Twinned (14 page)

I rub her back, soothingly, as she relaxes into me. We stay this way for ages, until I draw away and mentally drink in her face, her eyes, her mouth. Her dark hair is striking against pale skin. Her eyes are full of concern. I look above her bed and see a sign that tells me she is 'nil by mouth.'

"When are you getting out of here, do you know?" I ask her, softly. "I could arrange a cab to get you back to your mum’s safely; I presume you won’t be driving."

Our eyes connect and it's like spreading butter, an easy feeling that makes me smile, despite the circumstances. She smiles too. "I look worse than I am, apparently, they don't think there's any internal bleeding," she smiles.

"Are you alright though? I am so sorry I haven’t been with you. I -"

"I don't know what to think at the moment," she says, her eyes downcast. "I have been a mess. I've not been fair to Richard. All I can think about is you."

"It's so hard, I know," I say. Looking at her beautiful face I realise that the situation isn't the only thing that's getting hard. Though the circumstances are not
in any way
erotic, I wish I could lock the door and we could do some pretty bad things to each other right now...

The moment I try to get rid of the thought, she's in it, a half smile playing on her lips and the
beep beep
of her heart rate speeding up considerably.

We both laugh, which breaks the tension nicely. I pull up a chair next to her bed and look down at my hands, holding hers in them.

"I don't know what we should do."

"Neither do I."

"I know what I
want
to do."

"Ditto."

"I'm in the UK for a few days."

"Saves on mind-travelling?" she offers.

"I don't know what I can give you," I mumble.

“My mum was here,” she says. “She wanted me to stay with her tonight. She’s had dad making up the spare bed. She brought me my things so I could get changed into clean clothes.”

She bites her lip then continues, “I told her I would rather go home – to my house, that is.”

“Will Richard be back to look after you?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“I have an idea,” I say. “Just let me go and make a call. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Beth smiles and our eyes lock.

"I hope I wasn't dreaming you this time,"
I clearly hear her say. But it must have been in my mind, because her lips haven't moved.

My heart answers before my brain can stop it.

"I love you,"
it beats, softly and treacherously.

Beth

****

"And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy
and one will not be out of the other's sight for a moment"
– Plato

****

I was given some food and drink so they could monitor whether I was well enough to be discharged. The hot tea was like heaven and, despite the taste and texture of the food being hideous - plastic omelette and crusted mash with dehydrated peas - it went down and stayed down, which was good. While I was just finishing eating, the police came by and asked me some questions about the accident. They also gave me back my mobile phone and handbag, which they had retrieved from the car.

I answered all their questions as best I could
though it was all a blur really. I forgot to ask about my car, too, only remembering after they left. My mind was on other things.

I look down at my phone, which is switched off. I know that, if I turn it on, there is a good chance of a message from Richard. What will I tell him about my accident, about my hospital visitor?

I'm just not ready to explain, so I leave it switched off and put it in my handbag. Then I stretch my arm out to hook the handle of the overnight bag that mum left and drag it towards me. I pull it up onto the bed.

I have a quick look inside. Oh dear God, mum. She's grabbed my sturdiest pair of cotton knickers, grey socks, a bra that was once white, a pair of jeans that is too big and a floral blouse. Well. To her credit she has packed my makeup bag and my wash bag, plus a hairbrush and some deodorant.

I take what I need and hobble to the bathroom across the hall. As I sit on the loo I inspect some rather colourful bruises that are developing on my legs. I wash my hands and it feels so good to be clean that I also wash my face, clean my teeth, brush my hair and put a little make-up on in the cramped bathroom. I feel I can't take as long as I'd like because some idiot keeps knocking on the door and trying to turn the handle to come in. "It's engaged!" I yell but perhaps they don't hear. They don't reply.

I unlock the door and exit the bathroom. I'm confronted by an ancient woman clinging onto a zimmer frame, her white nightie horribly see-through against the light streaming in from the window behind. Yeeuch. I smile at her politely and hold the door open for her, while I inwardly cringe. She smells of pee and I see there's a puddle on the floor where she's been standing.

Urgh. Feeling horribly selfish for taking my time in the bathroom, I tell a male nurse at the nurse's station about the puddle, and then sheepishly go back to my room. I hate hospitals.

All of a sudden I know he is back, my heart thumps into my rib cage and my throat is dry.

I see him in my mind's eye, striding purposefully up the corridor, head down. My body tenses. A high pitched noise that I hadn't realised I was hearing before suddenly stops as he arrives at the door to my room. And I swear that the room visibly lights up. The colours brighten around me. I feel my chest swell and blood rushes to my brain as I turn and see he stands before me in the doorway.

"Whaddya doing up and about?" He chastises as he walks in, owning the space between us. "You look brighter?" It sounds like a question, so I nod.

He walks over to the high hospital bed and it creaks as he pulls himself up to sit in a shaft of yellow sunlight, legs dangling and hands on his thighs. Something about the way he moves reminds me of my dad for a second, back when I was a child and I would ask to be lifted up to sit on his knee. Joel is perched on the edge of my bed and he begins to explain with quiet excitement and a smile on his lips that he has 'a plan'.

I climb onto the bed beside him and listen intently, whilst taking a mental photo that I pray will burn the exact configuration of the tiny freckles on his neck, the jut of his jaw, the lines on his hands, into my retinas forevermore.

My ears manage to hear (while my eyes drink him in) that he's squared it with the band and his manager that I will write an article on 'Town Full of Heroes' for the newspaper supplement, if that's what I want to do. He says the band have pretty much taken over a smart boutique hotel in London for the next two nights. And best of all, he has managed to arrange that I can stay there alongside them.

Oh. My. God.
Be still my beating heart.

