I was off the sofa, cards scattering everywhere, mugs going over as I crashed past the coffee table. Melissa and I made it to him at the same time, threw ourselves on our knees beside him. I was afraid to touch him in case I made it worse. He was blinking and blinking; that distorted arm made great meaningless raking motions in front of him, so taut and determined they seemed almost deliberate.
So this was it: this sudden, one moment pushing up your glasses and considering the king of spades, the next moment gone. After the months of fear and tension and wondering, here it was, this quick and this simple. “An ambulance,” I said, although I knew they wouldn’t make it in time. My heart felt too huge for my chest. “You ring. Fast.”
“It’s a seizure,” Melissa said calmly. She was looking up into Hugo’s face, a light, firm hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t need an ambulance. Hugo, you’re having a seizure. It’s all right; it’ll be over in a minute.”
No way to tell whether he had heard her. Raking, blinking. A line of spit trailed from one corner of his mouth.
It was a few seconds before I could take in that he wasn’t dying in front of us. “But,” I said. Some distant part of me remembered the shitbird neurologist’s lecture, small words and a disdainful headmaster gaze— “We’re supposed to call the ambulance anyway. For a first seizure.”
“It’s not the first. He’s been having them for a while now.” At my stunned look: “Those times when he’s staring into space and he doesn’t hear you for a minute? I thought you knew.”
“No,” I said.
“I told him to tell the doctors. I don’t know if he did.” She was stroking Hugo’s shoulder, a slow steadying rhythm. “It’s OK,” she said quietly. “It’s OK. It’s OK.”
Gradually the raking movement got looser and vaguer, till his arm fell on his lap, twitched a few times and lay limp. The lip-licking stopped. His eyes closed and his head lolled sideways, as if he had simply dozed off in his chair after dinner.
Merry pop and spit of firewood. Brown puddles of tea spreading across the coffee table, dripping onto the carpet. I was light-headed, my heartbeat running wild.
“Hugo,” Melissa said gently. “Can you look at me?”
His eyelids trembled. His eyes opened: bleary and drowsy, but he was seeing her.
“You had a seizure. It’s over now. Do you know where you are?”
He nodded.
“Where?”
His mouth moved as if he were chewing and for a dreadful second I thought it was beginning again, but he said—scratchy, slurred—“Living room.”
“Yes. How do you feel?”
His face was white and clammy; even his hands looked too pale. “Don’t know. Tired.”
“That’s all right. Just stay put for a bit, till you feel better.”
“Do you want some water?” I asked, finally coming up with something useful I could do.
“Don’t know.”
I hurried to the kitchen anyway and filled a glass at the tap, my hands shaking, water splashing everywhere. My face in the dark window over the sink was stunned stupid, mouth hanging open and eyes round.
When I got back to the living room, Hugo looked better: head up, some of the color back in his face. Melissa had found a paper napkin and was cleaning the trail of drool off his chin. “Oh,” he said, and took the glass in his good hand. “Thank you.”
“Do you remember what happened?” I asked.
“Not really. Just . . . everything looked strange, all of a sudden. Different. Frightening. And that’s all.” With an edge of fear that he couldn’t quite hide: “What did I do?”
“Not a lot,” I said easily. “A bit of staring, a few weird arm things. No movie-type flailing around, nothing like that.”
“Have you had ones like this before?” Melissa asked.
“I think so. Once.” Hugo took another sip of water, wiped the corner of his mouth where some of it had leaked out. “A couple of weeks ago. In bed.”
“You should have called us,” I said.
“I didn’t really realize. What had happened. And what could you have done?”
“Still,” Melissa said. “If it happens again, call us. Please?”
“All right, my dear.” He covered her hand with his for a moment. “I promise.”
“Did you tell the doctor?”
“Yes. He gave me things. Medicine. Warned me they might not work, though.” He struggled to heave himself straighter in the chair. “And he started all that about hospice again. I said no, of course. Absolutely not.”