Chapter 14

As soon as she woke up she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She couldn't identify how or why, or even the exact location of it. It was like a clear ache behind her heart, knocking at her ribs. And then she realised why; she remembered what she'd done.

Clara sat up in her bed, rubbing her head and blinking her eyes to clear her sight. Still blurry with sleep, she fixed on a point, the objects on her chest of drawers, sighting an unfamiliar oddity amongst all her own. A watch. Glittering from the light of the lampshade that was still humming with electricity. She squinted further, recognising the clock face with its ticking hands gently moving about the numbers. It was too large to be hers, the clasp set wide enough for a fairly large but spidery wrist. With another ounce of pain, she thought of John. How she'd disgraced him and still hadn't apologised; the guilt stabbing at her heart now she was awake again. It was only then she realised it was nighttime. Clara hadn't expected to sleep through dinner and the evening in general, but the exhaustion and remorse seemed to have worn her out considerably. Her head turned, and her ears tuned in to the sound of her awakening; her phone was buzzing on the countertop, ringing repetitively and slicing through the silence uncomfortably. Hazily, she turned around almost blindly to receive it, the lit up screen instantly hurting her eyes. When she saw the name of the caller ID she was instantly confused. The time read quarter to 2 in the morning. Clara suddenly felt nervous as she accepted the call and held it to her ear. She hoped she wasn't in for a lecture.

'Hello?' She answered sleepily, stifling a yawn.

'Clara.' Missy replied strickeningly, an unusual tone unnatural for her normal cunning voice. She identified the need and strain in her voice and it immediately made Clara worried.

'What is it, what's the matter, are you alright?' She rambled quickly. Clara felt the ache in her chest multiply with each agonising second.

'It-it's John. I'm here already, I thought you would want to know and see him-'

'Where? Where are you?'

'The hospital.'

The two words struck her completely, her eyes widened and the pounding of her heart seemed to feel as if it would burst out of her chest any minute. Each breath was a struggle to perform.

Her hands were slack and the phone was fast slipping out of her grasp. Faintly, barely a hushed whisper of horror, she answered back.

'What's his condition, is he stable?'

'Barely just stable, but not awake.'

She felt like screaming, and nearly did, a silent yell being made with the forming of her lips parting to release her shock and pain.

'How long can you get here?'

Clara hardly heard the reply. A mix of remorse and guilt and their last conformation and his face all swam before her head like a tormenting nightmare.

'I'll be there in five minutes.'

After hastily hanging up she shot up out of bed like a lightning bolt, grabbing any t-shirt from her wardrobe and various clothes strewn from the floor, running through to the kitchen and snatching her helmet along with her coat and hurrying outside. Starting up her motorbike with enormous speed, she zoomed down the road as if in a race and anxious to get to the finish line. It took approximately seven minutes to get to the hospital, but the roads were bare and deserted apart from a few cars, the lights adamantly staying green, and along with Clara's burning determination to get there as soon as possible, it would take only a few. It was extremely cold, but she didn't care. All she could think about was earlier on that day, walking out on him, his face angry and exasperated and so incredibly hurt. It threatened to tear her apart. Soon, she was parking in the hospital car park, not even waiting a second to deposit her helmet in the usual place. She ran as fast as she could toward the entrance, breathlessly asking the surprised receptionist where John Smith was being held. The hospital had a few occupants round the main area but as she briskly ran deeper through the labyrinth of corridors and hallways, there weren't many at all. It wasn't a good sign.

Finally, after two wrong turns and a plea for directions from a nurse passing by, she made it to the room. The door was slightly ajar and as soon as she walked in she stopped. Everything seemed to slow down, all around her, the rush to get there no longer a problem. The beating of her heart rapidly decreased from the adrenaline of driving and running so fast. She focused on the covers of the bed, leading to a neck and a head exposed, his eyelids shut calmly and a shock of wild grey hair still standing on end. She blinked, swallowed and tried to stop the array of emotions from getting to her.

'That was quick.'

