‘Look,’ he said, lifting the book over the armrest so that I could see it. ‘Only four pages in.’
‘Okay, then,’ I said and slid off the sofa. I gingerly kneeled nearby.
‘Sit closer,’ he suggested, and gestured to the paperback he held open on his lap. I nodded and sat next to him with my back propped against the sofa, mimicking his posture. My head, tilted to his side, almost touched his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind the proximity. He turned back to the beginning, and after a few pages, we found a pace that suited us both, reading line after line almost at the exact same speed.
We sat engrossed in J.K. Rowling’s words for the entire afternoon and started a friendship that would grow into a deep, everlasting love.
‘I need to see him,’ I murmur to Georgie, fidgeting on my chair.
‘I know, Fran, but he’s still in surgery, there is nothing we can do right now … I’m sorry,’ Georgie says, squeezing my shoulder.
‘Why are they not telling us what’s going on in there? I’ve been waiting here a long time now for someone to tell me what the hell is going on with Paul.’ My voice begins to rise. ‘Maybe I should go and ask again.’
‘Fran,’ she says, touching my arm with her hand, a gentle restraint. ‘I know it’s hard to just sit here, unable to help, but they’re focusing on making Paul better right now. They’ll tell us something, as soon as they can, I’m sure.’ She keeps her hand on my arm so I take a deep calming breath, trying to relax – even though every cell in my body is pushing me to break free and run to Paul.
‘They’ll tell us something as soon as Paul is out of surgery; they said so,’ she reiterates and I nod, trying to convince myself that patience is the best option right now.
When Georgie’s phone starts to ring again, she looks at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, it’s the office,’ she says, turning it off with shaky fingers.
‘If you need to work, just go ahead. There’s not much to be done here other than wait,’ I say to her with an attempt at a smile.
‘I’m sure it can all wait till tomorrow,’ she answers, taking my hand in hers in a reassuring gesture that mitigates my anxiety but only slightly.
I look around absentmindedly as I twist and turn the ring on my finger.
Time goes on while Paul’s life hangs over a void and we have nothing to do other than look at the boring prints on the wall and the mismatched furniture. The chairs are blue, while the carpet is a dirty shade of green, and the side table – with leaflets and informative booklets against the far end of the square room – is a yellowish pinewood.
Nothing seems to make sense as the whirlpool of thoughts in my head creates a gurgling noise inside my ears, muffling all other sounds. Georgie’s voice finally comes into focus once I realise her lips are moving. I pay attention to her and begin to process what she’s saying.
‘Harry says he is getting close now, so he’ll be here soon,’ she says, hoping that the news will cheer me up. I pretend it does. I pretend I’m fine but after fifteen minutes I’m restless again. Another half hour goes by and I’m going crazy. ‘I can’t sit here doing nothing,’ I say, standing up and walking to the window. The brick side of another building is the only thing I can see, and it makes me feel heartbroken. My eyes fill up with tears. My heart starts pounding in my temples, and I know I’ve reached the end of my will to wait for something to happen.
When I hear the sound of footsteps, I turn immediately towards the door hoping to see a surgeon bearing news. I see Albert and Harry instead. Their eyes are haunted and when I feel my head spinning I worry that I’m about to pass out.
‘Fran!’ Harry runs to me and takes me into his arms. I feel my knees buckling under me but he supports my weight, crushing me against his chest. For the first time in hours I wish I could just close my eyes and rest a little. We stay like this, still and quiet, for a few seconds, but I can feel he’s restless so I step away and look at him.
‘What happened?’ he asks. ‘How is he?’ His voice shakes with worry. Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer to give him; so when my eyes fill with tears, he suggests we sit down.
‘You look exhausted,’ he says, holding my face in his hands.
‘I’m fine,’ I answer, looking away from him before he can read the truth in my eyes. My gaze stops on Albert, who is still standing near the door.
I stand up and he walks towards me. When he is near I lift my arms to him and we give each other a quiet hug that speaks more than a thousand words.
‘Love conquers all,’ I whisper to him.
‘Always,’ he replies, patting my back. Then we sit. He chooses one of the empty chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table; I return to my place in between Harry and Georgie.
I don’t feel like talking and any attempt at conversation from them fails miserably after a few sentences; so we all just sit and wait, while the silence consumes us.
Harry is restless. I can feel tense energy radiating from him when he stands up and starts moving around. I watch him pacing the room like a caged animal. He walks around for a while, then he sits again, rubbing his chin or stroking my hand, then he goes to the windows. He stops to look at the booklets on the table. He studies the prints on the wall, then he returns to sit before starting the routine again.
His eyes are a deeper green when he’s not smiling and his lips, set in a straight line, make him look older than twenty-seven. I watch him struggling to keep his frustration under control. Harry looks so different when he frowns, maybe just because it’s a rare event for me to see his serious side, but the worried look in his eyes makes my stomach knot with fear.
Georgie, whose phone has been ringing non-stop since the minute she arrived, gives in to the pressure of her career and answers the next incoming call, opening a floodgate of urgent tasks. It turns out they can’t wait until tomorrow. After an hour, she is still firefighting, trying to send as many emails as possible and delegating the critically important tasks she can’t resolve remotely. I look at her with admiration. She looks the part with her power suit, the laptop balanced on her lap and the aggressive way of typing that only people who spend their lives sending emails have.
Albert, sitting still in the same spot, seems to be lost in a separate dimension, worrying more and more as the seconds go by without news. He is quiet, his hands in his lap and the weight of the world on his shoulders. His blond hair is turning grey and his light blue eyes are hollow, without the spark I remember. Paul looks so much like his dad, and watching Albert now, I can’t stop myself from picturing how Paul would look in twenty years. The idea of Paul growing old is the most soothing thought I’ve had since I arrived at the hospital.
I think back to the events of this morning, at how – lost in my own world of packing – I didn’t register that too much time had passed since Paul left. Maybe because I was too caught up in my daydreaming, maybe because I was stressing about forgetting some of the documents we needed to take with us, but half an hour had slipped away unnoticed.
When I heard the knock at the door and opened it to an apologetic Cecilia who was telling me she had been caught in the traffic caused by the assault at the end of our road I started to worry at the realisation that Paul was not back yet. I knew immediately something had happened to him. I felt it in my heart and I was filled instantly with panic.
From that moment on, everything was a blur – a string of events that I can only partially bring back to the surface. Everything was slightly confused with only some of the details in focus.
I remember carefully watching the police officer who told me what happened to Paul. I remember staring at him as the words formed on his lips, thinking that he had probably made a mistake, that it couldn’t be, that