‘An emergency?’ he asks, immediately tense.
‘It’s Cassie. I’m driving to the hospital now. I don’t know when I’ll be home. Look, I’m almost there, I’ve got to go. I love you.’
I don’t wait for his response; I hang up the phone and turn it off. I know he’ll call back and I can’t bear to hear the worry in his voice, not now. I pull into a space in the car park and, leaving my bag and coat in the car, grab my hospital ID before I start to run across the car park, through reception, down the corridor towards the ward. My heart pounds around my body; it seems to spiral in my chest. I’m out of breath, I have to force myself to walk the final distance towards 9B. The little waiting area outside the ward is empty apart from one small figure, slightly hunched and rocking back and forth in one of the plastic chairs, like something driven mad from being caged for too long. She looks up at me, but I can tell even from a distance that Charlotte’s gaze is unseeing; I must be a blur to her. Where’s Jack? I think briefly about stopping to ask her what happened, but then I think of Cassie’s baby, and I know I have to find out for myself, and I start running again.
The ward reception is abandoned and all the curtains are drawn around the beds. The lights are on their brightest, cruellest setting. The strip lights are on in the nurses’ room as well, but I can’t see anyone inside. The ward has never been so empty; it has the held, frozen quality of a recently abandoned space. My nerves grip, forcing me to slow to a walk.
I reach Frank’s bed; I want to see him first suddenly, as though a glimpse of him will give me courage. I pull his curtain back. His bed is still there but I see there’s just a twist of sheets on his bed. His letter board has fallen to the floor. His machines, which were so critical, stand by, suddenly useless, just clumps of metal and blank screens. His heart monitor blinks like it’s shocked by Frank’s sudden absence. I hold onto the end of his bed for a moment to stop the ward from spinning before I turn around towards Cassie’s bed and tug her curtain back in one motion. I hear myself cry out as my hands cover my mouth and I feel all my veins constrict because where Cassie’s bed should be there’s just a little halo of photos and another gaping empty space.
‘Alice?’
Lizzie is standing at the end of the ward, her face plump with sorrow, her hair made wild by the terrible demands of her shift. She’s walking towards me fast. She looks like she’s about to throw her arms around me, but instead I take hold of her wrists and force her to look at my face. I can’t comfort her now, not until I know what’s happened here.
‘Where are they?’ The words feel fragile in my mouth.
Lizzie’s face is blank, her eyes wide, as though she can’t believe what she’s saying.
‘Frank’s dead, Alice. We don’t know what happened: a complication with his tracheotomy; his infection must have got worse …’ Her voice trails away, the words too new, too difficult to say.
‘A new patient was admitted today, multiple organ failure. She kept crashing. Mary and I were so busy with her. It was Charlotte who raised the alarm, told us something was wrong with Frank. She was the last one to see him alive, him and his niece.’ Lizzie sniffs hard through her nose, before she says, ‘Sharma’s talking to the technicians now, trying to figure out exactly what happened.’
I stare at Lizzie; my legs feel watery, as though they could fall away any moment. I grip on tighter to Lizzie’s arm and force myself to ask. I have to know.
‘Cassie?’
Lizzie nods. The movement shakes more tears from her eyes.
‘She’s OK, she’s OK. Her blood pressure rose. Ms Longe thought they were going to do a C-section, which was when we paged you, so she’s down in the preparation room but as soon as she was taken away from here she levelled out again. They’re keeping her down there just in case, but she’s OK; they’re OK.’
At last, I loosen my grip on Lizzie’s arm and I stare at Frank’s empty bed. I want to feel someone alive, so I pull Lizzie in close and feel her shake in my arms as I hold her. There’s so much wrong; my brain wheels. Frank’s bed seems to pulse with his absence. He was here, just a short time ago. He was here, but he wasn’t alone. I pull Lizzie away from me, sharper than I meant to.
‘You said his niece was with him?’
Lizzie nods.
‘I checked her ID, Alice; it matched the name she gave. Nicola something. I was glad Charlotte was here—’ but I cut Lizzie off.
‘Was it Breton, Lizzie. Was her surname Breton?’
Lizzie nods vaguely, surprised at how my words slap. She starts to cry again, her hand shakes as she wipes her eyes.
‘She seemed nice, but then when I came back and saw her talking to Charlotte she left really abruptly. Charlotte just said she was upset at seeing her uncle so unwell.’
‘They were alone together, Charlotte and Frank?’
Lizzie nods, and the skin around her eyes wrinkles; she’s terrified she’s done something wrong.
‘Yes, but not for long, Alice, I promise. The new patient, she was arresting, I had to—’
I cut her off again. ‘Tell me what happened when you got back to them, Lizzie. Tell me exactly what happened.’
My urgency makes her widen her eyes in panic, but she takes a deep breath. Her eyes flicker as she tries to remember.
‘Frank’s niece, that Nicky woman, she left and, as I took Frank’s readings, I talked to Charlotte for a bit. She called me over because she saw Frank blink. I know he didn’t want people to know yet that he was getting better, but Charlotte guessed! So I told her that he hears everything.’
Lizzie looks like she’s about to crumple into sobs again as she corrects herself. ‘Heard everything.’
I hold onto her upper arms and will her to carry on.
‘What next, Lizzie? What happened next?’
‘The new patient started crashing again, so I left Charlotte with Frank and then a couple of minutes later Charlotte came running down the ward shouting that something had happened to Frank.’ Lizzie at last breaks into sobs and lifts her hand to her mouth. She starts mumbling something about Jack into a tissue in her hand.
‘I can’t hear … what are you saying, Lizzie?’
‘I was just saying, only this morning he blinked out Jack’s name.’
Lizzie’s shoulders start heaving again. Out of my peripheral vision the ward seems to shrink. I remember the morning. The cold look that replaced the usual playfulness in Frank’s eyes. Even though he must have been struggling to breathe from his infection, even though the drugs would have made him feel tired, he wouldn’t stop. He wanted to tell me something. I promised him I’d come back, but I hadn’t.
I can’t speak. My hands drop from Lizzie’s arms as she keeps sobbing into her tissue, the muscles raised in her neck. Behind her the ward seems to vibrate. I think of Frank’s face, twisting with the effort of each slow, painful letter. I could have saved him; I should have been here.