Always, in December by Emily Stone
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They got a taxi to the hospital. Helen was waiting outside for them, her face illuminated by the almost fluorescent lighting, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold, a blue and gold scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Josie’s throat was too tight to speak as Helen smiled tightly at them both, then gestured inside.
They followed, and Josie dimly noticed that they were going a different way to last time. Everything seemed too bright, too clinical, as they walked along the corridors. ‘She’s in surgery now,’ Helen said, answering Josie’s silent plea for information. ‘I can’t understand half the garbage the doctors are telling us and they refuse to stand still long enough to explain everything properly. She got bumped up the list for surgery is all I know – they needed to get her in there.’
Josie nodded, though she pressed her lips together to stop herself from speaking. That doesn’t sound good, is what she wanted to say, but she refused to let herself say anything that would make anyone worry more. Helen led them into the ICU waiting room.
‘It’s where she’ll be once she’s out of surgery,’ Helen explained, when she saw Josie looking around. Helen led them towards Josie’s grandad, who was standing so still it looked unnatural, staring at the glass door. It had no distinguishable handle anywhere, but was presumably where they’d be going once Memo was out. When, Josie told herself. Not if.
Josie sank into the nearest chair, preparing herself for the wait. Her body felt rigid, like it was locking in place to keep her together, and her mind felt strangely blank. At some point she was aware of Max coming to sit next to her, rubbing her shoulders reassuringly.
After a while, Helen stepped outside to take a call, though Josie had no idea who she could be speaking to right now. Max did two separate coffee runs, and at one point brought back several bars of chocolate. No one touched them, though her grandad had given him a weak smile at the thought, from his position closest to the glass door. Later, Max went out and reappeared with more painkillers and a bottle of water for himself, though adamantly refused to leave when Josie suggested he should. She was drifting in and out of bleary sleep, her head on his shoulder, when, towards nine in the morning, just as official visiting hours were starting, Helen jumped to her feet.
Josie sat up immediately, Max giving her hand a little squeeze, and watched as an older man, with grey hair and a slight bulge at his belly, walked towards them. He smiled at her grandad.
Smiled.
Josie’s body started to melt, her hands began to tremble in relief, before the doctor even spoke to them.
Josie stood when he reached them, she, her grandad, Helen and Max forming a tight little semicircle. ‘She’s ok?’ Josie demanded.
‘Well, she’s got a long recovery ahead of her,’ the doctor said calmly, ‘and we need to keep her here for a few more weeks, but she came through the surgery ok, which is a really positive sign. She’s coming around now, if you’d like to see her.’
Josie’s grandad nodded, swallowed, and stepped towards the glass door ahead of the doctor. Josie went to him, squeezed his arm, and he managed a weak smile back at her. He looked terrible, and she hoped she’d manage to get him home at some point soon to eat a proper meal and sleep. She glanced back at Max as they were led away by the doctor, through the door which he had to open with a special pass.
Max was rubbing his neck as if it were sore. ‘You go ahead, I don’t want to crowd her.’
Josie frowned. ‘Are you ok?’
He smiled then, though it looked a little stiff. ‘Yeah, it’s just this headache. I’ll go and get some fresh air and walk it off, and I’ll pick up coffee for everyone on the way back.’ Josie hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine. Go and see your grandmother, and I’ll be . . .’
Josie cocked her head. ‘Outside?’
Max blinked, then nodded. ‘Right. Outside.’
She hesitated again, unwilling to leave him if he was in pain, after what he’d just done for her, but the doctor was still waiting for them and she had to see Memo. She couldn’t think of anything to say to him that encompassed what she felt in that moment, the fact that he’d stayed with her, had seemed to know exactly what she needed without being told. Instead, she nodded, and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
Helen, however, turned to walk back to Max, even though, in Josie’s opinion, now was hardly the time to interrogate him on his intentions. Josie only caught a bit of their exchange before she turned the corner with the doctor and her grandad – Helen seemed to be saying something, and when Max shook his head, Helen rested a hand on his arm. Josie frowned slightly, but her attention was immediately diverted by the doctor, and when she looked over her shoulder, Max was walking away.
In the hospital room, Memo lay there, looking more fragile than Josie had ever seen her, her hair a little greasy on the white pillow, her hospital gown overly large on her thin body. Josie took a slow, steadying breath. The doctor had smiled, she reminded herself. Then Memo’s eyelids fluttered open, as if she’d heard the footsteps, and one side of her mouth crooked into a smile. ‘The way you’re all looking at me, you’d think I was some kind of miracle,’ she croaked, the words sounding like they hurt her to get out. Next to Josie, her grandad let out a sob, and crossed the room to take her hand as the doctor did some quick checks. Helen came in behind Josie and they went to the other side of the bed, Helen putting a hand on Josie’s back as if to reassure them both. Though her aching facial muscles protested, Josie worked up a smile for Memo. She was standing firm on her oath not to cry in front of her – she didn’t want to let her know how terrified they’d all been.
