183 Times a Year (40 page)

I make my way onto the Intensive Care Unit where Mum is. Simon's here. He seems surprised to see me.

‘Hello trouble, thought you were going to college today?'

I shrug my shoulders. ‘Needed to see Mum,' I reply.

He smiles. ‘Okay. You have a chat with her and I'll go and grab a coffee.'

I sit in the chair Simon was in and stare at Mum. I'm glad he's left the room coz I can be more honest with her. She still looks kind of freaky coz her neck's supported by a brace and there's a web of intravenous lines, feeding tubes, suction pumps and drains connected to some part of her body, not to mention mechanical ventilators and a whole load of other tubes that do god knows what. Still, she doesn't look as bad as she did on that first day when they took her down to surgery. They drilled like a proper hole in her head so they could insert a device called an intracranial pressure monitor to check for bleeding and swelling inside her skull. That was the worst forty-eight hours of my life.

‘I really thought we were going to lose you Mum,' I tell her. I wonder if she
can
hear me?

I've Googled everything I can on the subject of impaired consciousness (coma to everyone else) and they all advise the same as the doctors – coma patients should be spoken to as if they are awake. There are hundreds of stories of people who were in comas and they all claim they could hear family and
friends
talking to them.

Course it's dangerous looking at stuff on the net coz you get to read all the bad shit too, those that didn't make it … or worse. Is it bad not to want Mum to live if she's like so badly brain damaged she doesn't even know me? Oh god how bad am I? I'm such a bad person to think that. The lump in my throat makes it hard for me to talk. If Mum can hear me talking to her I don't want her to hear me crying.

I ring my hands and shift uncomfortably in the chair, listening to the constant clunk of the ventilator pushing oxygen in and out of Mums lungs. I get up again and walk towards the bed that cradles Mum. The noise of the machines maintaining her life hurt my head. I put my earphones in and touch the music icon on my phone.

Suddenly the haunting voice of Kate Bush fills my ears. The song is
This Woman's Work
, one of Mum's favourites.

I run my hand across Mum's warm but lifeless arm and lift her heavy, limp fingers, holding them in mine. My fingers, made by her – her, my Mum.

Why didn't I tell you how much I love you? You gave me everything and all I gave you in return was shit. I let Mum's hand drop gently back onto the stiff sheets and look at her sleeping face. Her skin, normally sun kissed and flushed from all her woman's work is too white. I run my shaking finger across Mum's nose and laugh when I find her bump. Then, using the finger from my other hand I trace the bump on my nose too, before bending down and kissing the tip of Mum's beautiful nose.

‘Please don't give up Mum,' I whisper. ‘Please.' My tears fall silently down my face.

‘I'm like so sorry Mum. I never meant to hurt you. You're strong Mum, you have to come back. You never give up. You have to make it eh?'

Shit.
Did I really see that? Did Mums eyes flicker or am I just imagining it? ‘Simon! Nurse! Someone! I think Mum's eyes just opened!'

Chapter 38

GRANDAD

CONNOR

‘You alright love?' Nan says to me.

‘I'm fine Nan,' I reply.

‘Because you mustn't worry you know? I mean, I know you are worried but we all have to stray strong and positive. You know that's what Mum would want, right?'

‘I know Nan.'

‘But you know I'm always here for you?'

‘I know Nan.'

‘You can tell me if you're worried, and we'll sort it out together?'

‘I know Nan, thanks Nan.'

‘Leave the bleedin boy alone Ellie,' Grandad says ruffling my hair (why do old people always ruffle kids' hair?). ‘He's alright encha lad?' I smile at Grandad and nod my head. ‘Besides,' he continues. ‘We've got important work to do aint we Connor?' He winks at me but Nan just sighs and rolls her eyes at Grandad.

We take our mugs of hot chocolate that Nan has just made us, and head out to Grandads laboratory. It's not really a proper laboratory. It used to be an old garage that Grandad converted but it actually looks more like a Library coz it's filled with hundreds and hundreds of books. I recognise some of the writers like J R R Tolkien, Ian Fleming, Roald Dahl and J K Rowling, but others, wearing old brown or red leather jackets, I've never heard of or can't even pronounce. Some of Grandad's
books
are so rare and so precious he actually has them locked up in glass display cases. They are a bit old and tattered but you can tell from some of the amazing pictures and the yellowy, brown pages they really are from the old, old, olden days.

Grandad pulls a stool out for me to sit on and he slowly lowers himself into his black leather swivel chair. We take a loud sip of hot chocolate then look at each other and laugh coz we both know if Mum were in here with us she'd shout at us for slurping.

‘Anymore trouble with that Warraner kid?' Grandad asks. ‘Jason? A bit,' I reply.

‘What kinda trouble?' Grandad asks raising his bushy grey eyebrows.

I shrug my shoulders. ‘He said Mum's as good as dead and even if she does wake up she'll be like a vegetable; a dribbling retard that has to wear nappies and will be shagged by the polski carers who will have to look after her – when no one's looking.'

‘Did he now?' Grandad replies. One of his eyes begins to twitch and his nostrils flare ever so slightly. He looks angry. ‘That bigoted ass of a father of his is teaching him well then. And what else?' he continues in a voice that unlike his face is much calmer.

‘And I punched his lights out,' I reply. Grandad's face breaks into a huge smile and he begins to chuckle so loud I can't help but join in.

‘That's my boy,' he finally says after we stop laughing.

We sit quietly for a moment, only breaking the silence from time to time with the odd slurping and gulping noises we both make as we finish our hot chocolates.

