Heartbeat Away (14 page)

‘We can move the furniture back in a couple of hours when it's dry,' he says.

‘Great. But I don't want it all where it was before,' I say urgently.

Joe glances at me warily. ‘Right. Want to tell me why not?'

I shrug and force a smile. ‘I . . . I just need things to be different.'

Mum isn't too pleased that Joe and I have repainted my room and she tells us both off.

‘At least you've done a proper job this time,' she says finally, glaring at Joe.

But her anger doesn't bother me. I'm desperate to stop thinking about Callum. I need to flush him out of my mind. If I cut out everything in my life connected to him, then just maybe I can loosen his hold on me.

Although I'm tired, I go to bed late but have another nightmare. I'm in that dark, confined space again, surrounded by strangers. This time I can feel Callum's presence. He's here with me and I'm frightened. I must be yelling in my sleep, because the next thing I know I open my eyes to see Mum.

‘Becky, it's all right. You're OK.'

I peer around the room. Everything is as it should be yet I still feel this horrible sense of impending danger.

‘You were dreaming, Becky. Just dreaming,' says Mum,
stroking my hair. ‘I told Joe it wasn't a good idea for you to sleep in this room for a day or two. There's still a paint smell. I'm not surprised you were having a nightmare.'

But the smell of paint has nothing to do with it. I'm sure that somehow I have to do more to disconnect myself from Callum, to cut away as many links to him as I can. There'll be no more trips to the park. And somehow I'm going to have to try to blank out the visions of his memories.

I know what else I have to do but it takes me all the next morning to pluck up the willpower to do it.

‘Sam?' I sit on the stairs holding the phone to my ear, dreading the sound of his voice.

‘Hey, Becky!' he replies and my heart misses a beat. I really don't want to do this.

‘What you up to?' he asks.

‘Not much.' I desperately want to delay the moment for as long as possible.

‘Me neither . . . Want to meet up?'

I take a deep breath, shut my eyes then force myself to say the lines I've been rehearsing for the last three hours. I can hear my voice – wooden and unreal as if it belongs to someone else.

‘Sam. I'm sorry, I can't see you today . . .'

‘Oh.' He sounds disappointed. ‘Saturday, then?'

‘No. I can't.'

There's a pause down the line, then he says, ‘You OK? You sound upset.'

I try to reply but my voice won't obey me. No words come out.

‘Becky?' he asks again. ‘What's wrong?'

‘I'm sorry,' I blurt out. ‘I can't see you on Saturday or any other day. I'm not going to see you again.'

‘But . . . I thought . . . we . . .' his voice trails away. ‘Why?'

‘I just can't.' Tears well up in my eyes.

‘You got another boyfriend or something?'

Another
boyfriend
? I feel a short-lived stab of joy as I realise he feels we're more than just friends. I want to tell him right here and now that I feel the same. But I don't. Instead I make myself repeat like a stupid robot, ‘I'm sorry I can't see you again.'

‘What have I done?' He sounds really upset. I'm hurting him and I hate myself for it.

‘Nothing.' I reply quickly. ‘You haven't done anything.'

‘Then what's wrong?' He waits for my answer.

‘It's Callum,' I say finally.

‘What do you mean, Callum?'

‘I don't want to know anything else about him or what happened to him.'

‘Well . . . we don't have to talk about Callum.' His voice sounds hoarse. ‘I don't understand.'

‘He's always here between us. It's you, me . . . and him. I can't handle it any more. I'm sorry —' I bite my lip to try to stop the tears that are rolling down my face.

‘Becky —'

‘I've got to go now . . . Sam, I'm so sorry.' I don't wait to hear his reply. I put down the phone feeling completely and utterly desolate.

Knowing I'm never going to see Sam again is pretty much like the end of everything, but I still manage to convince myself that this is the only way to break free from Callum.

Although neither Mum nor Joe say anything to me about Sam, they both know something has happened.

‘Why don't you give Leah a call?' Mum suggests. ‘Get her round for the evening if she's not over at her auntie's. We've got that new DVD and I'll make you some popcorn.'

