‘No change,’ Luis says cheerfully. ‘Eva says she’ll see you at ten.’
I am hopeful I’ll be allowed to take part in the trial again. My headache has eased and for the first time in days I feel able to cope – seeing Adam has given me strength. I wander outside. The sun casts sparkles onto the aquamarine ocean. It is only nine o’clock but there are children digging in the sand with brightly coloured spades, parents stretched out on candy-striped beach towels.
I sit on a large flat rock, stretching my legs out in front of me. A girl of about eighteen hurries past me, head down, selfconsciously clutching a towel against her sarong-covered body. I remember how anxious I had been that first day on the beach when I felt Adam’s eyes on me. Worried he was judging me, the girl with cellulite speckling her thighs, clad in a black swimming costume amongst a sea of neon bikinis. I was convinced that if I could lose ten pounds, my life would be perfect. If only my body were my sole worry now. It’s Adam’s body, limp and unresponsive, which makes my blood run cold. Yesterday, seeing him, hearing him, touching him… It’s all so hard to process.
My mobile has been off all night – I switch it on and call Nell.
‘It worked,’ I blurt out before I have even said hello.
‘Fuck. Tell me everything.’
‘It was like… not watching a movie but being in one. It wasn’t some elaborate fantasy in Adam’s mind where he was conquering Mount Everest or starring in Back to the Future, it was… normal. We were home. Eating biscuits in bed. He mentioned our holiday here but we hadn’t been on the yacht. It was as though we were living the life we would have if we hadn’t been on that trip. Nell, I… I was still pregnant.’
‘Oh, Anna. That sounds unbearably sad.’
‘It was.’ Spending time with Adam in a world I couldn’t stay in was excruciatingly painful, but oddly comforting too. It has unplugged something, making it easier to remember the good memories – and there are so many of them – before they became sullied and sharp from the years of trying for a child. Just that brief glimpse into the ordinary life that could have been ours has been enough to strengthen my resolve. Whatever happens with Adam, whatever care needs he might have, I will be steadfastly there for him, the way he has always been there for me.
‘Do you think…’ Nell slows down her speech and I know she is carefully choosing her words. ‘I know it must be tempting to want to do it again, but… I don’t know. Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead? You’ve seen something wonderful and next time…’
‘I know.’ There is a part of me that has thought the same thing. If I go back again, I’m risking spoiling the memories of the first time, but how can I not?
‘It’s a lot to cope with, Anna. Emotionally.’
‘I’m okay. Honestly.’ I was devastated when Oliver had brought me back, sorrowful and angry, but now, talking it through with Nell, remembering how it felt to lie next to Adam, elation is my overriding emotion. Excitement at doing it again. I am missing him horribly; not the Adam that lies in the bed being pumped full of nutrients but the Adam as he was, and now there’s a baby! All I ever wanted is so close and yet frustratingly out of reach. ‘I told Mum yesterday, not about the Institute but about the accident. Adam’s coma.’
‘How did she take it?’ Nell knows my mum doesn’t cope well.
‘She was amazing. She offered to fly out but I’ve told her to wait. Are you still coming back next week?’
‘Yep. Chris is taking over with the rug rats. I’ll be glad of a break actually. Oh God. I didn’t mean. Shit. Sorry. I know it’s not a holiday.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ She’s tired and not thinking straight. I know how that feels.
‘Have you told Josh yet?’ she asks.
‘No.’ But I must. ‘I think I’ll do that now.’
‘Good luck. Love you, Anna.’
‘Love you too.’
Before I call Josh, I plan my side of the conversation in my head. I won’t need to sugar-coat Adam’s prognosis the way I had to with Mum, but it will hit him hard. The first few times I’d met Josh I hadn’t understood why he and Adam were friends; they were polar opposites. Adam quiet and sensitive, Josh loud and raucous. I assumed it was their shared history that bound them together. On Adam’s side, gratitude that Josh’s parents had taken him in. For Josh, a friend that paled into the background, allowing him to take centre stage.
I was wrong.
They genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Enjoy their differences. They’re like brothers and it pains me that I have to be the one to break the bad news. I press dial and when the call connects, I say, ‘Josh. Is this a good time to—’
‘What’s wrong with Adam?’ He knows I wouldn’t be ringing him from Alircia otherwise.
‘He’s in a coma.’ I get straight to the point. ‘There was an accident.’ I tell him about the yacht. Sometimes he cuts in and asks questions but mostly he just listens while I let it all pour out.
‘Stupid twat always has to be the hero,’ Josh says after I’ve finished. Tears thickening his words. ‘I’ll book a flight.’
‘Thanks. But there’s really nothing you can do here right now.’
‘There must be some way that I can help?’
I pause. Josh will need something practical to occupy him or he’ll be jumping on a plane, whatever I say.
‘If you can carry on looking after Hammie, please, that would be great? And you could also keep an eye on the house. Make sure there isn’t any post sticking out of the letterbox. Water the plants.’
‘Yeah, I can do that. Is… is he getting the right care over there? Wouldn’t you be better off in the UK?’
‘We’ll be back at some stage, but there’s nothing anyone can do to wake Adam up.’
‘But he could just wake up, couldn’t he?’ Josh sounds like a small boy.
A 3 per cent chance of recovery.
‘Of course.’ I am the adult. I am good at pretending. ‘At any time.’
‘And then he’ll be fucking unbearable. You know how he gets when he has a cold. Going on about it weeks later. We’ll never hear the end of a coma.’
I smile. ‘You’re right. He’s never great when he’s sick. A few months back I had tonsillitis and felt terrible. I took myself off to bed. Adam came in and laid down next to me. Said he’d sneezed and was worried he’d was getting the flu. Asked me what was for dinner.’
‘I can believe that. Did he ever tell you that when we shared a flat he had a cold and convinced himself he’d never recover? I wouldn’t indulge him so he dragged himself to the chemist and asked for some euthanasia tablets. “Don’t you mean echinacea?” the pharmacist asked. “I know what I mean,” Adam had said.’
We both laugh and it feels good.
It feels hopeful.
‘I’ve got to go, Josh, but I will keep in touch. Is there anything you want me to tell Adam?’
‘Yeah, tell him a one-legged, half-blind ape could save more goals than he does nowadays…’ I hear how painful this is for him. ‘Tell him… tell him that I love him.’ He cuts the call, leaving me with the dial tone in my ear and a lump in my throat. I don’t think Adam quite likes football as much as he used to, but he kept going so he could spend time with Josh.