Lifesaving for Beginners

prop myself up on my elbows. I ignore the pain in my head. My body. I need to nip this in the bud. I say, ‘Look, there’s no need for all this. I didn’t die. I’m fine.’
    ‘I don’t care.’ Thomas closes the door. Puts his back against it so no one can come in. There’s a feeling in my chest and I think it might be disquiet. ‘I’m just going to say it.’
    ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’
    ‘I know. But I’m going to say it anyway. I love you.’
    ‘Where are my clothes? I need to get out of here.’
    ‘I want to get married.’
    ‘Congratulations. Who’s the lucky lady?’
    ‘And I’d love to have a baby.’
    ‘Good for you. They’re making huge leaps in human biology these days so I’m thinking, any day now.’
    ‘Can you stop joking around, just for a minute?’
    ‘How about a peace settlement in the Middle East while we’re at it?’
    He sighs then. ‘I’m going to get the doctor.’
    ‘Good idea. See how she’s getting on with that cure for pancreatic cancer.’
    It’s only when Thomas leaves the room that I notice how quiet everything is. Quiet as a grave, Thomas would probably say in his current maudlin form. There’s pain down my right side. But other than that and the dull throb in my head, everything feels the same as usual. I’d love a cigarette. I don’t know where my bag is. I need my phone. I need to phone Ed – he’ll be worried – and tell him not to worry. Tell him that everything is the same as usual.
    Nothing has changed.
    Even Thomas, when he returns, seems to have gone back to his usual self. He couldn’t find the doctor but he has somehow discovered that one of the nurses keeps hens in her back garden and they’ve been discussing feeds and eggs and coops and what have you.
    It’s only when Thomas is leaving – I have to stay another night for ‘observation’– that he goes all funny again. He says, ‘I want you to think about what I’ve said.’
    I say, ‘Can you put the telly on before you leave?’
    Thomas hands me the remote. ‘Here.’ His tone is brusque but then he bends down from his great height and kisses me. Right on the mouth. As if I’m not lying defenceless in a hospital bed, with no access to a toothbrush or toothpaste or mouthwash or anything. He just kisses me like he always does. No lead-up. No warning. Just his mouth on top of mine. It always gets me. How soft his mouth is. He’s so big and farmer-ish, you’d be expecting dry, chapped lips from being out in all sorts of weather. He kisses me for longer than would be considered appropriate in a hospital visit sort of scenario. I don’t tell him to stop.
    ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Take you home.’
    I think the accident has had some effect on me after all because, all of a sudden, there’s a chance I might cry. I’d say it’s the medication they have me on. Because of the shattered ribs. Well, OK then, a hairline fracture on one rib.
    I nod and close my eyes as if I’m going to have a nap.
    When he leaves, I open my eyes and – this is the strange part – I do cry. Not loud enough for anyone to hear. But still. There are tears. I’m crying all right. They gave me something for the pain and they said it was strong. I’d say it’s that. I blow my nose and lie down and close my eyes. I want to go to sleep as quickly as I can so it’ll be tomorrow as soon as possible then I can go home and everything can get back to normal.

2 June 2011; Brighton
    I’m sitting on my bed.
    The house is dead quiet even though Adrian is here. I know he’s here because, a while ago, he knocked on the door and poked his head in and said, ‘All right, Milo? You hungry, mate?’
    He never knocks on the door.
    Faith and Dad and Ant are gone to Ireland. I think they’re staying in Auntie May’s house. That’s where Mam is supposed to be. I don’t know where she is now. I hope it’s not a morgue. I saw a morgue on the telly once. They put people in drawers and it’s really cold. Mam hates the cold. Her hands turn blue when she’s cold.
    Dad said I couldn’t go to Ireland with them. His jumper was inside out and his breath smelled like cigarettes, which is weird because he doesn’t even smoke anymore. Not since he went to Scotland to live with Celia.
    Faith said, ‘Don’t worry,’ when she left. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow.’ Her eyes were all red and puffy and her skin was even whiter than usual so I didn’t want to ask, ‘What time tomorrow?’ I look at my watch again but