Saving Amy (43 page)

“We’ll meet you there,” Richard said to the doctor as the paramedics began the process of my wheeling my dad out the door on the gurney they strapped the white board to.

“It’s not safe for you to drive until you’ve been checked over.” Richard started to protest but the doctor talked over him. “I’ve called in the QRV to pick you both up. I’ve also redirected the police to the hospital.” Richard nodded and everyone left, leaving just me, Richard and a quivering Joanna.

I started to wonder if I’d ever see my dad again. I felt an inexplicable pang of sadness that I might not and I couldn’t even begin to understand why.

“Amy, look at me,” Richard said softly. And so I did. It was only then that I witnessed blood congealing around the base of his nose, and the finger shaped bruises marking his neck. I realised that was because this was the first time I’d actually looked at him. Before now, my eyes refused to shift from my dying father.

“Oh, Richard,” I whimpered as I traced my finger along the marbled bruises, “I’m so sorry.”

A fire of guilt ignited in my stomach. I felt so responsible. He was
my
father after all, and it was
me
he wanted – not Richard.

“Don’t you
dare
apologise for him!” Richard ordered sternly, making me shrink back a little. “I’m fine. It’s nothing a splash of cold water won’t sort out,” he assured – his voice hoarse but tender.

“Can you wiggle your fingers?” he asked, switching his attention back to my ballooning hand.

“Ow!” I shook my head when I realised that I couldn’t.

“I think it’s broken…”

“Richard I-” Joanna’s snivelling voice surprised us both and our necks jerked towards her at the same time. “I had no idea things were this bad.” She bowed her head, her cheeks burning with shame.

“Funny that, because I remember telling you
exactly
how bad things were,” Richard snapped, shooting Joanna with a look of pure revulsion.

“I thought… I thought you were just making excuses for
her
.”

I bit my top lip to stifle an inopportune giggle at just how fucking pathetic she was. Richard glowered at her but I couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. Anger? Hurt? Both?

“I’m sorry,” Joanna tacked on. It was worth shit to me, but then I doubted it was me she was saying it to.

“Just leave, Joanna. There’s nothing left for you to destroy here.”

Tears welled up around Joanna’s hazel eyes, making them glimmer like glass. She nodded once, defeated and ashamed, then picked up her black leather bag from the floor and turned to leave.

“For what it’s worth, I really
am
sorry,” she declared as she reached the other side of the doorjamb. As much as I didn’t want to, I believed her.

She’s still a total bitch,
my subconscious sneered and I didn’t hesitate to agree.

As Joanna left, two paramedics entered – they must have crossed in the hallway.
How the fuck are all these people managing to just waltz up here without being buzzed in?
I dismissed the thought as quick as it appeared, realising not only did I not have the capacity in my brain for it, but that I didn’t actually care either.

The paramedics – one short man with more hair on his chin than his head, and one woman with bright red hair scraped into a bun – checked
me and Richard
over in turn. When they’d finished their prodding and poking, Richard helped me to my feet – the pain rendering me breathless again – and we followed them out to the red and white SUV.

A
lthough neither of us
were
admitted, by the time Richard and I had finished being patched up it was almost morning. I had my first broken hand and second cracked rib – all gifts from my father, and I was now the proud owner of a strapped hand – bound tightly with tan bandages and two wooden splints securing my fingers together.

A box of chocolates really would have sufficed,
I thought – trying to make light of the situation. Because if I didn’t, I would cry – and I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to stop.

“I have some news about your father,” Richard said cautiously upon his return from getting his nose fixed. It was starting to turn blue and he had two little white strips hugging the bridge. “Do you want to hear it?”

I swallowed back the choking lump swelling in my throat and nodded slowly, unsure I was making the right decision but knowing I would have to find out sooner or later.

“He has a pulmonary embolism, and given the fact he’s been suffering from coronary heart disease for the last few years, his heart is too weak to endure surgery.”

What? My dad’s been sick for years?
I was surprised I didn’t know this. Then I was surprised that I was surprised.
Why would I know?
I didn’t know anything about my father.

“Preliminary what? What does that mean? Is he…
dying?
” The word stung more than I thought it would. More than it
should
.

“Sorry…
Pulmonary
embolism – it means a blood clot has formed in his veins and migrated to his lung, blocking the main artery there. Amy, he doesn’t have long.” Richard cupped my face, assessing it with his concerned eyes. “Are you alright? You’re as white as a sheet.”

“I-I
don’t
know.” I thought I felt sad, but I couldn’t determine if that was because I really was sad, or I just thought I should be. “Is he awake? I’d like to see him.” Richard furrowed his eyebrows and stared at me intently – as if I’d lost my marbles. “It’s not like he can hurt me is it?”

I couldn’t blame him for being anxious or confused. Even
I
didn’t really know why I wanted to see him. I’d hated him for as long as I could remember and possibly even before that. But as crazy as it sounds, he was my dad… and he was
dying.

“Well, he’s drifting in and out of consciousness. I can’t guarantee he’ll be able to hear you.”

“That’s okay. I’m not planning on talking to him.”

“Then,
why?
” he asked incredulously. I shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I know I’ll never get another chance.” Richard nodded, trying and failing to understand. Then he pulled me into his chest and kissed my hair.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Two strong black coffees and a few crumbs of burnt toast later, I was ready to see my dad for the last time. Richard led me up three floors in an elevator and then down two corridors to the Critical Care Unit.

“After you,” he said, holding open the heavy green door to my dad’s bay.

