What My Best Friend Did (3 page)

I take a deep breath and try to calm down. “It’s not me. I’ve brought Gretchen in.”

“Oh God,” Frances snorts. “You poor thing! Your friends are such drama queens. You’re too nice for your own good, Alice,you really are. I take it this is some sort of alcohol-related injury you’re having to supervise?”

“Kind of. I went around to her flat earlier this evening and—” I suddenly really want to tell her. I am, however, interrupted by a thin wail in the background.

“Oh I don’t believe it!” Frances says. “He’s awake. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You promise me you’re all right, Al?”

The crying in the background becomes louder, with renewed vigor—it’s a lusty, determined demand for attention and I can’t help but feel a moment of respect for my tiny, no doubt scarlet-faced, nephew.

“How the hell can you be awake already?” Frances says in disbelief. “I only fed you fifteen minutes ago.” She lets out a heavy, desperate sigh.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Fran,” I insist, “I’m fine. I can deal with this. You go.”

“If you’re sure?” I can hear the relief in her voice. “What’s happened to Gretchen anyway?”

Freddie cranks up the volume to a level that could break glass.

“Nothing, nothing major. I’ll call you later if I need to.”

“Just try Mum, OK?” she says guiltily. “She’ll know what to do. They might be back by now. If you get her, tell her to call me when you’re done, all right?”

“OK,” I say dully, a fresh tear trickling down my cheek, and then she hangs up without even saying good-bye. I want to dial her back straightaway and say, “Actually, I do need you. I’m frightened, Fran!” Instead, I dial my parents and begin to walk slowly down to the main doors. But just as Frances said, it rings and rings before eventually going to answerphone.

So I dial my younger brother Phil’s number. If he’s at home, he can go downstairs and tell them to plug the phone back in, that I want to speak to them. I suddenly very urgently need to talk to Mum or Dad—have someone tell me this is going to be all right because—

“This is Phil. I can’t come to the phone right now, I’m probably busy. And by busy, I mean out. And by out I mean having a smoke. You can leave a message, but no promises, all riiittttteeee?”

For a moment I can see exactly how Phil can drive my dad into a rage in under five seconds flat. What kind of recorded message is that, given that prospective graduate employers might be calling him? He won’t even get an interview, never mind a job. I just hang up and drop my phone into my bag in defeat.

I glance desperately up at the black sky and try to calm myself down. There are no stars, and no navigation lights of planes visible either. I can hear one, distantly buried in the thick cloud above my head. I can’t see it, but I wish I were on it, going somewhere, anywhere, away from here.

I bring my head down and look at my watch. Has it been twenty minutes yet? Tom must be nearly here by now. Could he have parked and slipped in another door? Perhaps he’s up there already. I don’t want him walking into Gretchen’s room on his own.

I hurriedly clatter up the disabled ramp leading to the ER, arms tightly wrapped around myself. The persistent wind is managing to bite at my very bones, but before I can plunge back into the stifling warmth of the hospital, the mechanism of the automatic double doors yanks into action and a mother and daughter begin to slowly hobble through. I have to stand to one side to let them pass. The daughter supports the mother, who leans heavily on her and a crutch. She’s perspiring with the effort, even though it’s freezing, and is clutching furiously at her daughter’s hand. I glance at her heavily bandaged foot and notice two unattractive purple toes peeking out at the top, adorned with fat blobs of coral polish. “Well done, Mum,” the daughter says kindly. “Dad’s just bringing the car around. Nearly there.”

The mother glances up to thank me for waiting and her eyes widen briefly as she takes me in. I catch sight of my reflection in the glass and raise a hand self-consciously to my jaw, twisting my face slightly so I can get a better look. There is nothing obviously untoward, just my pale, makeup-smudged face; red eyes and nose attractively set off by my long, unstyled dark hair, but she’s right—I’m in a state. My baggy tracksuit bottoms and old hoodie top complete the look, but then, I thought I had a night in front of the TV ahead of me, not this.

I drop my head and dart past them as soon as I’m able to. Scanning the waiting room, I can see no sign of Tom, only a drunk verbally abusing the receptionist, so I step away hurriedly, moving toward the corridor that I think will lead me to the ICU.

But once I’m back up there, I pause outside the heavy doors leading on to the unit. He will be here by now, won’t he? I don’t want him in there without me, but I don’t want to sit waiting alone either.

