Inside the ambulance, everything is bright. Too bright. It burns.
Dad is strapped to a stretcher, and against the red blanket his skin looks sallow and saggy. His eyes have sunk deeper into their sockets and somewhere along the way he seems to have banged his head and there’s a shiny, tight look to one side of his forehead. It must have happened when he fell.
The paramedic leans over Dad and holds out something small and white. “Max? Max? I’m going to spray something under your tongue.”
Obediently, Dad opens his mouth…and at that precise moment I understand both how scared he is, and that I’ve never seen him scared before. Not of anything. Not at all.
He was already on the stretcher and trolley when I got to the lobby; the blanket pulled right up to his chin as the paramedics wheeled him out through the open doors. There were people everywhere – hotel staff, convention staff and members…a sea of faces staring blankly at my father. Sam barged them out of the way and shoved me in front of her. “Wait! She’s going with you!”
The second paramedic stopped and looked at me. “Are you his next of kin?”
“I’m his daughter.”
“Come in the back.” He ushered me with him to the open doors at the back of the ambulance.
“Sam!” I shouted back to the doors. “Call Bea! Her number—”
“I’ll find it. Go.” She held up a hand in goodbye as I climbed in behind the stretcher and somebody slammed the ambulance doors shut.
“Mr Angelo?” The paramedic is holding a clipboard and pen, peering at Dad.
“I’m perfectly…just need…” Dad’s voice is thin and wheezy – and ambulance or not, he’s obviously not listening to a word.
The paramedic gives up. “Do you know if your father has any allergies?” He’s talking to me now, isn’t he? And it’s the weirdest thing, but all I can think is that I should be the one with a clipboard because that’s what I do. Nobody else gets to hold the clipboard. It ought to be me.
“Penicillin, I think?” My voice sounds shaky and small, smothered by the siren speeding us on our way.
“You think?”
“I’m not sure. He’s got this story about how he was given it when he had tonsillitis or something when he was a kid and he came out in a huge rash, and because it was summer he just walked around the house in his swimming trunks.”
This was probably not the kind of information the paramedic was looking for.
But it’s my dad. This man doesn’t understand. It’s my dad. My dad. That’s who he is: stories and anecdotes and…my dad.
He taps the end of his pen on his clipboard and nods. “I’m going to put probable allergy for now. The hospital staff can confirm it when he’s feeling a little more robust.”
“Is he…what…?”
From the stretcher, there’s a snort. Whatever the paramedic gave Dad is obviously starting to work. “I’m not going to die, Lexi. Don’t panic.”
“Dad, you collapsed in the middle of the lobby.”
“I told them – I just got a bit short of breath. All I needed was a sit-down…”
The siren finally switches off and the paramedic clips his notes onto the end of the stretcher, picking up a pen-torch. He leans over Dad again, peering at him. “That, Mr Angelo, was a little more than getting short of breath. It sounds like it was most likely angina, but now we’ve got you, we’re going to take you in so the doctors can run a few tests…”
“Nonsense. Too many sausages at breakfast. Bit of indigestion. I’ll be fine – you can take us back…”
“Mr Angelo, I’m afraid—”
Angina. The word is strange – and right now, strange is scary. More than scary – petrifying. “What’s angina?”
“It’s a chest pain. Nothing,” Dad says from his stretcher – obviously to me, before carrying on at the paramedic. “I really can’t apologize enough for wasting your t—”
“Dad!”
Silence, other than the rattling of medical equipment in cupboards and drawers as we hurtle over a speed bump. Everything has that hospital disinfectant smell, rubbery and sour; cardboard and clean metal. Everything tastes of fear.
Today might actually be a good day.
I really had no idea, did I?
The ambulance turns a corner and slows. “All right, Max. Looks like this is our stop,” says the paramedic – and a moment later, the doors are opening and the smell of rain fills our little metal box. I step down – right into a puddle – and follow Dad and his clipboard as he’s wheeled through wide automatic doors from the hospital ambulance bay into the building. There’s a long, high desk built along one wall, the top covered with in trays and bottles of hand sanitizer. A nurse peers over at us and calls “Triage 2!” – and Dad is wheeled through a wide brown door. I try to follow, but Desk Nurse yells at me. “Excuse me! Hello? You can’t go through there!”