‘No, thanks, Mum.'

‘Gran said Jake's mum told her that a whole bunch from your class are going ice-skating tomorrow evening,' she persists. ‘You could go too.'

No, I really couldn't, I think. No one from my class would want me with them after what happened with Shannon. But I don't tell Mum this.

In the end, I retreat to my room and spend the evening trying not to think about either Sam or Callum.

My head's hurting with the effort of it all, and I feel so
worn out that I go to bed at nine. I sleep badly, as both Sam and Callum continue to haunt me in dark and frightening dreams. I haven't managed to escape either of them.

It must be late in the morning when Danny charges into my room.

‘Aren't you ever getting up?' he yells.

‘No . . .' I mutter, my head pounding and my whole body aching. It's too much effort to try and look at the clock or him so I don't move. My throat has closed up as if I've swallowed a sheet of sandpaper.

‘Come on, Becky – we're going to Gran's in half an hour.'

I groan and roll over.

‘Mum,' I hear Danny call, ‘Becky says she's not ever getting up.'

‘Don't be daft, Danny,' I hear her reply.

She comes into the room, takes one look at me, feels my forehead with her incredibly cool fingers then disappears. She reappears seconds later, holding a thermometer, which she gently pops into my mouth. I'm too tired to object. After a while, she takes it out and peers at it. I can tell by her frown it isn't good news.

‘A hundred and two,' she says, stroking my hair back away from my face. ‘I'm going to ring Dr Sampson's secretary.'

Two hours later, I'm lying on a bed in an outpatients' room at the hospital, wired up and undergoing a battery of tests. A nurse has already taken at least a gallon of blood and is hovering like a vampire, ready to take more. Dr Sampson is explaining to Mum that they're going to keep me in, just to be on the safe side.

‘Don't worry, Becky,' Mum tells me, her face white, ‘everything's going to be just fine.'

‘What's happening?'

She hesitates before she speaks. ‘They think you might have an infection.'

From then on, things start to get hazy. It seems that I'm being constantly poked and prodded, when all I want is to shut my eyes and go to sleep.

‘We just have to get the balance right,' I hear a nurse telling Mum. ‘Too much and they'll lower the levels of the immunosuppressants, and we don't want that . . .'

Even in my semi-conscious state, I don't need to ask why. I know that, without my immune system being suppressed, my body will start to reject my heart.

I don't remember much about the next few days. There are vague things I can recall – but whether I'm dreaming or they're real, I can't tell. Often, Mum is at my bedside, asleep or reading, then seconds later, before I can say anything, she'll be replaced by Joe. It's annoying the way people come and go so speedily. Why can't they just stay still for a minute or two? What's the rush?

Over the continual beeping, sometimes there are voices – calm, businesslike mumblings that run over me like a stream burbling over pebbles. People call my name, but never seem interested in waiting long enough for me to answer. Once or twice I do try to reply, but I'm shocked to discover that my body no longer seems to belong to me. It's merely a container for my thoughts, a hollow shell that has no ability to do as I ask.

Time is running on different tracks, it no longer obeys normal rules but enjoys doing its own thing and confusing the hell out of me. I'm sure at one point I see Sam, standing
behind the partition glass looking in at me. I definitely must be dreaming – I've treated him so badly, he's the last person I deserve to see . . . but the one I most desperately want. If only I could reverse time, and take back what I said. Make things right again.

And then, without warning he's gone. I'm plunged into complete darkness, and find myself drifting alone in a great black space, a universe without stars. All hope has vanished. I'm everywhere and nowhere. The emptiness is suffocating and yet I know I have chosen it. This is where I wanted to be.

As I float on endlessly, a tiny and insignificant speck of dust in the vast and overwhelming darkness, I hear a voice, clearly and distinctly speak directly to me.

‘Everything's spangles,' it says.

‘It's good to see you, Becky.'

I force my eyes open and, blinking through heavy lashes, see Dr Sampson standing by the side of my bed.