He then explains that, because it is important that we have some time alone to talk, he's taken the liberty of booking rooms elsewhere for the two of us tonight, to afford us the time to get our stories straight before I meet the others properly tomorrow.
Gulp.

"I hope you don't mind?" He says when he's finished.

Huh? Mind? I just nod again like I'm mute. It is like all my Christmases have come at once. I know I won't be able to even begin to write exactly how it feels to see the excitement in his eyes and to feel myself lifting up with a surge of dizzy electricity, like we are supercharged by each other's presence.

It is magical. Destined. Fated. Beautiful. It’s also very wrong.

"Beth? Are you OK with this?"

I smile. "Can't you read my mind?" I answer. He smiles too.

“What are you going to tell Richard?”

It’s a good question. I am thinking... From Richard’s point of view, the article opportunity will be great for my career. For me, it means precious time alone with Joel. And I'll get to see the band record at Abbey Road Studios - any fan's ultimate wish list experience.

And spending time alone with Joel - well I have so many questions - we can talk and try and come up with some answers to what the hell is happening to us both.

"It will be a privilege," I answer simply, then blush when I realise that sounds a little girlish.

I bump back down to Earth a little when Joel suggests we can't be seen to leave together. But of course he is right.

"I'll meet you out the back of the hospital in a cab at seven pm," he adds. "There's a cab pick-up point." I look up at the clock on the wall, which says it is four pm right now.

He gets up to leave. "Is there anything I can get for you?" he asks.

"I can't think of anything I need right now."

Should we kiss? Should we hug? Should he touch me?

And you know it's almost better because he doesn't do any of those things. "See you at seven," he says, blowing me a kiss as he steps out into the corridor. And I feel so excited and special, like the world is opening up before me and my heart is in the front carriage of a rollercoaster.

Then the room is just a room again, stark and cold. I still can't bring myself to turn on my mobile, so I ask the nurse if I can use her telephone. I call Marcus.

"Where the hell have you been?"

I fill him in. He is concerned. Not that I've had an accident but that 'Town Full of Heroes' want
me
to write the article.

"You're on older women's features, Beth. We'll get Roger, or David Clancy, or even Chris or Herb to do it. Set it up and get your arse back here. An article with a rock band needs EDGE, Beth. Masculine presence."

"I can present a fresh angle on the band, Marcus. Besides, this opportunity is not being offered to Roger or Dave or Chris or Herb. This is a one-time offer for me.
Just me.
"

“Give this one to someone with experience. I'll make it up to you. We've got Delia Smith in the pipeline, you could do a spread on her, how about it?"

"I won't back down, Marcus. If it's not me, it's not happening."

“I’ll have to send someone to do the pictures…”

“Call the band’s manager, they’re in London for three days, I’ll square it with Joel.”

He pauses, then sighs.

"So what's your angle going to be then, Beth?"

"Well... I'm going to... err, present the band from the perspective of a fan."

"What the! For crissakes Beth... You'll have to try harder than that. Did you get a knock to your head in this accident? You should be ashamed of yourself! Have you learned nothing since you left your poncy University course in media
bollocks
?"

His criticism hangs in the air.

I try to think quick. He beats me to it.

“I’m googling… OK, Beth. The lead singer's married, got a kid, how about you look at the band's relationships when they're touring?" He says. "Find some dirt on them, look for signs that they are up to no good. And while you're there, find out what brands they wear, drive, use. We can tap up some new advertisers with some lucrative product placement."

"No! I'm not comfortable with that, Marcus." I say more forcefully than I thought I could. "I will think of an angle for you, a better angle. How about I call you when I get to the hotel and we can discuss it then? And yes I did get a hit on the head, thanks for your concern."

I hang up.

I take a deep breath and call Richard. He doesn’t answer so I leave a message, deliberately omitting the car crash and just telling him I have an assignment that requires a few nights away. I say I will call him again later. I turn off the phone.

By six fifteen pm I have had the Consultant's OK to leave, the yukky plastic thing is removed from my arm and I am ready for the nurse to discharge me. I wait nervously, tapping my nails on the windowsill and looking out on the car park.

Finally she appears, looking flustered. Her name is Paula. She is a mature lady but I get the impression that she's quite new at nursing. She is very, very sweet and helpful.

I'm still shaky on my feet so Paula offers to take my bag to the taxi with me. I am worried that she might see Joel. By now it's five to seven.

"I hope you have someone meeting you?" She asks. I nod and smile.

Oh yes I do.

The walk to the taxi rank at the back of the hospital seems to take ages. The main corridor is so long and my heart is lurching in my chest. I pass people with drips, people on stretchers, people in wheelchairs. Worried faces, lives frozen pending medical intervention.

With Paula beside me, I feel like a fraud. I am too excited and confused to feel particularly ill or injured, I am on a high. This is it. I am really doing this. Oh my God!

My mind is racing. I am about to meet Joel and we are going to stay at a hotel. A HOTEL. Then tomorrow I will meet the band and stay in their hotel for
two more nights!
My body shivers with anticipation. The adrenaline goes some way to numbing the pain I am feeling from the battering I took today.

I feel a sudden pang of guilt about Richard. Defiantly, I step out of the double doors, the fresh air hits me and my hair is swept up in the breeze.

And there is the black taxi, waiting, as he said it would be. Oh how I wish I had my straighteners and rock chick clothes. Oh dear God...

The taxi has tinted windows so I can't see if Joel is in there or not. Paula hands my bag to the taxi driver, who sets it in the boot and walks round to let me in the back. He opens the door and takes my arm to support my weight as I clumsily fold myself inside. I can't look. I can't look... A surge of electricity tells me that Joel is sat just two feet from me across this very seat but I don't feel able to look at him while people are watching.

I throw a quick wave to Paula, who waves back and then goes back to her work. The driver checks that I'm belted in then closes the door.

We are alone.