Page 49 of Seven Letters

Mia concentrated on Izzy’s hair. ‘You know, Sarah always tells me that the day you were born was the best day of her life.’

Izzy beamed in the mirror. ‘She says that to me all the time. I was afraid the new baby would make Mummy love me less, but she said no way.’

‘Absolutely no way. You are her little star, always.’

‘When Riley was born, was it the best day of your life, Mia?’

Mia held the brush in the air. ‘Yes, pet, it was, the very best. I was so happy to meet my little girl at last.’

Riley bit her trembling lip and walked into the room. ‘Hey, Mum, I’ll do Izzy’s hair. You go and finish your coffee. Let me help.’

‘Thank you, Riley.’ Mia touched her shoulder. Riley put her hand up and squeezed her mother’s arm. It wasn’t exactly a hug, like in the American TV shows, and she didn’t say, ‘I love you,’ but it was something.

‘So I want two plaits at the side and –’

‘I’m going to stop you there,’ Riley said, sitting down on the bed behind Izzy. ‘I don’t do good plaits. Today you’re getting a messy ponytail and it’ll look really cool. Trust me, all your friends will want one.’

‘OK, Riley.’ Izzy smiled. ‘Mummy can do my plaits when she wakes up.’ Izzy’s jaw jutted out. ‘And that’s that.’

Riley tied her cousin’s hair up in silence and sent up another prayer that Sarah would pull through. The whole family depended on her. They couldn’t manage without her. Riley couldn’t manage without her. She had to pull through.

17

Mia, Johnny, Charlie and Adam sat at the table facing Dr Mayhew, Professor Irwin, Angela and a woman they hadn’t met before. They were in a boardroom on the top floor of the hospital. The walls were painted the same awful magnolia as the rest of the place, but it had a deep red carpet that made it seem a bit more important. In the middle of the room sat a large, oval mahogany table. Sadly, the chairs around it were the same as the ones in the ICU waiting room. Functional, dark blue conference-hall chairs. They cheapened the table and gave the room a clinical feel.

On a trolley at the end of the room there were coffee and tea percolators. Twin towers, surrounded by mugs, a carton of milk and a bowl filled with sachets of sugar – brown and white. A plate of jaded-looking custard creams lay beside the sugar bowl. In the corner of the room was a large water dispenser.

‘Can we get you some coffee or tea, or perhaps some water?’ Dr Mayhew asked politely.

‘If I drink any more caffeine, I’ll be climbing the walls,’ Adam said. ‘I just want to know what’s going on.’ He looked completely exhausted.

Mia’s palms were sweaty, and her heart was pounding. Beside her, her father appeared to be sitting still, but underneath the table his legs were shaking.

Dr Mayhew cleared his throat. ‘Professor Irwin will talk us through the results of the neurological examinations that have been carried out over the past three days.’

‘Good morning,’ Professor Irwin said. She looked down at her notes, avoiding eye contact. That was not good. Mia could feel the woman’s dread as she took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m afraid it’s not good news.’

Nobody spoke. They were all holding their breath. Johnny reached for Mia’s hand. Adam clenched his into fists and breathed heavily.

‘Sarah has a large cerebellar cystic lesion causing acute hydrocephalus and compression of the brain stem. There is an absence of blood flow in the intracranial vessels to the brain stem or to either cerebral hemisphere.’

Adam thumped the table, making them all jump. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying. Is she going to wake up? Is my wife going to be OK?’

Professor Irwin looked at Dr Mayhew, then back at Adam. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Brown, but no, your wife is not going to recover from this injury. Sarah had a cyst in her brain that caused her to collapse. The series of tests that we have run repeatedly, both the clinical tests and the scans, indicate that she has sustained a massive and devastating brain injury, one that affects the particular areas of the brain that sustain life, and these areas are no longer working. An angiogram has confirmed that there is no brain stem activity. In other words, there is no brain function. Our conclusion is that her brain injury is so severe, she will not live if we take her off the life-support machine. I am so very sorry, but Sarah is clinically dead. She will not wake up.’

Silence.

Into the awful silence came the sound of weeping. Mia looked over in a daze and saw that Charlie had broken down. Her brain was slowly catching up, as if the doctor’s words had been played to her in slow motion.

‘No,’ Charlie moaned, covering his face with his hands.‘My poor Sarah.’ He wept openly, and Mia stared at him stupidly, still trying to process Professor Irwin’s words.

Beside her, Johnny took her hand. She turned to him and his eyes were red-rimmed.

She finally managed to speak. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ she asked Dr Mayhew.

‘I wish I could tell you otherwise, but Sarah will not come back from these injuries. The brain is too damaged. We have repeated the tests and the results are conclusive. I’m really so very sorry.’

Mia felt hope seep out of her. They sounded so sure. The medical jargon was confusing but ultimately they were saying that Sarah was gone, and that she was never coming back. The body in the room down the corridor was being kept alive by machines. But she looked alive, she felt alive … It was so hard to believe she was dead. Was she really?

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