Split Second - [11]

The surgeon pursed his lips. ‘That’s certainly our aim. No two patients are alike, and to be honest we still don’t understand why some patients make a full recovery while others don’t.’

‘He’s young.’ She stumbled over the words, a prayer more than anything.

‘Yes, and otherwise strong and healthy. We’re moving him into the ICU now.’

There was a dressing on his head, drips in his arm and a breathing tube over his nose. The nurse said it was just a little extra help, to boost his oxygen. His face, the bruises, the swellings, looked even worse. The nurse chatted to them in a brisk whisper, gave them a leaflet about the unit. Louise and Ruby sat down either side of Luke’s bed.

‘Can he hear us?’

‘I don’t think so – the sedation, it’s like he’s fast asleep.’ Louise saw that Ruby was wiped out, her eyes bleary, head drooping. ‘We’ll go home for a bit.’

Ruby glanced up and across at her, alarm furrowing her brow.

‘He’s just resting, love. We should too. We’ll come back later. You’ve not eaten anything.’

Ruby looked at her brother.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Louise reassured her. ‘Come on.’

Louise bent over Luke, close to his ear. ‘Luke, we’re popping home for a bit, we’ll come and see you later. Love you.’

‘Mum.’ Ruby in tears again.

Her own eyes stung in response, but she fought against it; she had to be strong, pull them all through this. ‘Hey.’ She moved round the bed. Held her daughter.

‘It’s not fair,’ Ruby blurted out. ‘It’s so awful.’

‘Shush, hush now.’

When Ruby had calmed down, she too said goodbye to Luke, and then they followed the winding corridors out.

The freezing air hurt Louise’s lungs, the same sensation she remembered after she’d had the kids each time, when she’d been awake for hours on end, using all the reserves her body had. She pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth. She switched her phone on and felt it buzz. A stack of messages: Ruby’s school, Carl, the agency. People to tell.

At home, Luke’s lights were still on in the sycamore tree, sparkling on the frost that limned the branches. Glittering on the snow.

Ruby had some cereal and went to lie down, while Louise sat and rang round. Her mind looping back again and again to Luke in the hospital bed, his poor ruined face, his broken teeth. Listening to people’s expressions of horror as she outlined what had happened.

When she went into the kitchen, she saw a dark shape against the back window. The tree that Carl had dropped off, bound in a nylon sheath and propped up, out of sight of the road and anyone with light fingers. She flung open the back door and went round to the garden. She grabbed the tree, the needles piercing her hands, and shoved it over, kicked at it, almost losing her footing on the slippery snow. Furious, repeating over and over as she swung her foot, ‘Stupid bloody tree, bloody stupid bloody tree.’ Until she was spent and sobbing in the keen night air.

She couldn’t sleep; her body was too far gone, her nerves tight as cheese wire. She sat unseeing at the table for long enough, then went round to her neighbours, desperate for a ciggie. She’d given up almost three years ago, but now the craving was extreme.

‘Oh, Louise, how is he?’ Angie was shaking her head. She was housebound, diabetic and extremely obese. Answering the door rendered her breathless. She lived in her sitting room, slept in a reclining chair. Her daughter Sian looked after her.

Louise gave her the low-down. ‘You got a spare ciggie?’

‘Course.’ Angie walked slowly back to her chair, picked the packet up from the side table and passed it to Louise. ‘Lighter’s inside.’

Grateful, Louise pulled out a fag, fired it up. Felt dizzy, her eyes doing funny patterns like a kaleidoscope. Took another drag.

Angie nodded at the coffee table. ‘The paper’s there, you seen it?’

Louise picked it up, sat on the settee. Student Stabbed to Death. She studied the photograph. She felt dull, her wits blunted by the trauma. She wondered if the boy was a friend of Luke’s, but she couldn’t recall him knowing any Jasons, and she didn’t recognize the lad in the paper. The attack had been outside this Jason’s house. They hadn’t given Luke’s name.

‘The police didn’t tell us much,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what he was doing there.’

Angie tutted at the paper. ‘They all carry knives these days,’ she said, wheezing as she spoke. ‘Terrible.’

Did Luke? Louise didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be completely sure. He wouldn’t be that daft, would he? ‘Can I take another?’ She held up the packet.

‘Take a twenty.’ Angie nodded to the corner cupboard. ‘In there. I’ve plenty more. Sian got ’em duty free.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Go on, before I change my mind.’

Louise nodded. Took a packet. ‘I’ll pay you back.’

‘You will not,’ Angie scolded. ‘Don’t you bloody dare.’

Louise wanted her grandad. Times like these it was him she missed, more than her mother or father or grandma. He’d been proud as a peacock when Luke was born, insisted on taking him in his pram to the CND meeting at the Labour club, promising to be only an hour. By then her mum had died. Just keeled over one day in Asda. When they did the post-mortem, they found she had a hole in her heart. It had been there all along and no one had ever known.