“But…he’s my dad.” I point at the door – which has swished shut behind the trolley. “I’m his daughter…” I add – just in case she hadn’t figured that out from the whole “dad” thing.
Her stern expression softens. “You’re better off out here. Let them take a good look at him and someone’ll be out to talk to you. Is there anyone you want to call? Your mum?”
“They’re divorced.”
“You want to call her anyway?” She pushes a phone towards me across the top of the desk.
“She lives in France…would that be okay?”
The nurse nods, then picks up the handset and punches in some kind of code. “Just keep it short – or you’ll get me in trouble.”
I dial Mum’s number from memory. For a moment, I didn’t think I’d remember it – I’ve always called it from the contacts in my phone…which is currently lying on the banquet hall floor back at the hotel. As the phone rings, I wonder if Sam remembered to go back for it and call Bea – and whether, when she switches it on, the first thing she’ll see is my attempt at stalking Aidan.
“Allô?”
“Leonie?”
“Lexi! How are you?”
“I’m…I need to talk to Mum.”
“But what’s happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s not me – is Mum around?”
“Of course, I will fetch her. Wait…”
There’s a rustling sound, and I hear Leonie calling Mum’s name; a pause, then a rapid burst of French. Footsteps, then the phone being picked up again.
“Lexi. Is something wrong? What’s the matter?”
“Mum. It’s Dad. You always ask if it’s him. This time, it is.”
“What? Is everything okay?”
“He’s in hospital.”
I hear her take a deep breath, as though she’s steadying herself, and I carry on.
“I don’t know much – he collapsed and they said it’s angina and I don’t know. They won’t let me in with him and I don’t know and…”
“Angina. Oh lord. It was your grandfather’s heart that killed him. Is Bea there? Does she know?”
“Sam’s calling her.”
“Okay. Okay. Good.” Her voice is quiet and tinny, as though it’s coming from somewhere even further away than France…but it’s still her voice, and I feel better for hearing it. “And your father? How is he now?”
“He was okay in the ambulance. They gave him something and he seemed a lot better.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know. They sprayed something under his tongue.”
“That sounds right. Good.”
“You keep saying that. It’s not good!”
The nurse behind the desk clears her throat and looks at me pointedly, making a shhh gesture with her finger to her lips.
When Mum speaks again she’s calm, her voice clearer. “Lexi. I know. I know. But listen to me – your father will be fine. This is nothing, just a scare, okay?”
“But…”
“Just a scare. Okay?”
“Okay.” I grip the handset so hard I’m afraid it will shatter under my fingers. The nurse clears her throat again. “I have to go. I’m using the hospital’s phone. I left mine in the hotel.”
“Of course, you go. Leonie and I are home all day – call me when you can, when there’s news, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And don’t panic. I’ve known your father a very long time – longer than you have, remember. This isn’t even going to dent him.”
“I know, Mum. I have to go. Love you!”
“I love you too, sweetheart. Speak to you later.”
I drop the phone back into its cradle and slide it over to the nurse. “Thank you,” I say – and I mean it.
“You’re welcome, love. Take a seat over there – I’ll let the doctor know you’re waiting when she comes out. It might take a while – we’re a little understaffed today.” She points me at a couple of rows of moulded plastic chairs along the wall. They’re just the same as the ones in the dining hall at college – only blue instead of red. Halfway along the row is a battered coffee table with a stack of well-thumbed magazines on the top and a couple of children’s picture books with the covers torn off. A flat-screen TV is mounted on the opposite wall, tuned to a news channel with the sound turned down and the subtitles switched on. I flop into a chair next to the table and pick up the top magazine from the stack, just to take my mind off everything – and when I straighten it out and look down at the cover, it’s Aidan’s face that looks back up at me. Of course it is.
I toss the magazine back on the pile, tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
And I wait.
I always thought hospitals were meant to be quiet places – you know, to help with healing. But they’re not. Or at least this one isn’t; it’s actually noisier than most conventions. There’s a constant buzz in the background – people walking in or out or through the brown door one way or another, ambulances pulling up and driving off, shouting, trolleys rattling, machines beeping… Just so much noise. How does anyone cope here? It’s not that I’m not used to noise, but there’s something so…desperate about it here. Something so hopeful and so sad all at once. And it seems completely chaotic too. People talk about conventions as chaotic, but they’re not. There’s a flow to them – people move out of one event and into another, or out to get lunch or a drink with friends. They rise and fall, drift and ebb. You can read them as easily as a clock if you know how.
