: I’m just browsing, thank you.

  I took his hand and he looked down at my fingers.

  Then he looked up at me with confusion.

  ‘Please will you get my wife?’ he said.

  What?

  When I didn’t answer, when I was too gobsmacked to respond, he said, ‘My wife,’ firmly, as though saying it twice might change my reaction.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ he said, ‘but I really want to see my wife.’

>   8

  ‘Where’s Gina?’ Leon demanded now. ‘What have you done with her? I’m sick of this. Where. Is. Gina?’

  He was shouting and thrashing about like a mad thing. And he’d lost none of his strength. For two weeks he’d lain completely still, no tone at all in his muscles. Now his body rippled with energy and for the first time in my life I was afraid of my husband.

  Eden had got the children out of there quick sticks and had headed to the canteen to buy sweets. I’d thrust a tenner into his hand, saying, ‘Buy them anything! Anything they want …! Try to be gone for at least half an hour.’

  And Eden had set off fast before suddenly freezing in his tracks. ‘What if …’ and he’d looked at me, stricken, ‘… what if Martha needs to take a shit or something?’

  ‘Ask a nurse!’ I’d yelled, desperate for him to get out of there so the kids didn’t witness their daddy like this. ‘Ask a woman with a child! People like to help, Eden. Let them.’

  Gloria was trying to soothe her son. ‘Leon, dear,’ she was saying, ‘just calm down. There is no need to get yourself worked up like this. Today is a happy day, my child. Today, you came back to us. We are so blessed to have you return. This is your wife. This is Jane right here. She’s been by your side since the accident. She loves you, Leon.’

  With his eyes never leaving mine, Leon beckoned his mother to come closer. ‘I would never marry that woman,’ he said between his teeth.

  Gloria put her hand on his shoulder but he shrugged her off.

  ‘You’re not listening to me!’ he shouted. ‘That is not my wife. I would never marry a woman like that. Look at her hair. Red? Are you kidding me? She has skin the colour of skimmed milk. Fuck. I don’t love her. I don’t even like her. Where’s Gina? Get Gina.’

  No one knew what to do. No one knew how to calm him. It was an impossible situation. I gripped the side of the bed.

  ‘Gina doesn’t love you,’ I blurted out.

  And he looked at me with real hatred in his eyes.

  ‘She’s gone,’ I stammered on. ‘She left you. Gina’s gone, Leon.’

  Leon folded his arms and turned his head away.

  After another minute, he said, ‘Somebody get this woman out of here.’

  ‘It’s called post-traumatic amnesia,’ Dr Letts explained.

  We were back in her office. An emergency meeting had been called. She wore a look of concerned empathy and that was almost more worrying than Leon’s behaviour. Something bad was ahead. I could feel it. Dr Letts’s mouth was pulling downwards at the edges and when she spoke she appeared to be choosing her words extraordinarily carefully.

  ‘Does that even exist?’ asked Juliana. ‘I thought that was something Hollywood cooked up for the purposes of dramatic storytelling.’

  ‘It does exist, but perhaps not in the form you’ve seen in the movies. Post-traumatic amnesia happens to almost all patients after a period of coma. They don’t wake up entirely themselves and, the longer the period of coma, the worse the symptoms of PTA can be … The patient can be conscious, generally quite alert; they can be conversing with staff, relatives, in a manner that’s considered normal. But there’s something not quite right. It’s as if the wiring is faulty and the patient may not be able to remember certain things. He may not know what year it is or where he is, for example. And he may become distressed easily. Which is what you’ve experienced with Leon today.’

  ‘We thought he’d wake remembering who attacked him,’ I said. ‘Will this amnesia be permanent?’

  Dr Letts shook her head. ‘Rarely. We’re usually looking at a period of days … weeks, rather than months.’

  ‘And then Leon will return to normal?’ Gloria asked.

  At this, Dr Letts didn’t exactly flinch, but there was a twitch in the muscle of her right temple. A tell, so to speak.

  She took a breath and I got the impression that this was a well-rehearsed speech she took no pleasure in delivering.

  ‘At this point, we’ve no way of knowing what Leon’s long-term outcome will be. What his normal will be, if you like. What I can say is that the period of post-traumatic amnesia is often the most challenging for all involved, but it doesn’t last forever. The Leon we have right now will not be the same as the Leon we have in a few weeks’ time. That’s certain. And by then we’ll have a clearer picture of what his needs will be.’

  ‘Needs?’ said Gloria. ‘What do you mean, his needs?’

  ‘Mrs Campbell, the brain is a highly sophisticated computer. It controls every single process in the body. After a traumatic injury we don’t always know how it’s going to respond. Right now Leon is confused, disorientated and agitated. But he’s been lucky. The position of the nails in his brain means that Leon suffered no physical disability and no disruption to the speech centre. He will continue to walk and talk without difficulty. But there may be other issues.’