The doors unexpectedly swing open, nearly hitting me as a doctor marches through with energy. “Sorry!” he says automatically, though he also frowns slightly as if he’s thinking, “Bloody stupid place to stand,” so I walk through. I can’t just stand there like a weirdo doing nothing.

The nurse looks up expectantly and then smiles with recognition as I enter the room. Tom is not there. I don’t look at Gretchen, just put my bag back under the chair and sink down on to it uncomfortably. As I wipe my nose, which is streaming from the cold outside, I wonder for a moment if the nurse can tell I’ve been crying. But she’d expect me to have been, wouldn’t she?

Eventually, after staring at the floor for what feels like forever,I shoot a glance at Gretchen. I can’t help it, I don’t want to, but she looks just the same as when I left. Calm and, ironically, untroubled—but equally, she looks sick, colorless. Once, I would have wanted her to be sitting up in bed, excited and shrieking, a wide smile across her face as I pushed her down the corridors, making doctors and nurses leap to safety as we hurtled past them. That couldn’t happen. Not now.

Oh, if I could go back and change it all, I would! I really, really would. I would give anything to be us just starting out again. I should have done what she asked, I know I should have. She needed me and I didn’t do it …

I can feel myself creasing and crumpling up inside. I’m scared and the chair suddenly feels like it’s shrinking under me—the whole room feels too small. Gretchen looks scarily fragile, vulnerable, and yet I am too terrified to touch her. My own friend.

I start to cry, and that is, unfortunately, how Tom finds me as he bursts into the room in a creased work suit, tie askew, shaken and breathless from having run in to find us.

H
e visibly blanches at the sight of Gretchen hooked up to all manner of machines and a drip. Literally stops in his tracks in the doorway, like Road Runner screeching to a halt.

The nurse opens her mouth to say something, but I’m too quick for her. The reassuring sight of someone so familiar to me is totally overwhelming, and through my tears I say, “Oh Tom! You’re here!” as I’m midway up and out of my chair. It scrapes back underneath me and the noise goes through all of our teeth, but I don’t care—I just fling myself into his arms so hard I almost knock him off his feet.

He automatically wraps his arms around me, hugs me. It’s tight and reassuring and he presses me very tightly to his chest. I can feel the shape of his pec muscles under his clothes and even though I want to stay there, because he’s hugging me so close, all I can breathe in is shirt, so reluctantly I pull back and, as I do,his arms loosen around me and drop to his side. I look up at him and he’s just staring at Gretchen, shocked rigid.

“What the hell has happened?” he whispers. All of his usual poise and calm seems to have drained away. “No one would tell me anything—I was terrified.”

I gulp and try to get myself under control as tears slip off my nose.

“What’s wrong?” he says, stunned, unable to take his eyes off her. And then he repeats himself. “What’s happened?”

I hesitate. I have to be really careful. “I got a call, I went around to the flat … There were pills everywhere and …” My voice dissolves into a mess of tears.

He pales and opens his mouth to speak, but the nurse gets there first.

“Can we take this outside?” she says firmly. “We don’t want to upset Gretchen.” And that freaks me out even more; Gretchen just lying there, listening to everything we’ve just said. I very willingly move quickly into the corridor and the nurse pushes the door closed behind us.

Tom waits and I try to explain again. “There were pills lying on the floor and—”

“What sort of pills?” he asks, like he’s already afraid of the answer.

I swallow and then clear my throat. “I don’t know. There was a bottle of whisky, mostly gone. I’ve no idea how many she took, she was unconscious.”

“Oh shit!” he says, stepping back and raking his fingers up through his hair. He takes another pointless step right and then back again. “Oh shit, Gretchen!”

“I called an ambulance,” I say quickly. “They arrived and said she was breathing. We went to the ER first and then they moved her here. She’s in a coma!”

Tom shakes his head lightly, as if he can’t quite absorb what I’m saying, as if it doesn’t make any sense at all.

“They won’t tell me any more until Bailey arrives.”

At the very sound of his name, a flash of intense dislike and anger flashes across Tom’s face.

“Do they know where he is?” he asks tightly. “Have they tried to call him?”

I nod. “Madrid—I’m pretty sure he’s on his way back though. He must be by now.”

“How did they know he was there?” Tom frowns.

