Page 27 of Rewrite the Stars
Your lucky number, lucky star, will keep you safe when near or far
Angels watching you and me, guiding light so you can see
Every step that you will take, even when you make mistakes
Doesn’t matter where you are, lucky number, lucky star
We all applaud at the end of the song and I put the guitar back on the stand, feeling a new energy that I haven’t had for a long time. The sun is shining outside, the children I teach are blessings sent from above, my brother is doing better as each day passes and I know that Tom, although he isn’t here with me in person, is in my heart and will always be, even if it’s not in the way that I’d always dreamed of.
‘Thank you, Gracie,’ I say to the little girl who encouraged me just now. ‘You’ve made me smile again, right from the tips of my toes.’
Gracie gives me a toothy grin and gets on with drawing another picture, but alas her artwork has to be interrupted as I announce for the class to take out their arithmetic books. As always, this is met with a series of groans and I marvel at the honesty of children, who keep me on the tips of my toes every single day. Music is my inner passion, my great love, but teaching is what gets me up every day and gives me that sense of purpose that Tom and I spoke of on that day in December. I don’t feel as if he has really left me yet. I don’t think he ever will.
While I fill my days with the joys of little people, in the evenings I make the short journey out to Malahide to the respite and rehabilitation centre where Matthew has been recently moved for long-term residential care. The hospital promotes a home-from-home environment for patients with acquired brain injuries and Matthew is enjoying the taste of independence, where the focus is on dignity and social activities as well as recovery.
‘You look nice,’ he says to me, when I make my way into the lemon and grey decorated single room which we have personalized for him with photos, music stations and memories of his life from before the accident in a bid to make it cosy and comfortable for him. A multi-coloured blanket knitted by Mam sits over his feet, and I’m glad to see him out in his chair instead of lying in bed.
‘I had my hair done before I came here,’ I admit, ‘but thanks for noticing. Just a blow dry but it’s a pick-me-up I was in need of.’
He looks out the window and then across at me. Every day I see him stronger, every day I wonder why I never knew before the agony he was in, and every day it eats me up inside that a row with me over Tom put him in this position.
‘You just missed Mam,’ he tells me. ‘She’s exhausted, you know, Charlotte. She doesn’t have to keep coming here every day and neither do you. I’m a big boy, you know.’
I do know that, but I also know that no matter how many times Matthew tells us, we couldn’t go more than a day without calling here with him, so afraid are we of his mind slipping back into that dark place we’ve been willing him out of for so long.
‘I’ve a new consultant,’ he says, as if reading my mind. ‘Cool guy, I really like him. His name’s Jack and I’d a really great session with him yesterday evening just after you left. Probably the best chat I’ve had with anyone since this all happened.’
‘Oh,’ I say, sitting up straight on the armchair beside the bed that lies between us. Each of us cling so badly to any positive signs shown by Matthew so I can’t wait to hear more. ‘How often will you see him?’
Matthew twiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie in a way that reminds me of myself. We have so many similarities, and always have had. He’s the same colouring (despite sharing my love of experimenting with hair products), the same brown eyes and he is slight of frame like I am. In fact, we’re so similar that we fell in love with the same person at the same time … Even I could never have predicted that one.
‘He’ll be here any minute so you’ll get to meet him,’ he says to me. ‘And no, before you feel like you’ve to panic or worry, I don’t talk to him about anything that happened before or what led to this. We only discuss what’s going on now that I’ve been honest with everyone, most of all myself.’
I don’t know what to say. It’s the first time Matthew has even hinted at the history to his accident and it hits me like a punch in the stomach. But I don’t have to say anything, thank goodness, as a swift knock on the door marks the doctor’s entrance.
‘Good evening, Matthew!’ says a cheery voice and I turn my head to see Dr Jack Malone, the new consultant, the ‘cool guy’ he was just referring to.
‘Speak of the devil,’ says Matthew. ‘I suppose your ears were burning, Doctor. I was just telling my sister about you.’
I do a double-take and so does Matthew’s new doctor.
‘I think we’ve met before,’ he says, when I stand up to shake his hand. ‘Charlotte, isn’t it?’
I nod, feeling my cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. It’s him, the guy from Pip’s Bar! It’s the lovely man who bought me a drink before I did my disappearing act that night before Christmas. Jack. Yes, that was his name. Jack Malone!
‘Hello Jack,’ I stutter. ‘I mean, Doctor Jack, or Malone. Doctor Malone, sorry.’
He smiles and his blue eyes crinkle at the sides.
‘Just Jack is fine,’ he whispers.
He pulls over a chair from against the wall opposite the bed and sits down, confident and astute and no way as embarrassed as I’m feeling, it seems. He wears a pristine navy suit, and a crisp white shirt that’s wide open at the collar, showing off his tan. I wonder where he goes on holiday to pick up a tan like that? His brown hair is cut shorter than it was when I first saw him and he’s cool all right. Plus, he’s handsome, even more handsome than I noticed before. He smells good, too, of bergamot and the sophisticated scent of Creed, an expensive aftershave I know from an early Saturday job in a pharmacy when I first came to Dublin. What was I thinking leaving such a beauty? I must have had a few more beers than I remembered. He’s a real dish.
‘I’m a bit mortified at how I left your company that night in the bar,’ I say to him, wishing I hadn’t bothered the minute the words leave my mouth. He is flicking through notes, his stance casual and confident, and I realize how it’s hardly appropriate to discuss social activities in front of his patients. He rubs his knuckles on his chin as he contemplates his notes in front of him and gives a brief smile my way, then looks back at his notes, which tells me he doesn’t want to chat about it any further.
‘Anyhow,’ I continue, ‘I’ll go grab a coffee in the canteen and leave you to it. Lovely to see you again, Jack, I mean, Doctor. Doctor Jack.’
I scurry out of the room, knowing that Matthew is now left with a million questions in his head as to how on earth I know this lovely man who has been doing such great work with him. I lean up against the wall outside Matthew’s room and want to kick myself for being so unprofessional, then hide in the canteen for almost an hour until I see him come in there too, telling me it’s safe to go back now to my brother.