‘How are you doing, Mum?’ Helen asked softly.
‘Oh peachy,’ Memo said, her voice even hoarser the second time, and a little slurred. ‘You know, for someone who’s just had their chest cut open.’
Josie blinked away the tears, but Memo still seemed to notice because she reached out, her movements stiff, and Josie took her hand, squeezing it as gently as she could. Outside, there was the sound of a commotion, someone being rushed through the corridor, reminding Josie just how close to death Memo had been.
‘I’ve got a quote for you’ Memo croaked.
Josie frowned. ‘What?’
‘Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to.’
The breath Josie let out was more like a sob. ‘Miracle on 34th Street.’
Memo grunted, her purpling eyelids fluttering closed again. ‘Thought I’d have you there. You don’t like those Christmas films.’
Because the tears were starting up again, Josie backed away, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her grandad, too, looked too grey and tired to say anything, but Helen came to the rescue, piping up, talking about the lack of good food in the hospital and downloading all the research she’d done on the best diet to start Memo on once she was out of hospital. Josie wasn’t sure exactly how long had passed before she realised that Max still hadn’t arrived. She cleared her throat and the other three looked at her. ‘I’m just going to go and find Max,’ she said quietly. ‘Let him know we’re all ok.’ She nearly added for now at the end of the sentence but stopped herself in time.
‘Oh, he came with you, did he?’ Memo croaked, her breathing growing heavier. ‘That’s nice.’
He wasn’t there when she got to the waiting room, so she headed out to the front of the hospital, in case he was still outside. It was cold and fresh, her breath misting in front of her, but there no sign of him there either. She was frowning when she retraced her steps. There were a few more people in the waiting room now, but none of them were Max.
Josie saw Helen coming out from ICU and crossed to her. ‘I can’t find him,’ she said, trying to control the hint of panic that was creeping into her voice. Had he disappeared on her, again? Surely not, not after what he’d told her.
But there was a faint ringing in her ears, and her nerves felt jittery. There’s something I want to talk to you about.
‘Didn’t he say he was going to get coffee?’
Josie nodded, but bit her lip. The other two times he’d been, he’d been back in moments, and she’d passed the coffee machine when she went to look for him outside.
‘Maybe he went to the toilet,’ Helen suggested, but she was frowning too.
Yes, thought Josie. That would be it. She hadn’t checked there, obviously, but if she waited for him here then surely he’d be back any minute.
It was then that two more people came out from the ICU. One of them was the young, blonde nurse Josie had seen yesterday, and it was her who gestured towards Helen and Josie. Josie’s heart stuttered and she looked at Helen, seeing the same panic reflected in her face. The woman the nurse was with, who was wearing blue scrubs, a look of authority marking her out as a doctor, nodded, then walked over to meet them.
‘What is it?’ Helen demanded.
‘You came in with a man, is that right?’ Her voice was far too even, far too calm.
‘Which man?’ Josie asked, even though she knew, somehow. She understood that this woman had come looking for them in particular, that she was talking about Max, and that whatever the reason, it wasn’t good. A chill descended on her body.
‘A Max Carter?’ The way her voice turned gentle around his name made Josie want to hiss.
‘Yes,’ she said instead, almost snapping it out. ‘Has there been some kind of accident?’ Had he made a faux-pas, taken too many painkillers or something? She knew that was wrong, knew it was more than that from the way the doctor was looking at her with a practised face. But her body wouldn’t believe her. It remained chilled, and numb.
The doctor glanced around the room. You wouldn’t know it was Christmas Eve in here, Josie thought numbly. Nothing to mark the festive period, like celebrating a festive holiday was somehow wrong, when surrounded by so much death.
The doctor indicated one of the seats in the waiting room, and ushered Josie and Helen towards it. But Josie stayed standing. ‘What happened?’ she whispered. She needed to know. Needed to know now, needed this doctor to tell her.
‘Can I just ask what your relationship is to Max?’
‘I’m his . . .’ Josie hesitated, trying to figure out the right word. There wasn’t one, she realised. But the doctor didn’t need to know the details right now. ‘I’m his friend.’
The doctor nodded, and took a breath. ‘I’m so sorry to tell you this, but he’s passed away.’
Josie just stared at her. That couldn’t be right. There’d been some kind of mistake, obviously. Max was fine, he’d been here five minutes ago. He’d made gingerbread with her yesterday, he’d come with her to the hospital. You didn’t just keel over and die after that. Something cold seized her heart as she thought for a moment that they’d meant to come out to tell her that something was wrong with Memo, because they shared the first letter of their names, before realising that she was the only one who called her grandmother Memo.
‘No,’ she said firmly. Her voice was sure, confident. She even looked around the room again – ready for Max to come up to them now, to make some joke that only he would understand about the mistaken identity.