She turned her head, surprised at the voice. She hadn't even noticed anyone else in the room but John. Missy was sat in a hard plastic chair and sounded the most poignant she'd ever heard her, which wasn't too emotional anyway. Clara had met her only twice but Missy had set her up with John's old phone number and her own. She had suspected at the time it was a crafty act of prying but now she felt immensely glad she had her number. So glad she thought even about hugging her comfortingly, though Clara knew from John she wasn't a people person.

'How is he?' She asked, her throat tighter than she would have expected, voice still retaining panic.

'As I said, stable. He hasn't been conscious since he fainted though.'

'He fainted. What happened to him?' Clara tried to maintain as strong a tone as she could.

'The silly boy went and got himself drunk for god's sake, even though he knows he's not meant to. From what I've heard from witnesses he started smoking as well. I tell you, when he wakes up he's going to get a smack and a half. Stupid man. He hasn't gone near a club for absolute years, so I suspect it has something to do with you or his work. He's never been good with sharing his feelings.'

Clara had to take a second to process what she'd said. To think he'd been so hung up about her he'd gone and wasted himself away in a club, to end up in hospital. All it had taken was a stupid bloody argument that Clara now felt was petty and ridiculous and all her fault. She had said things she didn't mean, and he had taken them for true. If only she had apologised sooner, if only she had stayed at work and not been jealous. If only she wasn't so insecure of having an older boyfriend. The thought crushed her into little pieces of shame and agony. She felt tremendously responsible. As she stared at him longingly to wake up, something Missy had said came back to her. Her eyebrows creased in confusion and she directed it towards Missy.

'What...what did you mean when you said he's not meant to.' She asked incredulously.

Missy stared back at with an empathetic look she didn't like.

'Oh, Clara,' she whispered, 'he never told you?'

Clara's head reeled. 'Told me what?' She said cautiously, half scared to hear the answer.

'Clara...he has cancer.'

The word hit her like a blow to the head. She stumbled back, horrified, her eyes suddenly transfixing on the pale figure unmoving in his bed. He looked more like a ghost now than he already had. Suddenly it all made sense. Missy's reluctance to let him stay over, his terrible coughing, even his debt. She now understood why; all his money went on cancer treatment. Clara tried to contain her emotions, a mix of hysteria and pain and sadness and shock and selfish madness at him for not telling her. Yet all of this raged on under the surface, her eyes piercing and unmoving from his body, her own frozen to the spot. Missy said nothing, and she was glad she didn't. After minutes of awkward silence and studying his frame, she noticed his fingers suddenly twitching. Almost instantaneously the women leaped to action and sprung by his head, hopeful he would wake up. A few seconds later his eyelids flickered in that woozy, half open half closed way, and Clara could tell he was straining to make sense of the clinical white ceiling and its bright lights shining down at him. When he spoke it was a husky, almost throaty whisper that said only a word and made shivers run down her spine.

'Cla...ra...' He tried, his voice nearly illegible and tired. Clar-a...Clara.'

He couldn't see her but she could see he needed her, wanted her desperately. The first thought that came to him when he woke up was her. That's the type of person that Clara knew she couldn't let go of. Missy looked up at her, obviously surprised of her profound importance to him and made way for her to sit in the seat beside him. She even marched to the door, called back 'I'll leave you two alone,' and exited the room. Clara was confused as to why Missy would leave when John was waking up but she wasn't complaining. She needed to apologise to him, and she'd prefer to make her apologies alone.

As soon as Clara's attention focused back onto him a deep sadness welled up in her eyes and grew deep in the lines of her face, her sorrowful frown affecting her dimples in her cheeks. His hands were thin and weathered, spidery with prominent veins and deft, like an artist's. He was hooked up to an IV and all sorts of wires ran across him attached to different areas of his body; even a cannula ran across his face. It was such an unbearable sight to see him like that she almost had a breakdown. He seemed so frail and weak now, to the fiery, witty boss she was so used to.

She reached out a hand and gently stroked his hair, combing her fingers through his unruffled curls and listening to the sound of his breaths inhale and exhale.

Finally, he could sense and exactly see that she was there, and as he looked into her eyes the first thing he did was sigh. Clara couldn't tell if it was exasperated or happy, but probably somewhere in between.

