The Accident. C.L. Taylor

then drifts towards Danny and stands as close to him as she can without knocking him over. I’ve seen Milly do the same with Brian. She’ll press herself so tightly against his knees he struggles to stay upright. With Milly it’s a sign of her utter devotion and, from the look on Keisha’s face, I’m fairly certain the motivation is the same.

      Danny barely acknowledges his girlfriend’s presence. If it wasn’t for the fact he just swung an arm around her shoulders and rested a hand on the back of her neck I’d say he wasn’t even aware she was in the same room. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Charlotte for the last five minutes.

      ‘How is she?’ he asks.

      I shrug. It’s a well-practiced response – half hopeful, half realistic. ‘The doctors say the worst of her injuries are healing well.’

      ‘So why …’ he frowns. ‘… hasn’t she woken up?’

      ‘They don’t know.’ I squeeze Charlotte’s hand. She’s so still and silent you’d imagine it to be cold but it’s not, it’s as warm as mine.

      ‘Really? You would have thought that they’d be ab—’

      There’s a loud sniff and we both turn to look at Keisha.

      ‘Oh my God,’ Danny looks appalled at the tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Stop it, would you. You’re embarrassing me.’

      I tense at his tone. James was the same, cold in the face of tears.

      Keisha covers her face with her hands but she can’t hide her tears. They drip off her jaw and speckle her pink top with red splashes.

      I reach out a hand but I’m sitting too far away to touch her. ‘Are you okay?’

      She shakes her head and swipes at her cheeks with her right hand; her left clutches the hem of Danny’s leather jacket. She must be eighteen, twenty tops, but the gesture is that of a five-year-old child.

      ‘It’s just,’ she swallows back a sob, ‘it’s just so very sad.’

      I’m surprised by her accent. I didn’t expect her to be Irish.

      ‘Yes it is. It’s very sad. But we’re still optimistic. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t pull through.’

      Keisha wails as though her heart is breaking and wrenches herself away from Danny.

      ‘Keish,’ he snaps, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. ‘Keisha, stop it.’

      ‘No.’ She wraps her arms around her slender waist and steps backwards towards the door. ‘No.’

      ‘Keisha?’ I stand up and take a slow step towards her. I hold out a hand, palm upwards as though I’m approaching a startled foal. ‘Keisha, what is it?’

      She looks at my hand and shakes her head.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ She takes another step towards the door, then another. She’s trembling from head to foot. ‘I’m really sorry.’

      ‘We all are.’ I’m trying to stay calm but my heart is beating violently in my chest. ‘But there’s no need to be so upset. She really will get—’

      ‘That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry that—’

      ‘Keish!’ Danny’s voice is so loud we both jump. ‘Calm the fuck down.’

      ‘No.’ She tears her gaze from Charlotte’s face to look at her boyfriend. ‘She needs to know.’

      ‘Know what?’ What’s she talking about? ‘What do I need to know, Keisha? Tell me.’

      She and Danny stare at each other, their eyes locked. His eyes narrow. He’s warning her, silently ordering her to shut up.

      ‘Keisha!’ I need her to look at me. I need to break whatever spell Danny has cast on her. ‘Keisha!’

      ‘Sue? Why are you shouting?’ Brian appears in the doorway behind Keisha, a cup of steaming coffee in each hand.

      I stare at him in astonishment. How long has he been there?

      ‘I knew it.’ He glares at Danny. ‘I bloody knew there’d be trouble if I let you—’

      He’s interrupted by Keisha who moans softly, then shoulders Brian out of the way and sprints out of the room. Hot coffee slops onto the cold, vinyl floor.

      ‘Keish!’ Danny’s after her in a flash.

      There’s a horrible moment when he and Brian face off in the doorway and I think someone’s going to throw a punch but then Brian steps to the side to let Danny pass. I hear Keisha shriek something as her boyfriend’s trainers pound the corridor then the room falls silent again.

      The heart monitor beep-beep-beeps in the corner of the room.

      Brian looks at me, confusion and shock etched onto his face. ‘What the hell happened?’ There’s an unspoken accusation behind the question and he looks at Charlotte, concerned. ‘I could hear that girl screaming from the vending machine in the corridor. I’m surprised the nurse didn’t come back. Or security.’

      ‘What did she mean?’ He places the coffee cups on the bedside table and takes Charlotte’s other hand.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘The girl with Danny. She shouted something as she was running down the corridor.’

      ‘I didn’t hear anything.’

      Brian fixes me with a look. ‘She shouted, “Stupid fucking girl. She trusted me, she thought I was her best friend, and look what happened to her”.’

       Saturday 9th September 1990

       It was James on the phone on Wednesday. He was terribly apologetic, said some awful things had happened in his personal life and asked if I’d ever be able to forgive him for leaving me hanging. I wanted to be angry, to tell him that I deserved to be treated better and that he couldn’t just expect me to forgive him because he’d deigned to pick up the phone. Instead I said, ‘Buy me a beer and I’ll think about it.’ He called me an ‘angel’ then and said it was typical of the amazing person I was that I’d be so understanding.

       When we met for a beer I tried to find out more about these ‘personal things’ that had stopped him from calling but he skirted the issue, telling me he’d reveal all once we’d been together a bit longer. (So we’re ‘together’ are we? Interesting!)

       Almost inevitably we ended up in bed together. Again.

       We’d been to the Heart and Hand in Clapham Common and, as last orders were called, I suggested we get the tube back to my flat because I had a couple of bottles of wine that needed drinking. James jumped at the idea. He said he couldn’t wait to see my flat and what my things said about me. As it turned out all he saw as we spilled through the front door, into the bedsitting room and onto my futon was a couple of magnolia-painted walls and the white ceiling.

       Afterwards, as we lay in each other’s arms, listening to ‘Monkey Gone to Heaven’ by the Pixies on repeat (we were both too lazy to get out of bed and change the CD), I asked James when I’d get to see his place. A cloud passed over his face and he said, ‘Never hopefully.’ When I asked what that meant he shrugged and said he needed the loo. When he came back he said something that made me laugh and that was it, subject changed without me even noticing.

       I won’t give up so easily next time the subject comes up …