Page 47 of Maybe
“Why aren’t they doing anything? She’s in charge, isn’t she?”
I tried to imagine how it looked in the eyes of an outsider. “Theyare, Ez. They’re looking at his blood results and discussing how best to treat Jonty.”
“Well, someone needs to tell them to fucking hurry up.”
His voice rose again. I hushed him, though I really wanted to crush him against me and promise him everything would be all right. I managed to get him to briefly let go of Jonty’s hand under the pretext of texting Jonty’s mum, giving the team more room. “They are hurrying, Ez. They’re working at pace.”
“What pace? Fucking snail pace?”
I didn’t know the paeds ITU consultant. Ours was a big hospital, and I was a minnow. Nodding at her colleague, she came over to us.
“This is Ezra, Jonty’s dad,” I said. “My brother.”
Efficiently and unemotionally, she launched into a summary. “He’s obviously having a bad attack, probably brought on by a viral infection, as he’s not systemically unwell. He’s responded to the nebs and the aminophylline—that’s the one going through the drip. For the moment, we’re going to transfer him to a bed up on the ITU and keep on doing what we’re doing. Hopefully, if we can get him over this acute crisis, we’ll avoid intubating him.”
Ezra was hovering on a precipice of panic. “That means he doesn’t need to go on a breathing machine. Well, not yet,” I added after a narrowed look from the consultant. “And hopefully not at all.”
“Can I come up with him?”
She softened then, slightly. “Of course.”
I tried to think of the correct questions to ask, seeing as Ezra was incapable. His eyes were dazed and heavy. Weaving,he clutched my arm, drunk on adrenaline, paralysed by terror. “He’s supposed to be a Viking in a fortnight. He’s the main Viking. He was really looking forward to it. What if… what if…”
“They know what they’re doing, I promise,” I said as another cannula slid into the boy’s arm, adding intravenous salbutamol to the mix. Jonty barely flinched. “And everyone knows Vikings are strong warriors. He’ll be fine.”
“Don’t leave me,” Ezra whispered, trembling.
Everyone’s anxiety levels dropped a peg when we reached the intensive care ward. For a start, Jonty was in an individual room. The team wasn’t battling to be heard against the clamour of a busy emergency department. Perhaps the calm helped Jonty, too. His oxygen saturations steadied; his carbon dioxide levels plateaued. Chained to banks of monitors by drips and wires and infusions, he slid from semi-conscious to drowsy.
In a tumult of fresh panic, a very pregnant Carly appeared, with an attractive older woman in tow. Both women were attractive, even white-faced and scared. As Ezra hugged them tight, I wondered whether I was intruding and should slip away and come back tomorrow. But one look from Ezra over Carly’s shoulder cut off that idea as swiftly as it had presented itself.
“My shift finishes in an hour.” Now was not the time to get to know Carly and explain my exact role in Ezra’s life. I still wasn’t entirely sure I understood it myself. “Let me go back down to the department and sort stuff out. Explain where I am and hand over a couple of patients. Then I’ll come back and stay with you.”
I returned to find Ezra sagged against the wall. “He’s still asleep.”
He rubbed at his face, staring at his boy as if something awful would happen if he dared look away. “He’s hard to wake up properly, but the doctor said that’s normal because it’s themiddle of the night and he’s so exhausted. She came in whilst you were out. They took another one of those blood oxygen tests. She said he’s hopefully turning the corner. He’s hopefully going to be all right.” His voice shook. “Carly’s gone home—the baby’s due in about a fortnight, and her blood pressure’s up. I said I’d call if anything happened. The doctor said she’d check in on Jonty again in two hours and keep that infusion going for another day or two, and that they will keep going with the nebs every two hours until morning. I’m glad he’s asleep, Isaac. I don’t want him to see me so scared, but I’m frightened he’s… he’s—and she said that he was so b-b-brave.” Swearing under his breath, he covered his eyes with a shaky hand.
Of course Jonty was brave. He had Ezra’s fine blood coursing through his veins. “Good news.”
Good news?Was I really coming out with useless platitudes like that? Keeping a polite six feet between us when my big brother was coming apart in front of my eyes? Ghosts within swirled, memories of nights in his room after one of Dad’s endless rants when he’d sung pop songs to me and told funny stories to cheer me up, an annoying younger brother. And a more recent adult version of the same thing, with carbonara, a pep talk, and a never-ending supply of tissues.
We reached for each other at the same time. He fell into me, and I staggered back, laden with armfuls of Ezra Fitz-Henry. Laden with everything I’d told myself I shouldn’t want, yet which for every day of the past week without him had felt so right. My knees hit the big armchair behind me, one of those washable, practical ones pulling out into a bed for parents. I sank into it, bringing him with me.
“Sorry, Isaac,” he sobbed into my hair. “Sorry.”
“Shh,” I soothed. “Sorry for what?”
“For leaving you to face them alone when you were a kid, for how I behaved at the memorial. For calling you when thishappened. For kissing you when you were pissed when I was supposed to be cheering you up, and for not taking no for an answer.”
“Shh. You’ll wake him. And stop being so stupid. You never have to apologise to any member of this family for anything. I should be the sorry one. For not chasing after you when you disappeared. Sorry that you had to sleep on the streets. For kissing you back after the gig and then running away.”
Ezra squeezed me harder. “God, this hurts so much, Isaac. Him, being here like this.”
I pushed his tear-stained face away from my hair. His dark, scared eyes searched mine. “Listen, Ez. Jonty’s going to be okay. And I’m going to help you both with whatever you need. From now on, if you’re hurting, then so am I.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you when you didn’t want me to. You were drunk, and I took advantage. This is my punishment.”
I chuckled. “Punishment? What sort of fucked-up nonsense is that? And I’ve told you. I’m not angry about that anymore. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
