Page 1 of Together Again at the Cornish Country Hospital

1

Lijah could still hear the screaming when he slammed the door behind him with a resounding bang. All the voices clamouring for his attention and shouting his name, made it feel as though the walls were closing in around him. He had to get out, but he had no idea where to go. There was only one place that had ever given him the kind of peace he was craving, but he wasn’t even sure it existed any more, at least not in the way he’d known it.

‘Great show, Lij.’ Nick followed him into the room and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘They can’t get enough. Must be great to be you and have thousands of women fall in love with you every time you step on stage.’

‘You don’t do too badly off the back of it.’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, but the comment wasn’t really directed at Nick. He was a good guy, and someone who’d been loyal to Lijah from the start, acting as his roadie when the gigs had been far from glamorous, and the pay had usually been the price of a couple of pints if he was lucky. Lijah would never forget one particularly seedy pub he’d performed at, where their feet had stuck to the floor, and the windows had been so thick with grime that it was dark inside even when they’d arrived to set up, at 6p.m. on a June evening. The fee for appearing, if you could call it that, was supposed to be the princely sum of forty pounds. Lijah had promised half to Nick, because he’d missed a shift at the restaurant where he worked waiting tables, in order to help Lijah out. They were both supposed to be studying hard for their A levels, the exams just days away, but neither of them were focused on that. Lijah had all his hopes pinned on being the next big thing and escaping what felt like the suffocating tweeness of life in Port Kara, a picture-postcard village that clung to the edge of the Cornish Atlantic coast above turquoise blue waters, when the weather was good. It was idyllic, if you wanted the beach life, or if cream teas in quaint little tearooms were your idea of a good time, but Lijah had wanted so much more than that, and against all the odds he’d got it too. It had meant leaving some people behind, who he hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to, but no one got success without sacrifice and the drive he’d felt to follow his dreams had made it feel worth it at the time. He wasn’t sure he’d have done it without Nick. Having his friend by his side had been like taking a piece of home with him, when he’d moved to London at nineteen.

It seemed almost impossible now that they’d had nights like they’d had at the Lord Nelson pub, when the burly landlord had reneged on paying the paltry fee he’d offered Lijah, because the small crowd had been too into the music and hadn’t bought enough drinks as a result. The landlord, six foot four of muscle and beer gut, had claimed that it had lost him money to have Lijah there, and that he wasn’t paying. Backed up by a barman who could have been his twin, it hadn’t been something Lijah and Nick could compete with. Instead, Lijah had tried to argue the point that he’d brought brand-new customers in, who were still there after the performance, finally buying more drinks, but the landlord wouldn’t budge. Nick had disappeared during the confrontation, while the landlord and the barman had hemmed Lijah into a corner until he had no choice but to pretend to agree that they’d done him a favour and given him exposure he ‘should be grateful for’. That last bit had been laughable. The Lord Nelson was a dive, not somewhere he was ever going to get spotted, or even build up a new following he hadn’t brought with him. But he’d known that kind of experience was part of it, the rough road he was going to have to travel to get to where he wanted to go, and he told himself that one day he’d look back on all of this and laugh. He did too, although much sooner than he expected. Nick had suddenly reappeared to help Lijah out with his equipment, but when they got around the corner from the pub, he set his backpack on the floor and instructed Lijah to try and pick it up. It weighed a tonne.

‘What the hell have you got in there?’

‘Have a look.’ Nick was grinning, not looking one bit like a man who’d just been scammed out of twenty quid and lost a night’s wages for nothing.

Lijah opened the bag, and a slow smile had spread across his face too. ‘Jesus. How did you manage that?’

‘Nick by name and nick by nature.’ He’d laughed then, before hauling the backpack containing four litre bottles of Jack Daniels on to his shoulder. ‘That’ll teach the tight-fisted bastard. I whipped their whole supply from the grotty stock room out the back while they were pinning you up against the wall. So I’d call this evens. We should be able to get our money back and even a bit more if we sell it on. Or we could just enjoy it…’

‘What if there’s CCTV?’ For a musician, Lijah had never been much of a rebel when it came to breaking the law, and he also had a big fear of getting a police record. He’d read about other singers whose careers had been stalled when’d they’d been refused admission to the US as a result of a criminal record. A bit of shoplifting in his teens had completely derailed the career of one guy who’d won a place in the final of a big reality TV show, but who couldn’t go to US for the next stage of the competition. He’d known that if he ever got his big break, the US market could be a complete game changer, the route to getting his music heard by millions. Lijah had never been fixated on the fame, although he would have been lying if he hadn’t thought about owning a massive house with a pool, or swapping his bike for a Range Rover, but all eighteen-year-olds had those kinds of dreams in one form or another. What Lijah had really wanted was to be able to make his mum proud. She’d been through a lot and had sacrificed so much for him, and she was thrilled by every little thing he achieved. He’d wanted to make sure she stayed that way, and that if he ever made it, she’d never have to worry about money again. He couldn’t let his mother down by getting arrested. She’d be heartbroken that after all her sacrifices he’d turned into a wrong’un anyway, just like his absent father. But when he’d looked at Nick, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice as he’d asked about the CCTV, his friend had just grinned again.

