The police were encouraging the media interest, hoping for leads. Alex felt they were useless; they had got nowhere so far. He thought they were probably keeping their fingers crossed that the publicity would outrage the friends and relatives of the perpetrators and thus do their job for them.
Each day this journey was getting more and more difficult to make. He didn’t know what to say to Amy, or to Amy’s parents, or especially to Amy in front of her parents. Ray seemed to avoid looking at him; Amy too sometimes, and even when she did, he couldn’t read her expression. Was it a plea? For what? Action? Compassion? Something he needed to do…?
When he arrived, Amy was resting, her skin grey against the white sheets. He took up his position in this excruciating daily tableau – on another hard plastic chair brought in for the extra visitor, which he moved to the window. He was sick of these four walls and their minimal furnishings, the beige linoleum.
Amy’s parents were either side of her bed: her mother sewing; her father dozing. Each time Amy woke up they all jumped to attention, and Alex could see in her eyes how awful she found it. What else should they do? he thought. Ignore her? Sing and dance for her? He had no fucking idea at all. He wished someone would give him some kind of clue.
In the past couple of days, Amy had not been as sedated, and so when she was awake they all watched TV. Heaps of it. Hours and hours of shitty TV, so they didn’t have to talk – Alex couldn’t tell whether that little box in the corner was a blessing or a curse.
As Amy was asleep this morning, he flicked idly through an old magazine that was on her bedside table, presumably left by a hospital worker. It was full of pretty dresses and anxious headlines: model can’t cope; actress can’t have a baby; alcoholic sports star shames his wife again. He didn’t feel a jot of sympathy for any of them.
He had returned to gazing out the window when a doctor poked his head in, saw Amy was asleep and said ‘A word?’, looking at each of them. Amy’s parents quickly jumped up and headed out, not looking back. The door swung shut behind them. Alex took it that he was not welcome.
They were alone. He went over to the bed, pulled up a chair and leaned forward, peering at Amy’s face. He reached out his hand and, as softly as he could, stroked her hair, her brow, then her cheek. Her eyes remained closed, but a single tear escaped from beneath one of them and quickly ran towards his hand. He stopped it, held his fingers still, and Amy opened her eyes.
‘Hello.’ He smiled at her.
‘Hello,’ she whispered, watching him.
Quickly, not knowing how much of this precious time he had, he reached into his bag and pulled out Bug-Eye, the weird gecko toy he’d bought Amy as a joke in Thailand, knowing how cute she found the tiny real-life counterparts that stuck themselves to the hostel walls in the evenings. He tried not to remember how her eyes had lit up with laughter when he had given it to her, for now she could barely raise a smile, let alone one that reached her eyes.
‘This little guy got left behind,’ he told her, waving the toy at her as though she were a child, not telling her that he’d gone to sleep holding it on a few occasions to try to feel close to her.
She took the toy and looked at it for a moment, managing a weak smile, then said, ‘Alex…’
‘What is it?’ He leaned towards her.
Her gaze moved to meet his. ‘You don’t have to stay.’
‘What?’ He recoiled as though she had just spat in his face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This…’ A weak arm came up and gestured around the room. ‘It must be awful for you.’
‘Well, not as awful as it is for you.’
‘Use your plane ticket tomorrow – go home. I’ll be home soon. Don’t miss out on Christmas with your family.’
‘Amy, I…’
‘Al, go home. Mum and Dad are here now… I don’t need…’
She cut the sentence short, but he had no doubt about which word she had faltered at.
‘Okay,’ he said, getting up, heading over to grab his things. ‘I see.’
He could hear her ragged breathing, and, just for a moment, he looked at her face. The appeal in it was plain.
‘This is silly, Amy. Do you want me to stay?’
She shook her head, still crying silently.
He couldn’t bear this. ‘For CHRIST’s -’
The door opened and Amy’s parents were back. Amy’s mother looked alarmed to find Alex yelling at her daughter. Amy’s father’s face instantly clouded with anger. Before either of them could do any more, Alex grabbed his things, and without a word or a look at anybody, he walked out the door.
47
Amy was in turmoil. She loved Alex so desperately, but now she was not the same. He hadn’t changed; but she had transformed. She was ugly and scarred. He didn’t love this girl – how could he, he didn’t even know her. At the moment he was just holding out, hoping that the woman he knew was still there somewhere. But Amy was certain that person was gone for good.
So she had thought, perhaps I should let him go for good too. Better he leaves and I can make our happiness into a dearly held dream, than he stays and I watch his love for me gradually wither and die.
She had thought all this, and yet watching him leave, upset and angry, sent a fresh pain through her, overwhelming her aching body. She would have called out, but the appearance of her parents made her pause, and then he was gone.
Her father smiled at her as though he hadn’t noticed Alex’s swift departure. ‘I have good news,’ he said, coming across to her bedside and taking her hand.
‘What is it?’ she asked. She couldn’t imagine what it might be, but she longed to hear it.
‘They say you’re healing well. You can be discharged in a couple of days.’
‘Oh.’
She hadn’t really contemplated leaving the hospital – her thoughts had been focused on all she had lost, her past life and her future one, her dimorphic existence, not the progression of the current days and hours, which seemed unbearably long and pointless.
Noting her lack of enthusiasm, her father said, ‘I’ve spoken to Thompson. They’re at a standstill. He says there’s no point us waiting here in case of arrest. We can always come back.’
Amy nodded, looking at Bug-Eye.
‘Where’s Alex gone?’ her mother asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, and burst into another interminable round of tears, feeling quite revolted at the sound of herself.
48
Mark had been silent for most of the drive so far. Chloe watched him as he concentrated on the road, and sighed inwardly. She couldn’t help but think that he was making it worse, for himself most of all. She was desperate to ease the atmosphere.
‘Mark, last weekend…’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he snapped.
‘But -’
‘Chloe, DON’T.’ She almost jumped in her seat. ‘What makes you think I want to relive any part of it?’
‘But it wasn’t that bad,’ she said meekly. ‘It was only -’
‘Bloody hell, Chloe!’ Mark roared. ‘Just leave it, will you.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Chloe capitulated. Then added snippily, ‘Just stop sulking then.’
But Mark didn’t respond to this, and the silence continued to pollute the car.