Page 100 of Je T'aime, Actually
Monroe glanced at him, waiting.
Benji looked back and forth between them, then exhaled heavily, his voice quiet and thin. “I don’t want to see him like that. What if that’s all I remember?”
There was a beat of stillness before Monroe reached for his hand, warm and firm. “It won’t be. You’ll remember him at home, singing badly in the kitchen, dancing with Kitty, shouting at football on the telly. This…this is just now. It’s not forever.”
He swallowed hard. “You sure?”
Monroe gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sure. He’s going to get better. The doctors think so too.”
Chloé crouched beside them, her hand resting briefly on his knee. “And when you’re ready, even if it’s not today, you’ll go in and say hi. He’ll be glad you did.”
Benji didn’t reply, but he gave a small nod, eyes still on the door.
eighty-five
The door opened, and Kitty skipped out, her soft toy trailing behind her along the floor.
“Daddy made a noise,” she announced, wide-eyed.
“Oh?” Monroe glanced from Kitty to Poppy, who now stood in the doorway, eyes shining with fresh tears and a face full of emotion.
“Yep,” Poppy said, voice shaky. “He groaned. Just for a second, but…I think he’s waking up.”
A breath caught in Monroe’s throat as she turned to Benji. His face lit with cautious hope; his eyes fixed on his mum.
“Do you want to go in now?” Monroe asked gently.
He didn’t answer right away. His body was still, tense, then slowly, he gave a small nod and stood up.
Before heading to the door, he turned to Chloé. “You’ll stay here?”
“Of course.” She smiled, steady and warm. “Go on. Go see your dad.”
Cautiously, Benji stepped through the doorway, his feet almost silent on the floor. The room felt colder than he expected. Quieter too, except for the steady beeping of machines and the soft whoosh of something mechanical nearby.
His eyes landed on the bed.
There lay his dad: pale, still, almost swallowed by the white hospital sheets. Wires curled from under the blankets and disappeared into machines he couldn’t name. There was a tube by his mouth, and his eyes—always so full of mischief or warmth—were closed.
Benji froze.
It was too much. Too real.
Poppy, just behind him, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice close to his ear. “He’s here. He’s still your dad.”
Benji’s bottom lip trembled. “He doesn’t look like him,” he said, blinking fast.
“I know,” Poppy murmured, “but it’s still him in there. Just resting. Healing.”
She gave his shoulder the softest nudge. “Come closer, love. You can talk to him if you want. He’ll hear you.”
With a hesitant step, Benji moved forwards. One hand reached for the edge of the bed. His fingertips brushed the blanket.
“Hi, Dad,” he said, voice barely more than a breath.
Frank didn’t move, but something shifted in the room. The heaviness wasn’t gone, but it had eased, just a little.
“I came,” Benji added, a little louder this time. “And Kitty says you made a noise. So…I think that means you’re fighting.”
