Sophie's Encore (19 page)

“He might die? Of pneumonia?” Rachel’s face showed her shock and surprise. “Surely not. I mean, come on, this is the twenty-first century.”

“I know, that’s what
I
said, but the doctor said that until she’s certain that the medication works and until she knows exactly how bad it is, she can’t say for certain that he’ll pull through.”

“Oh, Soph.” Rachel squeezed my hand a little harder, but said nothing more. There was nothing much
to
say. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and, distracted though I was, I registered the sound of the boiler springing into action in the kitchen. Six-thirty. We were on borrowed time. The kids were bound to be up any minute. I needed to get a grip.

I squared my shoulders and sat up straight. Rachel mirrored my stance, and we looked at each other somberly. The concern and confusion in her eyes pushed me over the edge.

“I love him.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I love him, and I can’t bear the thought of losing him. I can’t lose him. I can’t.” My resolve to buck up ran from my body alongside the tears that coursed down my cheeks, and I sagged against Rach. She put her arms around me again and stroked my hair, making indistinct soothing noises.

“He mustn’t die,” I sobbed, all restraint gone. “He mustn’t. Why does every man I love die on me? He can’t die. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I know, darling, I know,” Rachel whispered. “I know you love him. You won’t lose him. I promise. He’ll pull through. He’ll be all right.”

I sat back and met her gaze again, hope fighting against pessimism in my chest. “But will he? What if—”

“Shh,” Rachel soothed again. “Shh. He’ll be all right.”

I let myself be comforted by my best friend, accepting her calm reassurance at face value. There was nothing else I could do right at that moment, and it felt good to be held. I vaguely wondered at her quiet acceptance of my love declaration for Dan.
I know
, she had simply said.

How had she known, when I had only just realized? Was that where she had been guiding me lately, trying to push me in the right direction? Had I been too absorbed in my grief and my obstinate refusal to take charge of my life to notice what was right in front of me? Had I missed my opportunity? What if he did die? What then? I shuddered and found fresh tears to shed. Rachel produced a tissue and wiped at my face.

“Shh,” she made again, putting a finger to my lips, trying to stem my sobbing. She listened attentively. There was a thump upstairs, followed by a series of lighter mini-thumps.

“Somebody’s up,” Rachel stated.

“Oh God,” I groaned. “Look at me. I’ll frighten them to death.” I grabbed the tissue off Rachel and ran it over my face, mopping up the floods. No doubt my eyes would be red and my skin blotchy, but that couldn’t be helped now. I took a few deep breaths and sat up straighter, fixing a watery smile onto my face. And sure enough, Josh appeared in the doorway, looking sweet, sleepy, and innocent. His face lit up at seeing me awake, and he ran across the lounge with his arms wide open, skidding to a halt in front of me when he noticed my rumpled appearance.

“Why are you crying?” he asked before throwing himself on my lap and putting his little arms around my neck. Oh, the unconditional love of a child!

I gave a muffled half-sob, half-laugh and opted for the truth. Well, a child-appropriate, edited version of the truth. “I’m crying because Dan is very poorly, and he’s been taken to hospital.”

Josh sat bolt upright. His face crumpled and his bottom lip wobbled. “Will he die, like daddy?”

Cursing my insensitivity, I ruffled his hair.

“No, he won’t,” Rachel jumped in, her voice light and cheerful. “He’s poorly, but it’s only a bit of a bad cold, really, and he’ll be fine. They’re giving him lots of medicine.”

I shot her a feeble smile, glad she was there to face the crisis with me. Josh, however, was not reassured. He fiddled with my hair while he pondered the situation, and I knew something was coming.

“But if it’s only a bit of a bad cold,” he slowly and carefully repeated Rachel’s words, then delivered the killer conclusion. “If it’s only a cold, why is Mummy crying? And why is he in the hospital?”

Where had the innocence of childhood gone? No longer would a simple explanation suffice. My inquisitive son didn’t miss a trick and wasn’t fobbed off easily. I pulled him round so I could look at him.

“You know how Dan has had this cold for, like, weeks? We all had it, didn’t we?” Josh nodded. “Well, Dan’s not had a chance to get rid of it, like we have. He’s been working really hard, and he’s not looked after himself properly.”

