A Girl Behind Dark Glasses by Jessica Taylor-Bearman

Author:Jessica Taylor-Bearman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hashtag Press
Published: 2018-08-12T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Heartbroken

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, darling, but Gran is very, very poorly. She is on machines that are breathing for her. It happened last night.”

I had been so jovial that my lovely dad had been allowed to see me during the week. Partly due to being sleepy, it hasn’t occurred to me to wonder why it had been allowed, nor why he had come so late. The words froze me to the core. Not Gran, surely not?

My gran was full of life, incredibly youthful, my best friend and my second mum. She meant everything to me and more. She was such a merry spirit. A spirit like that couldn’t just go. I couldn’t possibly continue on through every day without her.

The news isn’t good but she is still alive, I thought desperately. Gran can pull through anything and she’s always saying she hasn’t got time to be ill.

“She has had a massive heart attack, Jess. I’m so sorry to have to tell you like this,” Dad continued.

No, no, no, my insides screamed, yet all I could manage was one thick teardrop that rolled down my cheek.

Dad hugged me but I felt cold; he gave me a peck on the cheek but my cheek was numb. I was numb. Maybe it had just been a nightmare and this tragedy would be gone in the morning. Just one great big horror story. I was being irrational but I didn’t care. This bed in this hospital was the last place I wanted to be.

“They are going to be finding out the—”

The machine feeding me started to beep. The enforced pause allowed me a moment to exhale and shakily inhale another breath. It was a typical hospital interruption, exactly the reason why, at that moment, I hated everything about being there, every last bit of it.

Dad continued, “We are going to find out the test results tomorrow.”

I wanted to be there, back in Canterbury, with her. I wanted to hold her hand and comfort her, as she had done for me throughout my whole illness.

“‘You’ll let me know?” I whispered slowly and softly.

Dad would wait patiently and interpret, as I struggled to form each word. My family were able to translate all my code, whereas the hospital staff didn’t have the time or patience to even try to decode.

“Yes, I will let you know, honey. I will,” he assured me.

He looked at me with his big, dark eyes and a tear ran down his cheek. I saw it as an acknowledgement that I wasn’t overreacting. His voice started to crackle.

“Cuppa tea, love? Hot chocolate?” the booming voice of the tea lady, Rihanna, came into the open bay.

The moment passed as quickly as it had begun. Dad looked away, wiping his face on the sleeve of his bottle-green paramedic uniform. I tried to squeeze his finger with my limp hand. I wanted that moment back but instead I got a nurse coming in to give me my night medication.

Dad looked longingly into

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