‘What happened?’ Helen whispered to the doctor, and Josie jolted, turning her attention to Helen. Nothing happened, she wanted to tell Helen, because there was no way they were talking about Max.
‘He had a brain aneurysm. There was nothing we could do. He collapsed here, in the waiting room, but by the time we got him to—’
‘No,’ Josie repeated. But her voice sounded lumpy and wrong now.
The doctor looked directly at Josie now. ‘He would probably have got a bad headache at some point in the last few hours, but he would likely have thought nothing of it, because of the tumour.’
Headache. That one thing, that one word, made everything feel distant. Her ears were ringing and the words the doctor was saying faded to nothing. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, it was some horrible nightmare – maybe she was still back at the cottage, maybe she’d never woken and was still asleep in Max’s arms right now.
Helen’s grip was vicelike on Josie’s arm. Josie didn’t notice that the doctor had walked away to give them space until she saw her on the other side of the room. She blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus as Helen steered her to a chair, made her sit down.
‘Brain tumour?’ Josie repeated thickly. It didn’t make sense; it wouldn’t fit together in Josie’s mind, like pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t jam together no matter how hard you tried.
Helen was crying. Helen was crying. Josie watched the tears fall onto the top of her lip, watched her wipe them away with her sleeve. Those tears didn’t look real, either. ‘He had cancer, Josie,’ Helen said, her voice choked.
‘No, he didn’t.’ Because Josie would have known, wouldn’t she? That wasn’t the type of thing you just didn’t tell someone.
‘It was terminal. A brain tumour. He was expecting to . . .’
‘No.’ But the pressure behind her eyes, in her throat, was building. ‘He would have told me.’
‘I think he was going to,’ she said softly.
‘How do you know this?’ Josie demanded.
‘He told me,’ Helen said, her voice hitching.
Josie shook her head. That didn’t make sense. Why would he tell Helen, and not her? ‘But they said aneurysm.’ It was all she could do – focus on the straight facts, on what had been explicitly said. Because it didn’t make sense. Where was he now? Where was he? If he was really dead, then why were they telling her out here? Why not take her to him, let her see for herself?
‘I know. And he couldn’t have known about that, from what the doctor said – they come about very suddenly. So I don’t think he was expecting it to happen . . . now.’ Josie was shaking her head, over and over, the room swirling out of focus again. ‘Look,’ said Helen, clearly making an effort to sound more like her usual self, for whatever good that would do, ‘stay here, I’ll go and find out the details.’ Josie looked at her. She didn’t want details. The details didn’t matter, not if it was true.
But instead, she just said, ‘Ok.’ Her voice sounded numb, cold and empty. It didn’t sound like hers, just as her body, in that moment, didn’t feel as if it belonged to her.
‘And we need to call . . .’ Helen looked at Josie, shook her head, blinked back tears. ‘I’ll sort it. I’ll come back. This isn’t . . .’ But she didn’t finish. She just squeezed Josie’s shoulder so hard that it hurt, though Josie was grateful for that, because then all she had to do was focus on that one part of her, on the dull pain there, instead of on how she felt like she was being ripped apart, like parts of her body were attacking one another.
It wasn’t real. It was all she could think as she watched Helen at the desk, speaking to the receptionist, then searching for something in her handbag. Max wasn’t dead. Her grandmother . . . her grandmother had been the one who was ill, not Max. Surely he couldn’t have had a tumour, couldn’t have hidden that from her. How had this happened in a matter of moments? She felt she should be crying, screaming, shouting, demanding answers, but instead her body seemed to be slowly shutting down the more she thought about it, so that she couldn’t so much as blink.
When Helen came back to her, Josie saw that she was clutching something in her right hand. A letter, Josie noticed dimly.
Helen sat down next to her, rested one hand on her shoulder, and lifted the letter in another. ‘He gave me this to give to you,’ she said softly. Josie shook her head, but she took it when Helen pressed it on her, only noticing when she saw the paper shaking that her hand was trembling. She set it down in her lap, stared at it. Her name was on the front, in Max’s handwriting. Josie.
Josie looked back at Helen, shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
Helen’s eyes were wet, her chin was wobbling. ‘He rang me,’ she said softly. ‘To explain everything, and to ask my advice.’ She took a breath. ‘I suggested waiting until after Memo got a bit better, because I was worried how you’d handle it, but I . . .’ She hitched in a breath. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling.’
Josie wished she wouldn’t say it. I’m sorry. She knew first-hand why people said that, what it meant.
‘Can I get you anything?’ Helen asked.
‘Water,’ Josie croaked, not because she wanted it but because she wanted to be alone right now. Helen nodded and got to her feet. Josie watched her cross the waiting room, then looked back at the letter in her hand. But she didn’t open it. Because if she opened it, she knew, then that would make it real.