Sleep. C.L. Taylor
dreaming. I have to be. But it’s too vivid. I saw blue curtains hanging on a white frame around my bed, a white blanket and the mound of my feet.
No! No! Stop!
I scream, but the sound of my voice doesn’t leave my head. I can’t move. I can only blink frantically – a silent SOS – as I’m grabbed by the wrist. They’re going to hurt me and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
‘Open your eyes, Anna. I know you can hear me. Anna, open your eyes!’
Alex?
He is beside me, his face pinched with worry, his eyes ringed with shadows, stubble circling his lips and stretching along his jawbone.
‘Anna?’
There’s a needle in the back of my hand. Alex catches it with his thumb as he rubs soft circles onto my skin. A sharp pain travels up the length of my arm.
Stop. The word doesn’t travel from my mind to my lips. Why can’t I speak? A wave of panic courses through me.
‘Rest, rest.’ Alex touches a hand to my shoulder, pressing me back into the bed.
Alex? Where am I?
There’s a blue curtain, hanging from a rail surrounding the bed, and a white blanket, pulled tight, pinning me to the sheet. At the end of the bed is the mound of my feet. Am I still in the dream? But it’s not a faceless stranger wrapping their fingers around my wrist, it’s Alex. I focus on my hand, resting limply on his, and tense the muscles in my forearm. My fingers contract and then I feel it, the softness of his skin under my fingertips. I’m not dreaming, I’m awake.
‘It’s okay,’ Alex says, mistaking the relief in my eyes for fear. He gingerly perches on the bed, avoiding my legs. ‘Don’t try to speak. You’ve been in an accident. You’re in the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead. You had some internal bleeding and you’ve been operated on. They had …’ he touches his throat, ‘… they had to give you some help breathing, they said your throat might hurt for a few days, but you’re going to be okay. It’s a fucking miracle that you—’ He swallows and looks away.
Survived?
The memory returns like a juggernaut, smashing into my consciousness. I close my eyes to try and block it out but it doesn’t disappear. I was in the car. I was driving and it was hailing and the windscreen wipers were going back and forth and back and—
I snatch my hands up and over my head, cradling my face with my arms as the truck slams into the side of the car. The seat belt digs into my collarbone and chest as I am thrown forward, then I am turning and spinning and twisting and my head smashes against the steering wheel, the seat rest, the window and my arms are wheeling around, my hands reaching for something, anything to anchor myself, to brace myself for impact but there’s nothing. Nothing. Everyone is screaming and all I can do is pray.
‘Anna, please.’
I am vaguely aware of someone pulling on my arms, gripping my elbows, trying to move them away from my face.
‘Anna, stop it. Please. Please stop screaming.’
‘Anna? Anna, it’s Becca, your nurse.’
Someone touches my fingers, tightly twisted in my hair. I hold on tighter. I can’t let go. I won’t.
‘Is it my fault?’ Alex’s voice buzzes in and out of my consciousness. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned the accident. Fuck. Is she going to stop? This is really … I can’t … I don’t know …’
‘It’s okay. It’s all right. She’s disorientated. One of the other nurses said she reacted violently when she came round in post-op.’ Someone pulls on my arms again. I can smell coffee. ‘Anna, sweetheart. Are you in pain? Can you open your eyes for me, please?’
‘Why is she screaming? Isn’t there something you can …’
‘Can you press the alarm button?’
‘Alarm? Why? What’s …’
‘I just need a doctor to see her. Can you just press …’
‘Is she going to be okay? She looked at me. She tried to speak. I thought—’
‘Anna. Anna, can you open your eyes? My name’s Becca Porter. I’m your nurse. You’re in hospital. Are you in any pain?’
‘Sorry, excuse me. Would you mind waiting outside the curtains for a minute. I’m Dr Nowak. Thanks, great. So, who do we have here?’
‘Anna Willis. Road traffic accident. Spleen laceration. She came round after post-op, her vitals were fine. She’s been asleep for the last hour or so. I heard screaming a few minutes ago and—’
‘Okay. Anna, I’m just going to have a look at your tummy, all right? Does it hurt when I press here?’
No. It doesn’t hurt there. It hurts here, in here, inside my head.
I know the nurses are about somewhere – I can hear the soft squeak of shoes on lino, a low cough and a murmur of voices – but I can’t see anyone. I’ve been staring around the ward for what feels like forever. Most of the other patients are asleep, reading silently or watching films on iPads. Everyone apart from the young woman opposite, who’s also awake and restless. She’s younger than me, late twenties tops, with a long, narrow face and dark hair tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head. The first time our eyes met we both smiled and gave a polite nod before letting our gaze drift away again, but we keep meeting each other’s eyes and it’s getting embarrassing. My throat’s still too sore to speak much above a whisper and I’d have to raise my voice to hold a conversation with her. I feel like I should apologise though. She was probably here last night when I screamed the place down. She must have been terrified. I imagine they all were. I didn’t even realise what had happened until the nurse, Becca, woke me up to check my blood pressure and asked how I was feeling. They’d rushed me away for a scan after they’d sedated me, worried that something had gone wrong with the operation and I was bleeding again. I can’t remember much about it, just a white ceiling, dotted with lights, speeding past as they pushed me down a corridor and then the low hum of the MRI machine. Apparently Alex stayed at the hospital until after the scan, then, reassured that I wasn’t in any danger, he did as the nurse suggested and went home for a sleep.
I thanked Becca for looking after me and I apologised for the screams I could only vaguely remember making. She kept a pleasant smile fixed to her face the whole time but when I asked where my colleagues were, her smile faltered.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I know the lorry driver was taken to another hospital but I don’t know about your friends. I can find out for you though.’
I didn’t see her again. The next time my blood pressure was checked it was a different nurse. Becca’s shift had ended, she said. She wouldn’t be in until tomorrow. I asked her the same question, if she knew what had happened to the others in the car. She genuinely didn’t seem to know but said she’d find out. When I saw her the next morning she said she was sorry, she hadn’t had time but the doctor would be along soon and she was sure he could answer my questions. I started to panic then. Where were Freddy, Peter and Mo? Had they been taken to a different ward? Unless they hadn’t been as badly injured as me. They might have walked away unscathed, a quick visit to hospital to be checked over and then sent straight home. But … my tender stomach tightened as I remembered what Alex had said about my recovery being a ‘miracle’.
The sound of wheels squeaking on lino makes me turn my head. A nurse has appeared in the doorway, pushing a trolley.
‘Excuse me. Nurse.’ I raise my hand and wave but she doesn’t so much as glance my way, my voice is so quiet. I watch despairingly as she turns left and walks further down the ward.
‘EXCUSE ME! NURSE!’ The woman in the bed opposite shouts so loudly that all heads turn