“Look, Aaron, I know it’s awful that Neville’s passed away…” I think about how many euphemisms there are for death and I wonder whether I’ve even heard half of them. “…but I don’t think sitting at home on your own is going to make you feel any better about it.”
I don’t say anything. She’s led me back to dangerous territory where we talk about feelings. I am not ready for feelings. I am not ready to feel them, let alone talk about them.
Mum calls from downstairs.
“I’ve got to go down for dinner,” I say, hoping she’ll take the hint.
HANNAH
I try and think what I can do to let him know that he can talk to me about it. That I’m here. Not just here in his room, but here in his life. I shuffle closer to him and go in for a hug, but it’s the worst thing I could have done. Aaron bends into me at the waist, but he’s stiff and cold and he doesn’t put his arms round me, just seems to wait until I’ve finished holding him before he springs back upright.
“How come you came over?”
“I wanted to see how you were.”
Aaron waves a hand at his clothing and hair.
“Do your parents know?”
Aaron says nothing.
“You haven’t told them?” That’s worrying, but I don’t want to sound judgemental. “Aaron, you can talk to me.”
“I am talking to you.”
“Mostly you’re just scowling over my shoulder at the stupid TV and waving your hands around. That’s not talking.”
“I’m sorry. My best friend just died. I’m not quite up to polite conversation.”
“I don’t want polite conversation.” I’m getting upset — not helped by the fact he just called Neville his best friend. What does that make me? “I just want conversation. With you. I’m worried about you.”
“Thanks for your concern.” He’s bitingly sarcastic. “I like the way it’s manifesting itself as being irritated with me — that’s really touching.”
I’m stunned at how mean he’s being. But he’s upset, he’s grieving, I’ve got to be patient with him. Which isn’t exactly something I’m known for. Aaron’s still looking over my shoulder and I can see that he’s tired. I wonder if he got a call in the middle of the night? Or was it the first thing he heard this morning? I want him to tell me what he’s thinking — if he wants to cry, go out, get wasted… I. Don’t. Know. And that’s the point. I want to. I want to do whatever it is he wants me to do.
I wish I was psychic.
AARON
Hannah is struggling at the end of the bed. I know she wants something from me, but I’ve nothing to give.
“Hannah, I’ve got to go down for dinner.”
She nods, and I hear her try and smother a sniff.
“Are you crying?”
“No.” She’s lying. I don’t even know why I asked. “I’m just sad about Neville.”
Her voice is husky with tears and when she looks up I can see them pooling in her eyes.
“Me too,” I say, but my words are hollow. They sound like lines I’m reading from a play. They aren’t connected with anything that’s going on inside me.
“You can talk to me about it, you know. I’m here for you.”
She cares more about me sharing than she cares about me.
HANNAH
“Hannah, can’t you just let it go?” Aaron stands up. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not OK. I’m not even fucking close to being OK, but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it. Not to you, not to my parents, not to a mental health professional…”
His reaction strikes me dumb. Why is he so angry with me for caring?
“Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“No.” I surprise myself with my answer. “I can’t leave you alone, Aaron. I’m worried about you. I care about you. I want to help you when you need me most — the way you did for me.”
“Tit for tat?”
“No, that’s not what I meant—” But he’s not listening to me.
“Because it doesn’t have to be.”
“What do you mean?” I’m scared. A dead, dark feeling in my heart.
“If the price of being your hero is having you try to save me like this, then I resign.”
“Resign?” I whisper. I feel like I’ve lost control of everything that’s happening around me. Aaron’s unravelling and I can’t seem to grab the end of the string.
“I’m out. Done. Finished. Go find Jay and get him to do the honourable thing.” Aaron looks through me, his eyes hard and glassy. It’s like he’s someone else. “I’m not the hero you’re looking for, Hannah…” Aaron suddenly sits down on the bed, the heels of his hands pressing into his eye sockets. “I’m just not. You expect too much from me.”
“I don’t expect anything.” I move closer and crouch down in front of him, my hands reaching up to his…
“You expect me to let you in.” His hands open and he meets my gaze. My hands stop where they are.
“Is that so much to ask?” I’m pleading with him. I don’t want him to shut me out.
“Yes. It is.” He presses his hands back to his face. “Please. Leave me alone, Hannah. Please…”
AARON
When I take my hands away from my eyes, she’s gone — and she cannot see that I’m crying. For Neville. For Chris. For myself.
And when I slide down onto the floor and let go, I realize that I’m crying for Hannah because she thinks she’s lost me when she doesn’t know the first thing about loss.
HANNAH
I haven’t been sick the entire time I’ve been pregnant. Until now. I’m forced to do it over someone’s garden fence, but there isn’t much I can do about it, so I just hurry away, wiping my mouth and trying to get a grip on my tears.
Whoever was in that room wasn’t Aaron. Not my Aaron, not the Aaron who stood by me when Jay wouldn’t, not the Aaron who stopped Marcy in her tracks, who called Jay out for being a coward, who turned pretending into reality.
A fake father I can live without, but I’ve just lost my best friend and I don’t quite understand why.
TUESDAY 6TH APRIL
EASTER HOLIDAYS
HANNAH
Aaron hasn’t called. Three days. I want to break the deadlock, I want to call him, but the last thing he said was to leave him alone. This is what he wants from me and I’m trying to do it. I’m trying to be his hero, even if it means crying myself to sleep every night with worry.
Mum asked if he was coming today, but I said I didn’t think so. The date’s been on our calendar for ever, but I hadn’t mentioned it to him. I wasn’t sure whether we’d still be living the lie we created by the time I went to check out the birth centre at the hospital. Did I think I’d have come clean about Jay? That he’d have done it for me?
That would have been very stupid of me.
This place seems all right, although I’m a bit put off by what sounds like a cow mooing in one of the rooms down the hall. When I look at Mum, she pretends that she can’t hear it. Instead she makes a fuss of reading out every leaflet she can find on the table, bamboozling me with questions:
Do I want a water birth? (Erm…)
Or do I want an epidural? (Now you’re talking.)
Do I want to be on the ward or in my own room? (Surely the answer to that is obvious?)