But then on Saturday morning his dad walked into his bedroom and sat on his bed.
‘I’ve been thinking. Do you feel up to going to the hospital?’
Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position. Suddenly alert after days of foggy inertia. ‘Yes. I’ve told you over and over again that I want to go in and see them. But you said I couldn’t.’
Dom nodded. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I think I took what Ross said too literally…about it being best if there was no contact. That was wrong of me. Do you want to go?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay then. If you get up and grab a bit of breakfast, I’ll drop Martha round at Emily’s house, then I’ll drive you over.’ Dom stood up.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Harry meant it, but the thought of setting foot on the ward filled him with dread. ‘Shouldn’t we contact Fran first? Check with her that’s it’s okay – me going?’
Dom answered as he walked out of the room. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Fran has been asking to see you all week. I’ll see you downstairs.’
The hospital car park was already filling up when they arrived. They had to drive up to the third floor before they found a space. Dom parked and switched off the engine. Harry went to open the door, anxious to get going, but Dom stopped him.
‘Just a minute, Harry.’ Harry sat back in his seat. ‘Are you okay?’ Dom asked.
He was taken aback by the question, surprised at his dad asking it, but it felt too complicated to spit out an answer in the car in a few minutes. In that moment all he wanted to do was get inside the hospital and see Jess and Tish.
‘I’m all right.’ When he saw the disappointment in his dad’s face, he relented a tiny bit. ‘I’m coping, Dad. Honest. I don’t want to talk about it now, if that’s all right. Can we go?’
‘Okay.’ His dad had to take what he was being offered.
But as Harry started walking away towards the exit, Dom called him back to the car. Harry retraced his steps. Dom popped open the boot and there, lying in the trunk, were two very fancy-looking bunches of flowers. Harry had lived with his dad long enough to know that not all flowers were the same. He knew that how they were tied, and how big and exotic the bouquets were, mattered more – when you were trying to impress – than how pretty they looked. Dom reached into his jacket pocket and took out two small rectangles of card and his pen. He held the cards out to Harry. Written on them, in curly gold writing, was ‘In Our Thoughts’.
‘Really?’
‘It’s just a gesture – for Sal and Fran, as much as for the girls.’
‘But what the hell am I supposed to write?’
‘Something simple. Heartfelt. Something that lets them know you’re thinking of them.’
Harry took the pen and stared at the five centimetres of pure-white card that needed filling. It felt impossible. His dad was waiting. He grasped the fat, slippery pen and wrote on both of the cards: ‘There are no words. Harry x.’ At least that was true. His dad glanced at the messages, nodded his approval and tucked a card into the top of each bouquet. Then he stood back, forcing Harry to pick them up.
As self-conscious as he felt, carrying the flowers over to the hospital entrance, far more pressing and unnerving was the thought that he would finally get to see Jess and Tish. Harry knew they were both still seriously, critically ill. Because of him.
Memories of the crash were with him all the time. Jess strapped in the front seat of the car, her face perfect apart from its utter, abnormal stillness. His despair at her stubborn, heartbreaking silence, despite him shouting her name, over and over again. The reality of her being there, right in front of him, but at the same time totally unreachable. And Tish, her face unrecognisable as they lifted her into the ambulance. Blood everywhere. The loop of awfulness never stopped playing inside his head. The enormity of what he was about to walk into made him feel ill, but he wanted to be there, alongside them, once again – where he should be – even if it meant facing Fran and Marcus and Sal. He owed them that.
In the lobby they went over to the information boards to check which floor the ICU was on. As they were standing there, looking up, the woman sitting at the reception desk gestured at them to come over. She smiled. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes please. We’re just checking where the ICU is,’ Dom replied.
‘Floor B,’ she confirmed. They were about to walk away when she said, ‘I’m very sorry, but you do know that flowers aren’t allowed on any of the wards, don’t you?’ Harry felt such an idiot. She stood up and leant across the counter. ‘Such a pity – they are really beautiful. Very unusual.’
As she admired the bouquets and Harry stood there like a chump, not knowing what to do with them, he heard the sound of a camera shutter. He turned round and was shaken to see his dad taking a picture. More than one, in fact. Harry didn’t know why on earth his dad was taking photos. Dom slid his phone into his pocket, with no explanation offered, and approached the desk.
‘Oh, that’s my mistake.’ He smiled, going into full charm-offensive mode. ‘I don’t suppose we could leave them with you then, could we? For the front desk. Somebody might as well get the benefit of them.’
The woman went into a weird type of flutter. ‘Oh, thank you. That’s very kind. They really are beautiful.’ Harry handed the flowers over, but the woman wasn’t finished. Her smile became tentative. ‘I’m sorry you’re going think I’m being dreadfully officious, but I’m afraid that you can’t go onto the ICU until after two p.m.’ The clock on the wall showed 10.14 a.m. ‘And even then, visiting is strictly limited to close family.’
Harry closed his eyes. What a nightmare. He waited for Dom to explain, to say that they had permission from Fran, to sort it out, but instead what he heard his dad say was, ‘Really? Again, how remiss of me not to check.’
There was something in Dom’s tone, his immediate acquiescence, that bothered Harry. Dom hated being told ‘no’ – normally. Harry opened his eyes and caught an expression of satisfaction on his dad’s face. It disappeared a split second later, to be replaced by a look of concern.
‘Harry?’ Dom’s hand on his arm, attempting to usher him away, was the trigger.
Harry shrugged it off and walked over to the lifts. He had no intention of leaving.
Dom followed him. ‘Harry, you heard the lady. I’m sorry we’ve had wasted trip. We’ll come back later or arrange it for another day.’
There it was again, that greasy tone. Harry felt he was being manipulated, though he didn’t know why. He studied his dad. The sudden offer to come to the hospital, the showy flowers, the messages on the cards, the photos, the mix-up about visiting times – something was off.
‘I’m going up to the ward anyway. If I ask to see Jess Fran will let me.’
Dom’s expression shifted to something less conciliatory. ‘Not now, Harry.’
‘Yes. Now. You spoke to her. She knows I’m coming. It’ll be okay.’
Dom put his hand on Harry’s arm again. ‘Actually, she doesn’t know. I couldn’t get hold of her this morning. I left a message asking her to call me back, but she hasn’t yet.’ He made a show of getting his phone out and checking. ‘No. Nothing yet. Let’s leave it for now, eh, Harry? Today maybe isn’t a good day. They’ll get your note. The lady said she’ll send them up to the ward. They’ll know we were here.’