“I told them,” I confess. “He called me earlier this evening. He was supposed to be going over to see Gretchen but he missed his flight or something. Or it got delayed, I don’t know. He called her to say he wasn’t going to make it and she was drunk, really drunk. He asked me if I’d go over and check on her after work. So I did …” I peter out. I’m feeling really hot again; I can feel sweat collecting and pooling on my spine and my top starting to stick to my back.

“And …?” he says, waiting.

I take a deep breath. “She was unconscious in the living room. It was pretty obvious what she’d done.”

“Shit!” Tom looks at me. “And they won’t tell us anything until he gets here?”

I shake my head. “Only stuff like, ‘she’s stable,’ that kind of thing. No detail.”

Tom looks furious. “But that’s absurd! Have you said that to them? What did they say?”

I feel sick. “I didn’t know what to say, Tom, I just came with her and …” I falter under his demanding gaze and raise a shaking hand up to my head. “I can’t think straight. It’s all happened very quickly and—”

“OK, OK—Alice, I’m sorry,” he cuts across me, stepping forward,taking my hand. “I didn’t mean to sound so fierce.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m just very fucking angry with him.”

He waits and I try to steady my breathing.

“Still …” He sighs, eventually. “At least she is stable.” Then he falls silent for a moment while he obviously toys with the unimaginable, horrific alternative, because seconds later he says, “We should be in there, with her,” and makes for the door.

“Just a minute,” I call, utterly desperate not to go back into that room now that I’m out of it. “I need a moment to get myself together.” I lean on the wall—well, it props me up, actually—and Tom waits heavily next to me, looking suddenly devastated and very confused.

“I can’t believe she did this,” he says. “I mean there were no signs, nothing at all. In fact she seemed”—he glances at me and picks his words carefully—“pretty happy. I’m sorry—is this too hard for you?”

Yes it is, it’s practically impossible. The most horrendous situation I’ve ever found myself in in my entire life.

I shake my head. “I’m OK,” I say, but the words are more of a whisper. I find that my head is starting to hang, my eyes fill again and I am weeping, tears splashing on the squeaky hospital floor. He moves to hug me, but a nurse turning into the corridor and approaching us distracts him. “Come on, Al,” he says as the nurse opens the door to Gretchen’s room and goes in. He leads and reluctantly I follow.

We are just starting slowly to pull up chairs, Tom staring at Gretchen, when the nurse who came in ahead of us, who is obviously quite senior and busily checking charts, remarks to her more junior colleague, “She keeps getting ectopics. Is she normally having that many?”

I lift my head and start to pay attention.

“I saw a few earlier but they’re becoming more frequent,” the junior says.

“Hmm. Keep an eye on that. What’s her potassium?”

“Three point one.”

Is that good or bad?

The senior nurse’s eyebrows flicker. “We need to top it up immediately. It’s on the chart, isn’t it?”

The junior nods and says, “I’ll go and get it.”

As she leaves the room, Tom shoots me a curious look and I shrug.

“Excuse me,” Tom begins to ask out loud, but he is cut short by an alarm starting to sound shrilly.

The senior nurse ignores him and moves quickly around to Gretchen, pushing past Tom, making him yank his chair back. She reaches for Gretchen’s neck and I realize she is checking her pulse. My own responds by increasing rapidly.

I look up urgently and see a green line going manic on a monitor; it’s spiking about crazily—but about three screens down, a red line is going flat. Oh my God.

“Can I have some help in here?” the nurse suddenly shouts very loudly, and then things start to happen very quickly.

Tom stands up and looks wildly at me, my mouth has fallen open in horror and I find I’m rooted to the spot with fear. Another nurse appears immediately in the doorway.

“Can you put the arrest call out? She’s in VT,” someone shouts.

There’s a slamming noise that makes both Tom and me jump violently as the head of the bed cracks down and Gretchen is suddenly totally flat.

“Oh shit, she’s in VF now!” the first nurse calls.

“What’s VF?” Tom says desperately. “What’s happening?”

A third nurse dashes in and I hear someone, I’m not sure who, say firmly, “Can you get the friends out?”

Then there is a hand on my arm and Tom is yelling, “No! We need to stay. What’s going on? What’s happening to her?” I’m being pulled insistently to my feet as I look at Gretchen—they are yanking blankets down, reaching for her gown and …