Page 80 of Deep Blue Lies
“Whitaker. Ava Whitaker.”
“OK. Hello Ava. I understand you want to know how she is?”
“That’s right.”
The doctor nods. “I must warn you, it is early to say anything. The lady has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. The blow to her head caused a skull fracture, with haemorrhages. There is alsocerebral oedema – this is a swelling of the brain tissue inside the skull. Too much swelling can cause pressure and this can be very dangerous, it can lead to?—”
“I know. I worked in an ICU.”
The doctor pauses, surprised by my interruption. “You are a doctor?”
“Not exactly. Sort of.” I give an apologetic smile, then quickly go on. “Is she in a coma?”
“Yes.”
“Induced?”
“Yes. When she arrived, she was unconscious. Her Glasgow coma score was very low. To protect her brain she was put into an induced coma. This will allow the brain to rest and heal without more stress.”
I nod. I don’t exactly understand, but I’ve listened to explanations like this before. I’ve had to give them too, with my tutors watching me.
“We also did a CT scan. There is no large haematoma. That’s good, but there are contusions – bruising on the brain. This will take time to heal.”
“But will she wake up?” It’s Sophia who asks this question. “There’s something she needs to explain, something really important she needs to say.” Both the doctor and I turn to look at Sophia, but the doctor answers.
“Likely yes. But I cannot say for sure.”
“How long?”
“I would say she will stay in the coma for…perhaps three days. We hope that will be enough to allow the swelling to reduce.”
“And then she’ll wake up?” Sophia looks at me as she speaks. “Then she’ll be able to speak?”
The doctor is about to answer when the pager clipped to her waist buzzes. She glances at it, grimaces slightly and drops it back down. She turns to Sophia.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. But yes, we hope.”
SEVENTY
We’re left alone in the room with Imogen, the machines monitoring her softly beeping. For a while no one says anything. I take a step closer and look into her face, her eyes closed, her expression peaceful.What is it you were going to tell me? I want to ask her.What is it you know?I think back to all the times I’ve seen this woman, the time she appeared at my birthday party completely unannounced and even more out of place. How old was I then, eight or nine? She’s always been this strange presence in my life. Turning up as if she were Mum’s best friend, when Mum never seemed to like her much. Why has Mum used her over the years as an example of a weak person, an example of how not to live my life?
I believed it too. There was always a softness, a weakness if you like, in Imogen that frightened me a little. Not because I thought I really would turn out like her, but of the terrible implications if I did. That my life would pass by while I lived inside a dream. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Maria smiling softly at me. There’s a nurse now, standing in the doorway.
“We should go,” Maria tells me, and she guides me away.
We don’t talk as we wind our way through the hospital corridors back to the outside, but we stop as we reach the car. Maria zaps the button to unlock it but doesn’t pull open her door.
“What will you do now?” she asks instead.
“I don’t know.” I wait too, my fingers touching the handle but not pulling it.
“Perhaps it is time that you spoke with your mother?”
I look at her. I look down at the door handle, and suddenly the world in front of me melts behind watery tears. They come on so quickly and so strongly that when I blink, two fat drops of water fall onto my hand, only to be replaced at once by more liquid welling up in my eyes. I try to wipe them away, choking back more tears. I feel Sophia beside me, her arm around my shoulder, pulling me into her. Maria comes too, and both of them hug me for a long while, stroking my head, my hair, my shoulders. A long time later I’m able to speak again.
“But she’s not my mother, is she?” I turn to Maria, feeling the heat on my face, wiping away more tears. “I know that. I don’t know who she is, but I know she’s not my mother.”
“Whether she’s your biological mother or not,” Maria speaks quietly, “you know she’s the person who’s brought you up, who’s made you who you are. And nothing will change that.”