  ‘Like?’ asked Juliana.

  ‘He may have memory problems, tiredness. He may have trouble concentrating for any length of time. That’s very common with the brain-injured patient.’

  ‘Doctor,’ Gloria said, ‘are you saying he may never write again?’

  ‘I’m not saying that, no. But your son won’t recover overnight. Recovery from brain injury is a long, arduous journey and you may find yourselves confronting very painful difficulties. Your courage and patience can be pushed to the absolute limit … What I’m saying,’ she said, ‘is that’s not going to be easy.’

  ‘Why didn’t you make us aware of this before?’ demanded Juliana, annoyed that she was only learning about post-traumatic amnesia now. And Gloria, though probably thinking the same thing, felt the need to apologize for her daughter’s rudeness.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Dr Letts. ‘I understand your frustration. Hearing all of this has come as something of a shock. But we believe families tend to do better taking this process one step at a time. Bombarding you with information about the difficult road ahead would do nothing to help whilst your loved one is still in a coma. You have enough on your plates worrying if they’re going to come out of it alive. And that’s what you must remember. Leon is alive. Yes, right now he’s not exactly the Leon you know and love, but you do still have him. A lot of families aren’t so fortunate.’

  ‘What about Gina?’ I asked. ‘Do you think that when the post-traumatic amnesia has worn off he’ll stop mentioning Gina?’

  Dr Letts said she was optimistic. ‘Let’s hope so,’ she said.

  By the time Detective Inspector Hazel Ledecky arrived Leon had become calmer. This was, in part, down to the administration of sedative medication, and the fact that I’d left the room. Leon didn’t want me there. He wanted Gina. And there was no pacifying him on this subject as he was convinced we were keeping his real wife from him. Convinced we were holding her somewhere and trying to fox him into thinking that he was married to me instead.

  I crawled off to the canteen and sat with the kids and Eden and tried to act as if the bottom of my world had not fallen out.

  ‘He’s just come out of a coma, Auntie Jane,’ Eden said reasonably. He could see I’d been blown sideways. ‘His head’s all messed up.’

  ‘I know.’

  But it was one thing for Leon not to recognize me. For him not to recognize the kids. I reasoned that I might have been able to rationalize that. Tell myself, as Eden had pointed out, that it was very early days, and not to expect too much. But to have the sight of me provoke such a reaction in Leon, a reaction of real disgust, well, that was crushing.

  I wondered how long I could keep it together. I felt as if our lovely life had been erased. Leon woke up wanting Gina. He thought he was still married to Gina. And, for now, I was powerless to do anything about it.

  Eventually, we received word that Leon was doing a little better, and it was deemed safe enough for me to return to his bedside. This was when I met Inspector Ledecky. She was also making her way along the corridor and was accompanied by someone she introduced to me as Det
ective Constable Payne – a guy in his early thirties with colourless hair and a forgettable face.

  ‘We’ve been told Leon doesn’t remember much,’ she said.

  DI Ledecky wore a navy suit with a navy silk blouse beneath. The trousers were a little short in the leg. She had to be close to six feet tall.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t remember me,’ I said to her.

  And Hazel Ledecky stopped in her tracks. She turned towards me. She put one hand on my shoulder, and said, ‘I’m so, so sorry to hear that, Jane.’

  Whether she truly meant it, or whether this was Ledecky doing her best supportive act again, I didn’t know, but I found myself dissolving in response to this stern woman’s touch.

  She didn’t speak. She let me weep in the hallway, people passing by us on both sides, her junior officer averting his eyes in polite embarrassment – the way you might when a person undresses in front of you.

  When I was done, Inspector Ledecky fixed me with a look. One that said: Ready? But one which also seemed to convey strength.

  I nodded.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ she said.

  They were in the process of moving Leon from the ICU to a ward. We waited outside as his personal effects, his notes and Leon himself were arranged into his new home for the time being. The hope was he wouldn’t be here too long before being moved to the rehabilitation unit nearby. The hope was he would recover pretty swiftly. He was young. He was strong. He hadn’t been a substance abuser. His medical history was, apart from the two nails inserted into his skull, mostly uneventful.

  Gloria and Juliana took the opportunity to slip away for something to eat and to relieve Eden of his babysitting duties for half an hour. As they left the ward they looked strained. Weary. The jubilation of Leon waking up already long gone. Gloria’s wig was askew and her face was perspiring. ‘He’s resting now, my love,’ she told me. ‘He’s a lot more settled,’ and I could see she was apprehensive about what lay ahead.