“You mean, he hasn’t been eating bananas for breakfast and apples for lunch, and broccoli with his dinner?” my son inquired.

Despite the sadness of the situation, I caught Rachel suppressing a soft giggle. I inclined my head, pondering my response.

“Well,” I said, “I think Dan’s been eating some fruit and veg, because, you know, that’s really important, and he knows that too.”

“But he didn’t eat enough?”

“No, he probably didn’t eat enough. But he also did a lot of singing and a lot of working too hard. And sometimes, when that happens, a cold can get really bad, and you need to go to the hospital so the doctors can give you super-strong medicine to make you better.”

Josh looked terrified. “Will I go to hospital next time I’ve a cold?”

“Of course not.” I sighed, unsure how far to go, how to pitch my explanation. Recalling my own parents’ approach of forthright factualness, I took the plunge. “What’s happened to Dan is that his cold infected his lungs. And now he can’t breathe properly. That’s called pneumonia, and that’s why he’s in hospital. But it doesn’t happen to everyone. In fact, it’s quite rare, and I’ll be here to make sure that your colds don’t turn into pneumonia, so don’t worry.”

Relief momentarily lightened Josh’s face, and I hugged him hard. But we weren’t done.

“And Dan?” he persisted. “Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be absolutely fine,” I said vehemently.

“He really will,” Rachel offered, too.

“But why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying anymore.” I tried to divert his line of questioning, and it was true. Somehow, facing my child and talking it through had calmed me down. Simplifying the situation had restored my own hope and belief that everything would, in fact, be well, and I felt a lot calmer.

“But you
were
. I can see it.” Josh wouldn’t be satisfied until he understood what had upset his mummy.

“I
was
crying,” I conceded. “I took Dan to the hospital and it upset me to see him so poorly, and I got a bit worried, but that’s all. I promise.”

“Ah.” Finally appeased, Josh gave me another hug and snuggled down on my lap. I smiled at Rachel over his little head. My best friend smiled back, then erupted into a giant yawn.

“Sorry,” she apologized when she got over it. “I think I might go home now, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!” I gently sat Josh on the sofa so I could get up. “Thank you so much for coming and everything…for listening, and all that.”

She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “That’s what friends are for, you old sop. Don’t go funny on me now! I’d love to stay, but I suppose I’d better see how Alex and Henry have been getting on.”

We hugged. “Get some sleep,” I advised her. “I’ll phone you later with news, if I have any.”

“You should get some sleep, too,” Rachel mused. “How will you manage?”

I shrugged. “I had… oooh… four hours before Dan came home so… I’ve gotten through days on less. I’ll be fine.” Catching sight of Josh, still in his pajamas and looking quite tired, too, I had an idea. “We might have an outrageously decadent telly morning at this house, watch a film or two and relax. I’ll be fine by lunchtime. Although…”

Another thought wormed its way through my addled brain. “I want to go back to the hospital sometime this afternoon, and I don’t think I can take the kids. Would—”

“We’ll be home,” Rachel interrupted without hesitation. “Drop them off whenever you need to.”

“Cool, a play at Rachel’s house,” Josh enthused. “Can I take Woodie?”

“Of course,” Rachel and I replied together.

“Thank you again, and already,” I whispered. “You are the best.” My sentimental voice earned me another good-natured punch on the arm, and Rachel left.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Later that afternoon, a nurse intercepted me before I could enter Dan’s room. He had been placed in a private room, although I didn’t know whether that was because he was potentially infectious or because he had private health insurance.

“Are you Mr. Hunter’s friend, the one that called the ambulance this morning?” she asked just as I placed my hand on the door handle.

I hesitated and let go. “Yes, I am. My name is Sophie.”

She scribbled a little note on her pad before offering me a quick smile. “Mr. Hunter’s doctor would like a word, if you don’t mind. If you take a seat,” she indicated a waiting area opposite the nurse’s station, “I’ll page him for you.”

“Oh, okay,” I consented hesitantly. “Is everything all right?”

“Mr. Hunter is resting comfortably,” the nurse said. “The doctor will tell you more. Wait a moment, please, and take a seat.”