‘CCTV, you’re joking, aren’t you? I don’t think that tight old bastard even owns a dishcloth never mind anything as high tech as CCTV. Don’t worry Lij, I’d never let you get ripped off or do anything to get you in trouble. You can trust me with your life if it comes to it.’ It was the moment Lijah realised his best friend was right, and he’d decided then and there that if he ever fulfilled his dream, he’d be taking Nick with him. It was a promise he’d kept, just as Nick had always kept his promise to keep Lijah safe. Except there’d been one person Nick couldn’t keep Lijah safe from, and that was himself.

It was hard now to remember when the unravelling had started, but he would never forget the first panic attack and the certainty he’d felt that he was going to die. He’d been about to go on stage in Paris, one of a series of amazing places he’d always dreamed of appearing, a wish that was being fulfilled on his first world tour. Three UK number ones, two of them matching that success in the US, and a multi-platinum album, and all his dreams were coming true. But even as he was stepping out in amazing venues to perform, there was a voice inside his head telling him this wouldn’t last, and that the second album he was in the process of writing would be a massive flop. Imposter syndrome and anxiety collided. Thank God his mum, Maria, had been there.

She’d been the one who’d got him through that first panic attack and ensured he made it to the stage to perform in front of 20,000 fans. It was her who’d encouraged him to get medical help and he’d been diagnosed with anxiety and burnout. He’d managed it by stopping drinking, which had definitely helped reduce the anxiety, and by following the treatment plan his doctors had come up with. He’d released an even more successful second album and he’d been in LA, about to embark on second world tour, when disaster struck. Maria had suffered a massive heart attack during a holiday to Scotland with his Aunt Claire and had been admitted to intensive care. He’d got on the next plane there, but he didn’t make it in time. His mother, the woman who’d given him everything, had gone before he’d been able to tell her how much she meant to him. The grief had been so overwhelming he couldn’t face it. He’d started drinking again, much more heavily than before, and taking whatever else he could to try and numb the unbearable pain. Lijah threw himself into work, going ahead with his world tour and pushing himself as hard as he could, so he wouldn’t have to think about the fact she was gone, and that she’d never be coming back. But the grief had found him anyway, the panic attacks were back and this time his mum wasn’t there to comfort him. Instead, he was taking more and more prescription medication, handed over by doctors who didn’t seem worried as long as they were getting paid. Lijah knew it was dangerous, and that he was playing with fire, but he didn’t care, he just had to get through this tour. Except tonight, as he’d come off stage, something inside him had snapped and he knew he couldn’t go back out there again. Performing had been like oxygen to him for as long as he could remember, but he couldn’t do it any more. The moment he’d turned to walk off stage, he’d known it was over.

‘What’s going on, mate? I’m worried about you.’ Nick was standing in front of him now, putting his hands on Lijah’s shoulders, until he was forced to look into the eyes of his old friend.

‘Are you worried about me, or are you worried about the money?’ Lijah knew how unfair he was being, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Nick had been the most loyal friend he could have asked for, but he was surrounded by far too many people who saw him as a meal ticket, and it was easy to become cynical about everyone’s motivations. But Nick didn’t deserve any of the bitterness he felt, that should have been directed elsewhere. It was far too easy to lash out at the people he loved and there weren’t many people who fitted that bill now that his mother was gone.

‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ Nick knew him far too well and he wasn’t going to be fobbed off. Lijah owed it to him to be honest and, if he was really doing this, Nick should be the first to know.

‘I’m done.’ Lijah shrugged. ‘I can’t do this any more. I don’t want to. I want to go home.’

‘To London?’

‘No, to Cornwall.’

