all of you yet. He needs time to adjust to being back among…the living. I know you’re all desperate to talk to Paul, but I have to put his well-being first.’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ Jamie said, as Doctor Meer ushered them out again.. As they left the room, Jamie looked back over his shoulder. Paul had already closed his eyes.
Over the next seventy-two hours, they were allowed in to see Paul one at a time. Jamie had to wait until Paul’s parents and Heather had taken their turn. The waiting was agony, but made bearable by the fact that Paul was now conscious: that he was back among the living, as the doctor phrased it.
Jamie grabbed the plastic chair he had sat on so many times and pulled it close to the bed. Paul looked a little better now, the effects of the long sleep fading from his face. He was still on a drip, but that awful bip-bip-bip noise had gone. There were magazines piled up by the bed, which Paul hadn’t touched.
‘What happened?’ Paul asked. ‘Heather told me the details but I can’t quite get my head round it. I want to hear it from you.’
‘You don’t remember it?’
‘I remember the go-kart race. I know I won. But the last thing I recall is crossing the finishing line.’
‘One of the other racers crashed into the back of your kart. I didn’t see it, but we were told that Chris braked too quickly in front of the other racer, making him swerve into you.’
‘That’s what Heather said. Poor Chris. I bet he feels really guilty.’
‘What? Why did you say poor Chris? He’s not the one they carted off in an ambulance.’
‘But to cause an accident like that, especially after we’d been getting on so well. He must have felt so…what’s the word? Oh, my head feels fuzzy.’ He concentrated. ‘Remorseful.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘He hasn’t exactly shown it. Paul, you don’t know what’s been going on while you’ve been in here. Chris and Lucy have turned into the neighbours from hell. I’ve been trying not to think about it while you were in the coma, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Chris had done it on purpose. They’ve been writing us letters, taping us having sex, joining us to endless clubs. You wouldn’t believe what…’
Paul yawned, the high-pitched noise drowning Jamie out. He realised Paul hadn’t been listening to a word he said. ‘You’ll have to tell me about it some other time. I’m too tired to concentrate.’
Jamie nodded. He didn’t want to upset Paul or do anything to hinder his recovery. ‘Do you want me to go already?’
‘Not just yet.’ He yawned again, and then a smile crept across his lips. ‘I gather everyone was heartbroken and worried that I wouldn’t come back.’
‘You could say that.’
Paul’s smile widened. ‘That’s good.’
Jamie was shocked. ‘I don’t think it’s something to be pleased about. We’ve really suffered, Paul.’
‘Oh come on, wouldn’t you be pleased to hear that everyone was really worried about you? It’s like going to your own funeral and seeing everyone crying over you and saying what a good bloke you were.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘You’re obviously not feeling yourself at the moment.’
Paul didn’t say anything.
Jamie looked around the ward, at the flowers beside the bed, the MP3 player in the corner so Paul could be played his favourite music. ‘The other day, you said something about having dreams.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. Before Doctor Meer asked us to leave.’
‘Of course I’ve had dreams. I’ve been asleep for a long time.’
‘What kind of dreams?’
Paul closed his eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe I’ll tell you later.’
‘Were they bad dreams?’
‘I said I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘OK.’ He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. He was cold beneath his pyjamas. ‘OK.’
Paul tried to smile. ‘What have I missed while I’ve been away?’
‘Oh, quite a bit. Kirsty’s pregnant.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, Heather told me. Congratulations.’ There was little sincerity in his voice.
‘And we’re going to get married.’
Paul rolled his eyes.
Undeterred, Jamie said, ‘Maybe it will be you and Heather next.’
‘I don’t think so somehow. God, I don’t even know what she’s been up to while I’ve been in here.’
Jamie exhaled. ‘She’s been absolutely grief-stricken. She’s been coming here every day to sit by your bed. Every time I see her she ends up crying. For some bizarre reason – and don’t ask me what it is – she loves you.’
‘I suppose it’s quite romantic, having a boyfriend in a coma. I