'I'm sorry.' She began, her voice cracking at the words. 'I never meant to-' she shook her head as she tried to find more words over the onslaught of becoming tears. John stared at her and smiled, which made Clara even more heartbroken than she already was. It felt like the worst kind of joke to have upset John Smith and then be instantly forgiven with a serene smile.

'Clara,' he repeated, 'it's okay. I'll be okay. You can't get rid of me that easily.'

'Don't joke about that.' She whispered, shaking her head in disapproval. 'From what Missy told me you could have died.'

'Oh come on, Clara,' he laughed lightly, 'I couldn't have died, it's just me being silly and forgetting I'm a bit older now-'

'John, Missy told me. And I understand perfectly. I understand everything now.'

His face wavered but naively tried to divert the subject.

'John, why didn't you tell me?' She cut across him, a dejected whisper leaving him uncomfortable. From the tone of her voice his face became crestfallen with shame.

'I didn't want to tell you. I didn't think I needed to tell you.' He croaked back.

'Of course you needed to tell me! What do you think I would do? Walk out on you, never speak to you again, go off you because you had cancer? Of course not!'

'Clara, you don't understand. I knew I should've told you but I didn't want you to suddenly fuss over me, or treat me in a different way. I wanted to feel good enough for you, I wanted to feel young again and being with you did. I've been younger than I ever have for the past two decades.'

'None of it would have changed because you had cancer.' She whispered, closing her eyes briefly to dispel the moisture from her eyes which had not yet fully spilt.

'All the coughing, the over-exerting yourself. You shouldn't have been running or drinking or bloody smoking any time at all just because of me. You're paying for the money to heal yourself John, it's the reason you're in debt, so heal yourself. Stop trying to impress me by running after me and pleasing me. I know I said some awful things to you that aren't true at all and that I don't mean, but to go off and knowingly start trying to smoke again isn't right! I don't know what you were possibly thinking but it wasn't of your health.'

John just stared impassively up at the ceiling. She knew she'd have to prompt him again into starting to confide in her.

'John, please...all I want is some answers.'

He seemed to deliberate for a moment that seemed to turn into an eternity. Clara waited until finally he opened his mouth, although still he avoided eye contact and remained staring motionless up at the bright lights above him.

'I was diagnosed with lung cancer two years ago. I was retired and lived on my own. I didn't have anyone to turn to, not many friends, no longer any family...except Missy. She moved to America way back in '89 and obviously our parents died when I was younger. She came back to England to help me with the illness and the treatment. She made a lot of money over in the States, enough to move in to a rent house with me and pay for some of my treatment. It's why I went for the job at the publishing company, and Missy got a job too to support me with the money. It was all going well for the first year I needed treatment as we had most of it sorted, and I wasn't coughing as much but by the time I was working my condition grew a little worse because of all the stress and the shouting,' he explained. Clara felt an enormous stab of guilt for playing all those pranks on him. It was probably why he was so angry with her in the beginning for toying with him while he struggled with his illness.

'I was okay with it really until my coughing got out of control again just before we, you know, and I went back to the doctors who told me that my cancer had gone wild again. But,' he said, his eyes now trying to sought hers, 'you've made me forget. About all of it. There isn't a moment of pain when I'm around you. And I know I should look after myself and look after my stupid fucking cancer...but whatever you do, I do, and you've made me feel so young.'

'But why did you have to do this to yourself, John?' She gestured to the transparent tubes running up and down his body like a matrix of wires.

'Because when I'm with you, I don't feel the pain. And I guess, last night I had to drown my pain out because I felt you weren't there to do it for me.'

The words he spoke then was crushing, resounding in her head and she felt like she could never forget those words again in her life.

She silently laced her fingers with his, gripping onto his hand like she could never let go.

'Please, don't be the second time. I don't need a second time.' She prayed, thinking about last time, standing next to a box, wearing black, rain beating her in the face. She couldn't go through with it again.

'What do you mean?' He asked, obviously having heard her small whispered prayer.

She hung her head with a sigh, not technically a sad one but a knowing one. 'You're not the only one with secrets. We're not very good with trust, are we?' She questioned; and in return he nodded in agreement.