The look on Nick’s face said it all. Even he thought Lijah had lost it this time. Cornwall hadn’t been his home in over a decade, and the person who’d made it feel like home was gone. His Aunt Claire now lived alone in the house he’d bought for her and his mother. Claire was the only person who understood the bond between Lijah and his mum, and what losing her had done to him. His aunt had begged him to come back to Cornwall and take some time out, but he hadn’t been able to face being there without Maria. He’d been certain that burying himself in work was what would get him through, but he knew now how wrong he’d been. Lijah needed to spend time with his aunt, and to confront the memories of his mum, even if the idea still terrified him. It was going to be torture, but if he didn’t finally face up to his grief it was going to kill him eventually, because it was already eating him from the inside out.

Lijah looked at his oldest friend again. ‘I need to be near Mum, but I can’t stay at the house with Claire. It’ll be too much.’

‘I’ll organise it.’ Nick nodded, suddenly seeming to understand and he wrapped his arms around Lijah. ‘It’ll be all right mate. You’ll get through this.’

Lijah nodded, but he wasn’t so sure. And if getting through it meant coming back to all of this, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Right now, he was a thousand times more desperate to return to Port Kara than he’d ever been to escape.

2

Amy’s alarm was going off and she couldn’t open her eyes; she knew she had to, but they just wouldn’t comply. It was the last shift in a block of nights, and her body had refused to adjust this time and buy into the falsehood that sleeping in the daytime was an easy transition.

‘I can’t face the thought of getting up and you’re not helping.’ Finally peeling her eyes open, Amy gave Monty, her little Jack Russell, a gentle nudge. She’d inherited him, when his elderly owner, a lady called Joan who’d been a patient at the hospital, had died. She’d first been admitted to A&E after a fall, and her main concern had been getting home to her little dog. Thankfully, they’d soon been reunited, but six months later Joan’s heart had begun to fail, and she’d been re-admitted to A&E on a number of occasions, each time Monty had remained her major concern. Amy had been her nurse on three of those occasions, before Joan had finally been admitted to the cardiac unit, and every time Amy had agreed to make sure Monty was taken care of until Joan got home. The first couple of times, she’d arranged for the little dog to be fostered by Caroline, whose daughter, Esther, worked with Amy at the hospital.

It would have been impractical for Amy to care for him, despite how gorgeous Monty was, with the jet-black patch over his eye a marked contrast to his otherwise snow-white body. But on the third and final occasion, Caroline had been on holiday, and Amy had been about to start a week’s leave. Given that she was only planning to potter around at home, there’d been no reason why she couldn’t care for the dog. What she hadn’t known was that Joan would never go home again. After she’d died, none of her family had been interested in taking on the dog. Monty had already been pining for Joan and the only way he could sleep was when he was curled up on Amy’s lap or pressed into the small of her back. So when Joan’s son said she was welcome to keep him, she found she couldn’t let him go. It meant spending a small fortune on doggy day care and dog walking services when she was on long shifts, but he was worth every penny, and she loved him to bits.

Having Monty had its drawbacks, though. It was even harder to get out of bed, after a grand total of four hours’ sleep, when she was so cosy underneath her duvet, with Monty perched on top. It was probably a bit tragic for a just-past-thirty-year-old to admit her bed was her happy place, but with a job like Amy’s, it probably wasn’t surprising. To say that being a nurse in A&E was full-on was an understatement, but just lately it seemed even busier. One of the clinical leads was on maternity leave, Amy’s best friend and fellow nurse, Isla, was currently on a career break, touring Australia and New Zealand, and another close friend, Aidan, would be going on parental leave soon too. All of that, along with some other recent staffing changes, meant Amy seemed to be working with agency nurses a lot more often lately and it just wasn’t the same. Working in A&E often bound staff together like family, because they were so reliant on one another, and they could anticipate each other’s needs and actions in a way that wasn’t possible with temporary staff. She just hoped Isla would be back before Aidan left. There would be nowhere near as many laughs if they were both off at the same time, and Aidan would be away from work for at least six months.

‘Monty, come on, we can’t lie here all night, I’ve got to go to work.’ Amy gave the dog a gentle shove and he opened his eyes indignantly, as if he’d been rudely awoken from a rare snippet of sleep, when the truth was he slept about twenty hours a day when she was on nights. She had a nanny cam on her phone when she was at work, and could watch him coming in and out of the dog flap she’d had installed in the door to the garden, but he slept almost all the time when she wasn’t there, except when Dolly, the dog walker, came over to take him out. It was quite impressive, and tonight she was more than a little jealous that Monty would be going back to bed while she was starting her night shift. Although he still wasn’t making any effort to move.

‘How about some breakfast? Or dinner? Or whatever the hell we’re supposed to call what we eat before I start my night shift.’ At the mention of the word dinner, Monty’s ears pricked up and he immediately started nudging her hand, suddenly wide awake.

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