My heart thumped loudly in my chest, and I staggered to the seating area on wobbly legs. What had Dan done? What had they found in his blood? What was I to say? Or was there something even more sinister waiting for me? Had his condition deteriorated? Had he maybe slipped into a coma? Anxiety nibbled at my very soul with sharp, angry bites, and I swallowed hard to suppress looming tears. Darn, but it was difficult to be calm and rational when you had had no sleep, and you were on the brink of losing a loved one.

“Mrs. Jones?” A man in a white coat with the obligatory stethoscope hanging round his neck broke into my thoughts. I gave a start and rose.

“That’s me.” I met his eyes, a clear blue surrounded by crinkly laugh lines, and I immediately felt better. They were open and friendly.

The doctor held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Smith. Won’t you come with me for a moment where we can talk in private?”

There, the worry bites were back again. Why did we need to talk in private? What was going on?

The doctor picked up on my concern immediately. “Please, don’t worry. I’ll explain. Mr. Hunter is doing well, but I have a few questions I’d rather not discuss right here. If that’s all right.”

His professional frankness was disarming, and I followed him obediently. He took me to a small family room a couple corridors away from Dan’s ward, and offered me some tea.

“Tea would be good, thanks,” I consented, realizing that I was likely to keel over any minute without sugary fortification.

“How did you know my name?” I blurted out once we were seated on either side of the coffee table.

Dr. Smith smiled. “You gave your name as next of kin when Mr. Hunter was brought in.”

I did?
Oh God, I must have been really out of it. I cleared my throat.

“I… I wasn’t paying attention. I’m not actually next of kin. I’m just a really good friend.”

Dr. Smith took this information in his stride. “That doesn’t matter either way. He collapsed at your house, and you brought him in. Isn’t that right?”

Collapsed.
I used that very same word in my mind when I saw Dan on my landing, but it sounded more serious when it was said by a medical professional. I gulped.

“That’s right. Won’t you tell me what the problem is? Has his pneumonia gotten worse? Why can’t I see him?” The questions tumbled out higgledy-piggledy, and Dr. Smith offered a reassuring pat on my arm.

“You may see him, of course you may. I only wanted to clear up a few details. But first things first.” He consulted a chart. “As you know, we ran several tests on Mr. Hunter this morning when he arrived. We also did a chest x-ray and more blood tests. Mr. Hunter has very high levels of white blood cells, pointing to an infection.” He paused and stuck an x-ray on the light box on the wall. He used his pen to point out a white blob. “See this?”

I nodded. “That wedge is bacterial pneumonia in Mr. Hunter’s right lung. The sputum test confirms that this is caused by pneumococcus.”

I nodded again as though this meant something. It didn’t, really, but between them, the children had caught enough ‘coccuses’ for me to understand that this was some sort of evil bacteria. Dr. Smith continued.

“Mr. Hunter’s condition has stabilized. He’s responding well to the antibiotics, and his fever has come down. However.” He paused for a second.

“The infection is quite severe and we have now placed Mr. Hunter on a ventilator to help him breathe and raise the oxygen levels in his blood, so it may be a little unsettling when you first see him. We’re hoping he can come off the ventilator later today, but we’ll have to see. He’s still receiving fluids through an intravenous drip.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to get a grip on the situation. It didn’t sound good. My mind fastened on to the least important detail and I blurted out a question.

“Dan’s a singer. This ventilation…will it harm his voice?” Dr. Smith raised his eyebrows, and I gabbled on. “You have to understand, music is his life, and if he can’t sing…”

“A ventilator can cause hoarseness in patients, but this usually subsides within a matter of days. Prolonged intubation may cause swelling and edema of the vocal cords, or granuloma, which is a kind of ulcer in the vocal folds. But this is unlikely to happen, and it’s a little early to worry about it.” He paused briefly while I digested this information.

“In either case, Mr. Hunter will need to rest extensively before he can resume his career. Let me ask you about the drugs, though.” Dr. Smith moved on to his bombshell question, and I reeled from the impact.

“Drugs,” I repeated flatly.

“You gave the paramedics a pill Mr. Hunter attempted to take.” The doctor regarded me seriously, and I tried hard to sit still and look calm. I said nothing.

“It was MDMA. Ecstasy. Were you aware that Mr. Hunter has a drug problem?”

“He doesn’t!” I objected. “I’m sure of it. Look, I’m not in denial here, and I know he walked into my house last night with that pill, but I’ve known him for years, and I know, I am certain, that he’s not a user.”