“I’d rather do this alone, if you don’t mind,” I said sensitively, certain I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together with Richard in such close proximity. Richard’s forearm was being graced with a good old rubbing and I knew he was about to disapprove.

“I don’t know, Amy. I’m just not comfortable with you being alone with him.”

“Richard, he’s unconscious… he can’t hurt me,” I reassured, placing a hand on each of his shoulders and stepping up on my tiptoes so our eyes were almost level.

“Okay,” he shrugged in defeat, tracing the fresh bruise under my eye with his fingers. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” I nodded gently and then brushed his lips with mine, giving him a meaningful kiss bursting with a thousand different emotions – love, gratitude, fear, hope…

Using the weight of my entire tiny body to push open the heavy door I didn’t realise I was holding my breath until the door slammed loudly behind me, startling my lungs back into action. I closed my eyes before I looked at him, breathing deeply, forcefully, through pursed lips as I tried to psyche myself up. Knowing that time was against me and unable to procrastinate any longer, I peeled my eyes open.

He looked so small, so frail – like his body had literally shrunk as it prepared to die. It was almost comforting to see him so vulnerable – stripped of all his menace and power. His skin was a deathly shade of grey. It was rugged and withered, as if all the moisture was evaporating along with his life. He was hooked up with tubes and wires to a whole host of different machines, all purring and beeping in sync with each other like they were in a band.

I edged closer to the bed and stared at his chest, watching as it struggled to rise and fall. I wasn’t sure what I felt. I wasn’t sure what I
should
feel. I started to wonder what he was like as a child. What could have happened to make him who he was? Maybe he was just born that way. Could people be born evil?

Accepting that I would probably never find my answers my thoughts moved on to what
my
life could have been like if he’d have been different – if he’d loved me. Would I be sitting on the edge of his bed right now, crying as I clutched his hand and praying to some higher being for just a little more time with him?

Numb. That’s what I felt. Empty.

I didn’t know why but I felt an overwhelming urge to touch him. It was mainly curiosity I think - wondering what it would feel like for his skin to
touch
mine, rather than slamming into it, or grabbing it, or twisting it…

Cautiously, I grazed the skin over his knuckles with my thumb. It felt so much softer than I thought it would. I recalled how that same skin felt when it rammed into my face, my ribs or my stomach… It felt so much firmer, so much rougher when it struck you with such speed. My whole body shivered at the unwanted memories and when I felt tears clawing at the back of my eyes I turned to leave, having accomplished nothing.

“Amelia? Is that you?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My heart stopped. My feet melted into the floor. My stomach churned.
Fuck.

“Amelia?” His voice was a hoarse, rasping whisper. Hesitantly, I turned to face him.

“Yes. It’s me.” Fear pooled in my stomach even though I knew he couldn’t hurt me – physically at least.

I waited anxiously for a reply but after a single weak nod I got nothing more. It infuriated me.
What does he want? Should I ask him? Should I leave?
And then, completely unplanned and out of the blue, my mouth opened in preparation to speak words my brain hadn’t even thought of yet.

“Dad, did you
ever
love me?”

An intense silence followed and the faint bleeps of the machines pounded like thunder in my ears. I didn’t know if it was because he was thinking or he was dying but his response seemed to take hours.

“I don’t know
how
to love, Amelia,” he croaked, never opening his eyes.

The words scraped at my heart, ripping it to shreds. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel responsible. It wasn’t me – I didn’t push him too far or not try hard enough to be a good girl. I wasn’t such a bad kid that I made it impossible for him to love me… It was
him
. It was always him. He was broken…

I closed my burning eyes in an effort to stem the river of tears. But as I did the machines surrounding my dad roared to life, flashing and buzzing to their own raucous melody. Seconds later a swarm of white coats and blue scrubs burst into the room, shouting unintelligible medical terminology and flocking towards my dad’s bed like flies on shit.

A man in a blue scrubs pulled a lever which instantly flattened my dad’s bed with an almighty crash and then he tipped my dad’s head back and prized his mouth open.

“You need to wait outside,” a woman who I didn’t bother to look at said to me, nudging me towards the door. I did as I was told, pausing at the door to take one last look at my dad as his wretched life slipped away from him– knowing it would be the last time I ever did. Then I heaved open the double doors and flew into Richard’s arms.

We didn’t speak. Richard brought me into his chest and cradled my head against his shoulder. I could feel his heartbeat fluttering against my chest, just as fast and erratic as mine. There were muffled voices and machines singing behind the door of my dad’s room… and then it fell silent.

This is it. He’s dead. My father is dead.

The heavy green door squealed in
protest
as it scraped open against the floor. I eased myself out of Richard’s grasp and shot my gaze towards a man in a white overcoat
who
had just stepped out.

“Simon?” Richard said, speaking the doctor’s name like it was a question. The doctor – Simon – shook his head, bowing it slightly, respectfully.

I let out an involuntary gasp and threw my hand over my mouth.

“I’m very sorry,” Simon said automatically and then disappeared down the corridor.

I felt…
devastated.
And I hated myself for it. Tears sprung from my eyes, washing over the fresh bruises inflicted by the man I was mourning for. I rubbed frantically at my cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears before they even fell.

“It’s okay, Amy. Everything’s okay,” Richard whispered as he attempted to wrap his arms around me. I batted them away with my tear soaked hands.

“It’s not okay!” I snapped. “That man has destroyed my life. He stole my childhood. He tortured me until I didn’t want to live anymore. And now he’s dead and I’m upset! I’m actually fucking sad because he’s dead! How is that okay?”

I was full on hysterical. My chest was tight.
My pulse racing.
I couldn’t breathe…