He smiles. ‘That was a pretty close call, young lady,' he says quietly. ‘You had us all a little worried for a while.'

Mum steps forward. ‘How are you feeling, Becky?' she asks.

I give her the edited version. ‘Not brilliant.'

‘Your body's had a very good attempt at rejecting your new heart, but I think we've managed to get things under control . . . for now,' says Dr Sampson. ‘It'll be a few more days before you feel back to normal, but thankfully, you're on the mend.'

I do start to feel better, but I still have to stay in hospital for the rest of the week. Joe says it's a shame that I'm missing school and ‘all my friends', but to be honest it's a huge relief not to be going back for a while.

The following day, the nurses encourage me to get up and walk around. I wander down the corridor, past the battered
vending machine where Alice and I bought hot chocolate drinks. The machine has an out of order sign slapped on it. Typical. I smile and think about Alice, deciding she's probably out on her favourite horse right now, galloping merrily through some field or other.

I turn to go and see Natalie come out of the playroom with a small pale-looking boy.

‘Well, you certainly look a lot better!' she says, a huge grin spreading over her face. I give a little shrug.

‘I feel better,' I tell her, realising that for once I'm not making this up.

‘That's great. You'll be home before you know it.'

‘How did Alice get on?' I ask. ‘She was itching to get out of the asylum, last time I saw her. I've tried texting and ringing her, but she hasn't replied.'

Natalie glances at me then turns to the little boy. ‘Go and get that story you wanted and I'll come and read it to you in a minute . . .' she tells him, and he pads back into the playroom.

‘Alice didn't make it, Becky,' says Natalie softly.

‘What d'you mean?' I ask, blankly.

‘We discovered she needed another heart but there wasn't one available. We tried to keep her going in the hope we'd get a donor.' Natalie takes my hand and holds it gently. ‘She died in hospital just over a week ago.'

I stare at her in complete shock. ‘No. That can't be right,' I say, forcing a small laugh. ‘Not Alice . . . What about her riding? She was going to be a riding instructor. It was all planned. She told me.'

‘Dr Sampson did everything he could but we ran out of time.'

It takes the whole day for what Natalie said to fully sink in. Alice was so full of life, it seems totally impossible she could die. The last time we met, she told me they were repeating her tests. I wonder if she knew then that she was in trouble, and the grin on her face masked how she was really feeling.

Tears well up in my eyes as I think how Alice lived every single second of the extra time she was given. I can't say the same about me.

It's late. As I lie in the hospital bed, I make a vow that things are going to be different from now on. I've just had a very close shave but, unlike Alice, I've survived. I've been given another chance. And then it dawns on me. The only way I'm ever going to be able to truly live my life is if I face my fears. All of them. And that means finding out the truth about Callum.

‘Sam . . . it's me . . . Becky.'

I can hear the tremor in my voice and I grip the phone tighter. What if he won't speak to me? Doesn't want anything more to do with me? It's no more than I deserve, I think bitterly. I shut my eyes, anticipating the worst.

‘Becky?'

I try to analyse the tone of that one word. Is he angry?

‘Are you still at the hospital?'

Not anger. Fear.

‘No . . . I'm home.'

He knows? But how?

I force my voice to sound normal. ‘I got home a few days ago.' And I've been thinking about you every single minute since, I want to add, but don't.

‘I came round your house last week – your little brother told me where you were. I went to see you but they wouldn't let me in.'

My heart leaps a beat. He cares.

‘Are you OK now?'

‘Yes. I'm back at school on Monday.' I take a deep breath. He cares, but is it too late? Have I already hurt him too much? Have I ruined everything? ‘I'm so sorry.' A lump forms in my throat.

There's a long pause. I get ready to say a brief goodbye and to put down the phone.

‘I've missed you,' I hear him say, finally.

The lump in my throat melts like ice cream on a hot summer's day. Suddenly I'm floating on air. ‘I've missed you too.'

‘They said you'd nearly died.'

The line goes quiet.

‘Sam?'