Not here.
But then, nothing about a convention’s life or death, is it? It’s all just play.
Unless you’re Dad.
It’s not play to him, is it? It really is life and death – his life’s work… And it’s put him in the hospital.
The automatic doors to the outside world swish open again – and this time there’s a rush of footsteps, and someone walks in front of me and sits in the chair beside me. “Lexi?”
Sam.
She grabs my hand, and I open my eyes.
“How is he?”
“I don’t know – he seemed okay when we got here. They told me to wait, so I’m waiting.”
She’s still wearing the bottom half of her Catwoman costume – but with an old, baggy purple hoodie pulled on over the top. “Bea’s coming. Here’s your phone, by the way.” She pulls it out of her hoodie pocket and passes it to me. A jagged crack runs right across the screen. “Sorry. It was like that when I found it – must have broken when you dropped it. It still works fine though.” She watches me rubbing my poor broken screen with my thumb. “Well. Fine-ish,” she adds.
“You didn’t have to come.”
“We wanted to. I practically had to hold Mum and Dad back until I’d finished on the phone with Bea.” She nods at her parents, who are talking to Desk Nurse.
“How is she? Bea?”
“Scared, but other than that…” Sam shrugs and settles back into her seat – then almost immediately leans forward again and wriggles. “For a waiting room, you’d think they’d spring for better chairs. What with people having to wait here and everything. Jesus.” She fidgets some more and swears a couple of times under her breath before finally sighing and sitting still. “By the way, seventeen, in case you’re wondering. Sev-en-teen scavenger hunt photos. I’m not even joking.”
She didn’t have to come…but I’m glad she did.
When Bea arrives, she’s a whirlwind. The doors fly open ahead of her and she strides in, handbag under her arm and those bangles rattling with every step – and I’ve never been so happy to hear them. Instead of walking right past me to the desk like I expect her to, she comes straight over.
“Are you all right?” she asks. It’s the first thing she says – not “How is he?”, but am I okay. I nod.
“I don’t know how Dad’s doing. The doctors—”
“I’ve already spoken to them,” she says, setting her handbag on the floor. “He’s fine. I can’t believe they wouldn’t let you in with him – what nonsense. He’s your father.”
“Wait…you’ve spoken to them?”
“I called them from the train. After the eighth time, they decided it was probably a better use of their resources to put me through to the right room, rather than have me clogging up the switchboard.”
“And?”
“There’s still one or two tests they want to do, but everyone seems confident it was angina.”
“That’s what the paramedic said.”
“Well then. They should have just asked him, shouldn’t they? Instead of keeping poor Max stuck in here all afternoon and taking up a bed that could be used by someone who actually needs it.”
“So…can I see him?” A vision of my dad strapped to the trolley in the ambulance and looking thin and grey – and, yes, old – flashes before my eyes.
“Better than that,” says Bea, rubbing my arm. “We’re going to break him out.”
“But you said there were more tests?”
“And there’s no reason they can’t be done at home. There are perfectly good hospitals there, after all.” She stands up and brushes imaginary dust from her hands. “Right. I’m going in.”
She strides towards Desk Nurse – who looks up. From where we’re sitting, I can’t hear what either of them are saying – but I can still tell that Desk Nurse is losing. If Sam was right and Bea genuinely was scared, she’s either really good at getting past it or her Game Face is second to none. Poor old Desk Nurse doesn’t know what’s hit her – as I could have told her, Bea has a habit of getting what she wants and it’s impressively terrifying (or terrifyingly impressive – I’m not sure which) watching her at work. After a couple of minutes of heated debate – in which Desk Nurse valiantly stands her ground but Bea swings round to flank her, before surprising her with a brutal axe swing to the head and beheading her (I have spent too much time around LARPers), Bea walks back over.
“We can take him as soon as the paperwork’s ready. They’re bringing some medication over from the pharmacy and I’ll go and find him now. Do you want to call a taxi for us all?”
“No need.” Sam’s dad turns away from studying the subtitles on the television. “We came in our car, so there’s plenty of room for everyone.”
