you talk to that nurse guy? He’s given you his number. Maybe you can come up with a plan between you.’
‘But I only know about him because of the study. What happens with his hospital discharge is none of my business. I’m only supposed to book in his follow-up appointments.’
‘It’s your business if you make it your business,’ Tess points out.
I shrug. I don’t like getting involved in people’s affairs. But I feel like I’m being drawn to help Clive. If he has no one else, I can’t just walk away.
‘Maybe. I’ll do what I can, but only if it doesn’t affect the project.’
‘When will you see case study – scrap that – Clive again?’
‘He’ll have weekly appointments for the first month.’ I reel off the information as if I am reading from a textbook, suddenly on steady ground again.
‘That’s when you’ll see him for work. But I’m sure you’ll be able to go see him as a visitor. You are allowed to visit in your own time. George seemed to be hinting at the fact that you should.’
‘But what about the study? Won’t it compromise it?’
‘How? If it’s just to check he’s okay, surely that won’t affect any results?’
I can feel my heart pounding, pulsating through my ear drum. I don’t need to take a reading to know it’s pumping harder than usual.
‘It could. It might.’ I’m looking for an excuse I can’t find.
‘Will you forgive yourself if you don’t help? If you don’t resolve whatever is unsettling you?’
I give in and take my pulse. Tess notices what I’m doing, but says nothing. She knows it’s bad when I’m like this, unable to stop myself from taking an ad-hoc reading.
‘I don’t know. The problem is I don’t know why it’s left me feeling like this.’ I’ve not experienced this uneasy sensation since my teen years. It’s as if, until now, I’ve navigated life perfectly and now here I am in the midst of an unexpected storm. Nobody has ever taught me how to deal with this turbulence.
‘I expect what you’re feeling is some kind of empathy. You’ve heard what he’s been through and you’re feeling sorry for him. You want to help.’
Tess is good at putting a finger on what I struggle to process. I am lucky to have such understanding friends.
‘Empathy is the wrong word.’ I hate how sometimes the pedant in me comes along to correct things that don’t need correcting. ‘Empathy means you can understand what someone is going through. The word you’re looking for is sympathy, as in, you feel sorry for what they’ve been through.’
‘Whichever it is, you need to decide what you’re going to do about it.’
I pull down my sleeve, knowing that sympathy is all I want to offer. Nobody needs to know about any of the things I am able to empathise with.
‘I’ll visit him,’ I say, hoping that will be help enough.
14
Clive
Clive was growing accustomed to being cantankerous. He liked the word. Why would he want to be anything else? Not when he’d spent the last few days struggling to understand what was going on. At a time when he thought he should be busy arranging his wife’s funeral, he’d been left with a trail of vacant memories. The gladiolus flowers he thought he’d been growing for his wife, he now recalled dishing out to all the neighbours. The meals for two were replaced by memories of him cooking in bulk and freezing his meals for one. He was beginning to realise there must be some truth in what they were saying. That she didn’t exist.
And yet there were those fragments that kept coming back to him:
The red stain on the door.
The open, buzzing freezer.
The knowledge that something was wrong.
Travelling in an ambulance.
The interview with the police.
It was all so muddling. How could some parts be true and others not?
When Keisha arrived it was a complete and utter relief to realise he’d not dreamed her up too. He’d begun to wonder.
‘How are you doing?’ Keisha asked.
George was on duty and delivered a chair for her, an expression on his face that Clive recognised: smitten.
Clive smiled for the first time in days. ‘Rubbish! I mean, physically I’m fine, but this place is driving me batty.’ He’d like to go home, if only the images he kept seeing weren’t making him feel sick to the stomach. ‘I just don’t think I can face going home.’
‘Have they said you need to yet? Is that the plan?’