Secondly, Sal was honest enough with herself to admit that she just wanted to see Jake. She needed all the moral support she could get, even if it came in the shape of her daughter’s boyfriend.
And lastly, as Fran had pointed out, Jake was the only person – other than Harry – who could tell them what had caused the crash. They had heard little more from the police; the online speculation was upsetting and wild, and the press coverage lacking in detail. Jake would know. He was there. It was important that they found out what he could tell them.
Sal dabbed Tish’s dry lips gently with a damp sponge and told her that she looked as beautiful as ever. Well-meaning lies were all that she could give her daughter in advance of Jake’s visit.
Fran watched Sal chattering away to her daughter. It made her feel inadequate. Sal knew that Tish was unable to respond, other than with cries and moans or silence, and yet she carried on talking to her, all day and long into the night. Somehow she managed to keep up a steady stream of cheerful reassurances and anecdotes; and, when those dried up, Sal read celebrity gossip aloud from the dog-eared glossies left behind on the ward by previous patients’ families. Fran and Marcus had been given the same advice: to talk as normally as possible to Jess, tell her anything and everything about what was going on in their lives, keep her connected with the real world beyond the confines of the hospital. But the sad truth was there was nothing in their lives, other than the stark white walls of the ICU and the never-ending medical procedures, which resulted in no change whatsoever.
So it was no surprise that Fran was finding it nigh on impossible to chat to her daughter. Anything she did manage to say sounded false or utterly irrelevant. Life went on for others, but not for them, or for Jess. Her own and Marcus’s self-consciousness was acute in the face of Jess’s silent inertia. Yet try she must. It was part of Jess’s ‘pathway to recovery’. Fran turned her attention away from Sal and back to her own daughter. Conscious of the shake in her voice, she began telling Jess about Jake’s impending visit.
Jake was Jess’s friend by default; he ‘came with’ Harry, like a free gift stuck to the front of a magazine. He and Jess had never had much in common but, regardless, Jake had become a permanent fixture in their tight little group. From what Fran and Marcus had seen of Jake over the years, he was the least mature of the group, not the brightest tool in the box and – if the truth be told – a bit wayward. Not Jess’s usual type of friend at all.
But there had undoubtedly been a friendship there. Fran had heard the affection in Jess’s voice when she’d talked about Jake; the mix of exasperation and amusement. Fran suddenly remembered the time Jake climbed the drainpipe on the side of the house and succeeded in ripping off a whole section of guttering, in a foolhardy attempt to deliver a Valentine’s card to Jess. Not a serious one – a joke. He said he’d heard that Jess hadn’t got a card, and he thought that was a shabby reflection on the whole of mankind. Fran reminded Jess of the escapade now, injecting some warmth into her voice. Jess lay still – listening or not, Fran couldn’t tell, but at least it was something to ‘talk’ about.
In fact as they waited, they all found themselves pinning their fragile hopes on Jake’s arrival. In the midst of so much sorrow and seriousness, they craved his lightness and energy.
But when Jake was finally pushed around the corner by a porter, the sight of him quickly dispelled any naïve hopes of an upbeat, uplifting visit. It wasn’t so much his physical state – they had been told about the damage to his leg – it was the change in him. Joker Jake had left the building.
While Fran and Marcus held back, Sal went over to greet him. She stooped down, kissed Jake’s forehead awkwardly, and started chatting away. As she talked, Fran could see Jake’s eyes scanning the ward, orientating himself, but – though he was obviously taking in his surroundings – his eyes studiously avoided stopping at either Tish’s or Jess’s bed. He looked scared. Who could blame him?
Sal’s voice was painfully, falsely bright. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Not lovely, of course. But good. Good to see you up and about. Well, nearly. Have they been looking after you?’ At last – a good, direct, simple question.
‘Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay.’ Jake said.
‘Pain under control?’
‘Yeah. I’m on some super-strong stuff.’
‘Good.’
The conversation dried and Jake’s eyes raked the room again, snagging on Fran and Marcus, then bouncing off.
‘Do you want to come and see her?’ Sal prompted. That was the purpose of the visit, after all.
Fran heard Jake swallow from way across the other side of the room. ‘Yeah. If that’s okay.’
‘Of course it is. It’s good of you to come.’ Sal took hold of the handles of the wheelchair. ‘She’s still very poorly, Jake. She’s a bit in and out, in terms of knowing where she is. And you mustn’t be too upset by the way she looks. Every day she’s getting a little bit better.’ As she pushed him carefully towards Tish’s bed, Fran saw his face freeze. Sal kept talking, as if words could help to soften the blow. ‘You know Tish. Tough as nails.’
She positioned Jake’s wheelchair alongside the bed, which was awkward, because of his raised leg.
Her voice dropped a level, grew softer and yet somehow more insistent. ‘Tish, honey, look who’s come to see you. It’s Jake.’ The room quietened. ‘He’s doing fine, aren’t you, Jake? On the mend. Just like you.’
Even the staff at the central desk seemed to hold their breath, waiting to see what he’d say. The silence went on. At the point where it became painful, Tish made a guttural noise.
Jake started talking, in a rush. ‘Hiya, Tish. It’s just me. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I wanted to. Kept on nagging about it to the nurses. The docs wanted to keep me away, but your mum said it was okay.’ He looked at his hands, as if they held the key. He swallowed and dug deep. ‘Your mum says you’re doing well. It’s good to see you. I’ve been so worried about you. But I needn’t have, need I? I should’ve known better. Your mum says you’re doing well. Real well. Sorry, I’m talking shit.’
Then, as if the effort had been too much, his shoulders slumped and his words stuttered to a stop. Despite their own sorrows, everyone felt for him. Aware that he had nothing more to say, Sal sat between her daughter and Jake, holding both of their hands, trying to absorb their pain, and picked up the burden of the ‘conversation’.
From her prime position across the ward, Fran watched the awful awkwardness of it all. Jake’s distress was obviously genuine, and the sight of a broken young man was upsetting; but more than anything else – more than her sympathy with Jake and her empathy with Sal – what Fran felt was frustration. Jake was a witness, after all, and Sal seemed to have forgotten that she was supposed to be asking about what had caused the crash. So when the nurses came to change Tish’s catheter, and Jake had said his goodbyes and had been wheeled into the hallway to wait for a porter to take him back to his own ward, Fran followed him.
‘Hey there, Jake.’
He smiled. ‘Hey, Mrs Beaumont. I’m sorry I didn’t come over to say “hello”. I didn’t know whether I should or not. I didn’t want to intrude.’