“Yes,” mutters Sam, shaking her head. “Come ride in the minivan of despair. And pray he turns the radio off, or your brain’ll be dribbling out of your ears before we even leave the car park.”
“Your dad’s taste in music’s not that bad…” I whisper as Bea nods and vanishes through the brown door.
“No, sure. If you like the 1970s. And not the good bit of it.” Sam snorts.
“There was a good bit to the 1970s?”
“I heard that,” says her dad, raising an eyebrow at me.
Sam snorts again. “See? Lexi thinks the same.”
“Then you can both walk back to the hotel, can’t you?” But he says it with a smile.
Desk Nurse clears her throat a little too loudly. “Prescription for Max Angelo?” She’s waving a small paper bag.
“I’ll take it,” I say, and bound over to the desk. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I should ring my mum,” I tell Sam. “I’ll just be outside, okay?” I consider asking Sam to hold the medicine, but as I still haven’t forgotten what happened when I asked her to look after the key to the storage cupboard where we were holding all the membership lanyards in Glasgow last year, I think better of it. (Personally, I thought everyone looked lovely walking around with their handwritten labels on ribbons we managed to source from the art shop down the street from the hotel…) Instead, I tuck it into my pocket as best I can and dial.
Mum answers on the second ring. “Any news?”
“They’re letting him out.”
“Thank heavens for that. And you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I think. Apparently there’s still a couple of tests or something, but everyone keeps saying it was angina.”
“Mmm.”
“What does that mean, anyway – was he having a heart attack?”
“Not quite, no. It’s…look at it as an early warning.”
“So he could have a heart attack?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe, if he doesn’t slow down a little – and almost certainly if he keeps eating those awful takeaways you two have…”
“Ummm.”
“Stop. Stop panicking, darling. He’ll be absolutely fine, I promise. Now, these tests…?”
“I’ll ask Bea when she comes out. She’s in with him now.”
“She’s there already? That’s good. Well, if she knows then it’s probably better I speak to her myself.”
“You want to talk to her? Won’t that be a bit…you know…weird?”
“Lexi, Bea and I have been speaking to each other regularly for months now. I thought you knew that?”
“You? You and Bea? You’re…friends?”
“It was your father’s idea, actually – for once, he thought of something sensible. And, yes, it was uncomfortable at first, but it turns out we get along quite well.”
“But…why?” I wonder if she can hear that distant BOOM sound down the phone. Because that’s the sound of my mind, blowing.
“You, mostly.”
“Me?”
“Look. Your father and I didn’t work. We tried, and in the end we just didn’t, but there’s a very good chance he and Bea will. They seem like a much better fit than we ever were. And she’s very fond of you. We all have you in common. Whatever I feel about Max – your father – you’re still our daughter. We’re all family, however messy that is – and Bea’s a part of it too.”
Mind. Blown.
Bits of me, littering the entrance to the hospital. Just…scattered all over the place.
Wow.
Thankfully, before I have to get any further into this earth-shattering, mind-blowing (and not-a-little awkward, if I’m honest) conversation, Sam calls my name – and when I look round, through the big windows I can see Dad, coming through the brown door. He looks wobbly and tired, and he’s still so very, very pale except for the bruise on his head which is now turning a fine shade of purple, but it’s him and he’s walking and he’s there.
“I have to go – Dad’s out.”
“Give him my love, would you? He can give me a call himself when he’s feeling up to it.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“And Lexi?”
“Mmm?”
“Don’t let him work too hard.”
“I don’t think Bea’ll let him…”
“When it comes to conventions, both you and I know that there’s only one person he’ll listen to…and it’s not his wife.”
There’s a faint click as she cuts the connection, and I’m already back through the entrance doors and throwing my arms around Dad – who almost does a convincing job of pretending he hates the fuss…but not quite.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I mumble, not really meaning for him to hear – but he does.
“Language,” he says sternly…then laughs and adds: “I scared the shit out of me too.”
Bea smiles and picks up her handbag, bracelets jangling, and Sam trails after her dad, arguing about why she can’t pick the music in the car, while her mum goes off to pay for the parking…and before I quite know I’ve done it, I’ve dialled another number on my phone. There’s a funny ringing tone, and then a click.
“Hello?” says the voice on the other end.
“Aidan. It’s me.”