'But I will tell you someday. Just not right here, and not right now.' She looked up at him again, at his expression just passing for a light smile and his sparkling eyes catching the light from up above. He had such a warm look about him when he smiled or was at peace; like a completely different person. She couldn't begin to imagine the pain he was in and yet he came across as if nothing had even affected him at all. His gaze made her heartbeat flutter and skip in her chest, a feeling she hadn't felt for someone since all those years ago.

'I might be slowly dying,' he cut into the silence, 'but at least I can say I love you before I do.'

Clara abruptly looked up into his face, the words hitting her like a ton of bricks, and suddenly the pent up tears spilled down her cheeks one by one. She hated that he had resigned himself to the notion of 'slowly dying' but realised that it was the first time he had actually confessed and told her he loved her.

She lifted his hand up to kiss it, her eyes never leaving his. She felt her hot tears dry eventually and carefully reached over him to place a small, meaningful kiss on his lips, cradling his cheeks. His hand never left hers and he gripped it tightly while he assumed a more comfortable position.

The door opened and Missy came in, noticing their intertwined fingers. 'Is it alright if I speak to John?'

Clara nodded, looked back to John, and assured him. 'I'll be right outside.'

'Go home, go back to sleep.'

'I'm not leaving until you are,' she smiled, 'I'll try to sleep a little somewhere around this hospital. Or I'll be in the cafe all night.'

He smiled in return, caressing her fingertips until he let them go. 'Okay,' he accepted.

Her hand felt cold when she walked away from the bed, turning round to watch him a last time before closing the door behind her.

Clara yawned, muffling it beneath her hand and squinting her eyes at the streak of sunlight filtering through the windows. She had slept the few remaining hours of the night on the row of hard plastic chairs outside John's room and had spent the rest of her time in the cafe that had gratefully opened at 6:30. She took another sip of her tea and propped a book she had borrowed back down on the table as she stretched wide in her seat. It was 8:27 now, she noticed and the cafe had filled up just a little bit more with each passing hour. Her back still ached from the rigidity of the chairs but apart from that she was fine. It had been only dreams plagued with worry that had caused her trouble. Clara counted down the minutes and hoped Missy would come soon reporting his condition and that he was awake. So far only the book had been able to subvert her attention successfully, although it was fast becoming irrelevant. She pondered the small gift shop in the corner and decided to look for something to give to John once it opened. Her eyes scanned the opening times, and found that it was opening in half an hour. She waited patiently, wandering around and pacing down corridors in the meantime, cursing with every step that she hadn't brought her bag with her in the rush to get here, which contained her headphones. She had deliberated driving back home to get a few things but decided that she'd rather not leave John just in case. After all, Missy and herself was all he had.

Purchasing another sandwich, she noticed the gift shop open and immediately spotted a bunch of grapes, which she knew would amuse John. Waiting in a hospital Clara decided, was now most likely her biggest hamartia. She was impatient and scarred with anxiety for loved ones after the last effort to love and be loved. She knew that John having cancer didn't change him but it was bound to change her. Not that she ever wanted to admit that to him, especially after he told her he loved her the very first time. She replayed the words in his voice over and over in her head; his tone had been the most sentimental she had ever heard it, soft and unrecognisable. Like an angel's voice that could drift her off to Heaven. She knew that regardless of the cancer she would never forget that, and never stop her love for him in return. It was the notion that it could worsen that made Clara's stomach churn, and John being an older man was a factor she hoped could not affect it. If she lost him too, she would become lost.

Clara circled back to the window, now pouring through its light and almost blinding her with it. She took it as a sign things would get better when it was supposed to be another cold, grey winters day. All of a sudden, a hand on her shoulder made her heart jump and when she turned around she was surprised by the gentleness of it. Missy was staring into her face with an optimism Clara herself could gain.

'He's awake again. And calling for you, obviously.'

Clara felt like for the first time all night she could breathe again. She raced toward the exit corridor when Missy's voice called her back.

'And Clara,' she called, 'thank you for staying the night for him. You didn't have to. And for once, we've got to say something nice. He'll get even grumpier if we don't.'

Clara nodded and ran off down the polished floors, doors leading out to different rooms almost with each step. Finally, she recognised the seats she had slept on. Checking it was the right room, she found him lying there with his face skyward, eyes suddenly swivelling to the door and mouth forming a smile Clara couldn't bear to resist. She moved forward, placing her hand over his, fingers gripping hers and looping them round her hand. His eyes shone with tiredness but also from seeing her.