‘Aaaaahhhh,' Grandad finally says as he slams his cup down on the side using his hand to wipe away any of the drink left on his lips. I do the same then we grin at each other. ‘C'mon then yang Connor, look lively, let's get this elixir made eh?'

‘
Okay Grandad, let's do it. Let's get this lixar made for Mum.'

Although most of Grandad's room is crammed with books there is one small corner filled with laboratory equipment. A Bunsen burner, clamp stand and test tube holder all sit on an old wooden bench along with other weird instruments like forceps, crucible tongs and dropper pipets. There is other stuff but they're the ones I can remember the names of. There are also a couple of shelves with neatly stacked glass beakers and flasks as well as watch glasses and test tubes. Hanging from a few rusty nails banged into the wall are some protection goggles and on another, higher up shelf there are lots of different coloured glass bottles with lids, some containing what look like powders, others have liquids. Some have labels with writing on and some have no labels at all, whilst others have a yellow triangle with skull and crossbones and the words DANGER, TOXIC HAZARD underneath.

Grandad reaches for a mortar and pestle at the back of the bench. Then he pulls out a small set of stepladders, and slowly, taking one step at a time, huffing and puffing, he reaches for some of the bottles on the high up shelf and passes them to me to put on the wooden bench. I don't know if any of the stuff Grandad does is real – “playing at being a bloody alchemist or wizard or what bloody ever” – Mum (when she was awake) and Nan would mutter to each other when they'd think I wasn't listening. But I don't really care. I love that Grandad's a bit mad, a bit eccentric. It's better than golf or football.

Grandad puts what looks like a few leaves and some different coloured powders into the mortar and tells me to start grinding them up with the pestle whilst he looks his two, oldest and favourite books, both locked separately in their own glass display cases. He very carefully takes out the first book. I watch him as I continue grinding, suddenly sneezing as some
of
the powder rises up my nose. It's a big, black leather bound book full of strange pictures. There are absolutely no words whatsoever in this first book, that's why it's called
Mutus Liber
which means
The Wordless or Silent book –
at least that's what Grandad tells me.

Grandad holds the book really carefully, like you would a new-born baby or something. After making a few grunting noises he finally places it onto the lectern that sits next to the wooden bench. He carefully opens the book to a page he has bookmarked and places one hand, moving it around in a circular motion, above the picture on the page. He looks up and closes his eyes, his hand still hovering and muttering a few words I don't understand. All of a sudden he opens his eyes and turns quickly to look at me.

‘Ow's that grinding coming on then yang Connor?'

‘Alright I think Grandad.'

‘Good, good,' he says, but he sounds sort of distracted. He then reaches across me for a clear bottle containing what looks like some sort of white cream or lotion. He takes the mortar from me and pours some of the white stuff in. ‘Right,' he says handing it back to me, ‘nar give that a bit of a stir.'

I start to mix it up and notice the white stuff has the same smell as the moisturiser Nan uses. ‘Gow on boy,' Grandad says, ‘put some blady elbow into it.'

I continue stirring whilst Grandad puts the
Silent Book
back into its glass case and takes out his next other favourite book. This one is slightly smaller than the last one with a very old binding – of worked copper Grandad says. And unlike the last book (Grandad also tells me) that had pages made of parchment, the pages of this book are made from the bark of trees. He treats it with the same care as the last book. He also places this one on the lectern and again opens it to a bookmarked page. This book is called
Abraham The Jew
and like the last book this book also
has
lots of pictures and diagrams but unlike the last one this book also has lots of writing.

Grandad starts to read the pages of the book he's opened, whispering words to himself. I stop stirring and watch him, suddenly feeling like I'm in a Harry Potter movie or something. He turns his head towards me and looks at me over his reading glasses.

‘Right then yang Connor, put that mortar down and repeat after me –
Om Mani Padmi Hum
.'

I do as Grandad asks and start chanting. ‘Armani Padmee Hummm,' I say.

Grandad laughs and repeats the words slowly until I begin saying them the same way as him. Grandad explains that the words are from a Tibetan Buddhism mantra and that saying them out loud brings blessings of compassion, or something like that. I feel a bit stupid chanting out loud, but I carry on anyway.

‘
Om Mani Padmi Hum, Om Mani Padmi Hum
.' We repeat the words over and over again. I keep my eyes closed and after about five minutes I start to feel really calm. As I continue saying the words, I can see Mum awake and happy and back to normal. It's a bit freaky actually coz it's like I can actually feel her and smell her. And every now and again, when I see her face really clearly, she looks like she's frowning at me and Grandad – but in a good way.

‘Right then,' Grandad suddenly shouts, making me jump and sorry to see Mum disappear again. ‘That should just about do it. Talking to the universe we were Connor. Now then,' he continues. ‘You put that mixture into this plastic bottle.' He passes me a clear, empty bottle and points to the contents of the mortar. ‘I'll just put this book away.'

‘Okay Grandad,' I reply feeling a little bit sad but happy at the same time.

I pour the lotion into the plastic bottle using a funnel.
Grandad
then takes it from me and screws a lid on. He hands it back to me with a big smiling, craggy old face.

‘Nar, you make sure you rub this into ya Mum's hands every time you visit her in hospital and we'll see what happens eh?' Grandad smiles at me again and winks.

‘Okay Grandad,' I say, winking back.

I felt a bit sad when I first got here. My legs felt too tired to walk properly and my shoulders hurt and felt heavy, like they were pushing me down. But doing this with Grandad has made me feel better, lighter in a way and happier – a bit happier anyway. I know some lotion, potion whatever it is won't make Mum better. But you never know – and I can hope. I really, really can hope.