‘I know.’
* * *
When the door opened sometime later, jolting me from a restless doze, I assumed it was Sean, back from hunting down something more robust to eat than the measly offerings of the vending machine.
But, no. Nathan.
‘I’m so sorry it took this long for me to get here, some of the club members watching were really upset, and I wanted to make sure they were all okay.’
‘I didn’t expect you to come.’ My voice sounded flat, numb. In reality, I wanted to fling myself into his arms and burrow down in there, but I knew Nathan didn’t want that. Even before I’d made a national mockery of him in the so-called news.
‘Of course I came.’ He screwed up his face in anguish. ‘Is it okay if I come in? Is there any news?’
‘Not really.’ I moved Sean’s jacket off the seat next to me, making a space.
‘I shouldn’t have let him swim.’ He came in the room but remained standing, running a hand through his hair in agitation. The space between us felt like torture. All at once, holding that safe, strong hand seemed like the only thing that would get me through this.
‘You and me both.’
‘I’m his coach,’ he replied, voice cracking.
‘I’m hismother.’Please come closer.
‘How can I help? What do you need?’
You can pretend to be my friend again, until this is all over. Forget that one, stupid mistake and be my friend again.
‘I think you’ve probably done enough,’ Sean replied. He quickly dropped a pack of sandwiches on the battered coffee table and went to stand beside me, one arm on my shoulder. ‘This room is family only, buddy. If you don’t mind.’
Nathan gave one small, tight nod and left.
If I’d had the strength, I might have asked Sean to call him back. But, in a way, it was easier not having him here, since seeing him felt like a chisel in my heart, splitting it open to reveal the longing, the ache, the pointless, wretched love within.
57
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day One Hundred and Eighty-Five
A few minutes past midnight, the doctor informed us that the scan results were clear. I collapsed into Sean’s shoulder, the rush of relief rendering my bones to water. The doctor looked faintly perturbed when I asked when we could see Joey, having assumed we’d seen him hours ago, but I was more concerned about getting to him now than causing a fuss about prejudiced nursing staff, so I simply grabbed my bag and followed him up to the ward.
Joey looked horrific. Pale green with purple shadows under dazed eyes. I ignored the wires and all the monitoring equipment, pushed aside my devastation and leant forwards to stroke his hair off his brow.
‘Hey.’
‘Hnnn.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Did they say yes?’ His words were slow and barely comprehensible. ‘I got a PB in the freestyle.’
‘They said that they hope you’re resting up, not worrying about trials, and focusing on getting better.’
My heart nearly shattered all over again with relief. I knew that brains were funny old organs, that Joey needed to be observed carefully because things could look fine and then suddenly not be, but oh my goodness. He was still Joey. I blotted my tears on his sheet and patted and stroked and kissed and fussed and did everything a thirteen-year-old boy does not want his mother to do, especially on a busy ward, and I didn’t stop until the nurse came and shooed us out.
Sean and I stood in the corridor, elated, exhausted, too many other emotions to untangle. And I guessed – Ihoped– it was for that reason only that after clinging to each other for a long time, laughing and crying and sniffing in a most undignified way, when we pulled back, Sean’s face only an inch above mine, he bent down, closed the gap between us and kissed me.
And while I didn’t quite kiss him back, I didn’t move away, either. Instead, choosing to linger in the memory of a thousand kisses, when Sean’s touch was safety and sunshine and freedom and anticipation. The sweet, sharp passion of first love.