'I bought you somethig.' She offered, watching his face deflate.

'Oh no.'

She produced the bunch of grapes and he immediately scowled.

'Well, you're a sick person and every sick person should get a bunch of grapes.' She responded.

He sighed, but allowed her to sit him further upright and pop one in his mouth. Watching him absentmindedly eat the fruit while his eyes scanned the room, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her again. Sometimes he was so innocent beyond his years, it was hard to believe he was the same man.

'John.' She said, his eyes piercing hers suddenly with a heat she couldn't pull away from, 'I'm sorry. Unbelievably sorry, you know that don't you? Everything I said is not true. I'm so sorry this happened to you, I had no idea-'

'Don't worry, Clara. It was my own fault for stupidly thinking it was a great idea to get drunk,' he snorted, 'don't let me do that again. I should have known not to push my luck. I have cancer, after all.'

The finality of his sentence crushed her from within. It was hard to come to grips with still, even though she'd been thinking about it all night.

'It's still my fault. If I hadn't just walked out there...'

'I still would've wanted to impress you to the ends of the earth. This has at least given me a rude awakening from the fantasy world I thought I was in. I'm half expecting you to disappear any moment.'

'I'm staying right here.' She said firmly. The colour in his cheeks had returned, and the focus of his eyes was clearer.

'I know. You're the one thing I could never dream up, even in my wildest dreams.'

Clara couldn't help the solitary tear running down her face as she smiled. She had forgotten how gentle and sensitive he could be.

'Well,' she sniffed, 'I don't care what anyone thinks anymore.'

'Even your dad?' He tested.

'Even my dad.' She replied, leaning in to capture his lips. Her hands rippled through his hair and his mouth was soft on hers, unusually tender. It nearly took her breath away.

'I love you too.' She whispered, without any hesitation. She didn't need any prompting anymore. She knew it like she knew her own soul. His hands enfolded her so they were wrapped up in a web running across their bodies. They didn't move from their position for a moment, but when she eventually withdrew he kissed her forehead and gripped her hand tight.

'John,' a voice rang out. They turned and saw Missy, loitering by the door. 'The doctors are going to give you more drugs for you're treatment. Thankfully, no further harm has been done but you'll be pleased to know you have completely fucked your lungs up.' John laughed.

'You'll be good again like you were before in a few weeks. They're thinking of discharging you tomorrow night. Don't get your hopes up though.'

'Thank god,' he sighed relievedly, 'being surrounded by these pudding brains has been enough to to last me a lifetime.'

'John, for once you can't call them pudding brains. They saved you, practically.'

'Look at my dear sister showing emotion for her baby brother.' He snickered.

'Shut up, Johnathan.' Missy parted.

Clara turned to him. 'Johnathan?'

'Not my actual name, I assure you. She used to wind me up by calling me that when I was younger.'

'What a loving relationship you had.'

He grunted, raising his attack eyebrows.

'Clara, you need to get back to your flat. You shouldn't stay here until tomorrow.'

'What if I don't want to?' She persisted, laying her head over his hand.

'Because I'll see you everyday after that if you want. Just don't put yourself through another night of hard plastic chair.'

'The offer does sound rather fair.'

'Yes, it does. I'm honoured you stayed the horrible night for me. I'm okay now, as you can see.'

'Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to have a much needed shower.'

'Of course. Have fun.'

'How dare you try get rid of me already.'

'I'm just thinking about you, Clara.' He joked. 'I'll see you Monday, if you wish.'

Clara twisted round to face him. 'You're going to work straight away?!'

'No, apparently I have to take the whole week off. We're not going back to work until I can be bothered to get up and return.'

'We?'

'I don't really care if they think we're being unreliable, do you?'

She grinned in return. 'Nope.'

She kissed him again and said goodbye, knowing that if there was any person to recover from sheer will it would be John Smith.

Taking a last look, she saw him hold up her packet of grapes, putting one in his mouth and smiling. As she closed the door, she kept the image in her head, and replayed it all the way back home.