The Play

  I’m terrified, terrified, that wherever she is, that she can see my father and that he’s reaching out for her and that she’s going to take his hand. She’s going to let him pull her away because that’s all she’s ever wanted since the day he died.

  I can’t stop the tears from rolling down my face. Even I can’t shut down completely.

  Steph holds me and I’m so glad she’s here and I’m so glad my brothers are here but I know who I really need, whose arms I want to crawl into tonight.

  With everything that’s happened, everyone I’m losing, I’m amazed I can still feel my heart in my chest at all. I would have thought there was nothing left.

  ***

  The next few days ghost by. Somehow I go back to work, though after one day of moving through the motions like a robot, Lucy tells me to take more time off. I know it’s also because Candace has effectively taken over my job now but I don’t care one bit. I don’t care about anything at all.

  So I’m at the hospital most of the time. I sit by my mother’s side, I hold her hand and I talk. I just talk. About everything. Happy things. Old memories between us, the good old days. Things were so beautiful, so simple then. Everything that seemed to happen before this seems to shine in remembrance. Nothing will ever be the same again. I know this.

  Steph comes by when she can. Sometimes with Linden. Sometimes its Nicola and Bram. Usually one of my brothers is there. They all have the same apology to me, that they should have never let me be the one to handle everything to do with my mother, that I needed their support, that they should have been less selfish, that they weren’t raised to be that way.

  But it really doesn’t matter what they say. I don’t blame any of them. I just blame myself for not being there. If I had never left for Scotland, maybe this would have never happened. I don’t know what the signs were leading up to it, but I’m sure if I could have got her to a hospital, I know I could have made a difference.

  The funny thing is, I’m starting to understand Lachlan more and more. It’s grief and guilt of a different kind, but in the end, the emotion eats at you the same way. When I’m at home, I find myself drinking a few glasses of wine just to take me to a fuzzy place where I don’t have to think, if not to just pass the hell out and find sleep.

  I haven’t talked to him much. He texts me, always, asking how I am, how my mother is. I never answer him back with more than a few sentences. It seems easier that way, even though I care about him. Even though I want to know he’s okay, that he’s getting help. I want to know how his rugby game went. It’s enough that I look it up on the internet instead of asking him. He didn’t play that first game against Glasgow, but they won and that brings the smallest, saddest smile to my face.

  After it’s been about a week since she had her stroke, we’re told by the doctors that the swelling has lessened a bit and they’re optimistic about bringing her out of it.

  We all gather at the hospital, just my brothers and I, anxiously standing around while it happens behind closed doors. This could be it. We could walk in there and she might be smiling at us, groggy, but she could be our mother again. She can tell us about the dreams she had about our father and we’d laugh and cry and thank her for coming back to us, her children who need her more than we’ve ever been able to say.

  But when the doctor comes out, we immediately know it’s bad news.

  She exhales heavily and looks us all in the eyes. “We weren’t successful.”

  The floor drops out from under me.

  “She’s alive but…we can’t take her off the life support. She wasn’t able to come back.”

  “So she’s still in the coma?” Paul asks, sounding irate. That’s always been my oldest brother’s job. To get angry.

  The doctor nods. “As I said, putting her in a medically-induced coma is a last resort for anyone, especially someone her age. It is, and always has been, a leap of faith.”

  “Well what do we do now?” Toshio says, panicking. “What…what can we do for her?”

  “We’ve weaned her off the barbiturates that essentially turn off her brain to begin with. But sometimes the brain doesn’t switch back on. It’s impossible at this stage to know how much damage was done because of the stroke and how much was done because of the coma. If she had a good chance to begin with, she should wake up. But she’s not. We’ll give it a few more days, but, I’m so sorry, I don’t think she’s going to come out of it. The only thing you can do is wait. Pray if you must.”

  “Pray?” Paul says with a sneer.

  Nikko elbows him to shut up then says to the doctor. “Look, how long can she be in the coma for? She’s in one of her body’s own doing, correct? Well, people wake up from comas all the time. I don’t even think we should be discussing any alternatives until we give her all the time that she needs.”

  Toshio is nodding, wiping away a tear. “Yeah. Sometimes people wake up after years and they’re fine.”

  Yeah, I think sadly to myself. But those people are young. Our mother is not.

  I glance at the doctor and I know she’s thinking the same thing. It’s the truth and one I’ve spent my whole life trying to come to terms with, knowing I’ll have to see my own mother die and probably while I’m still a young woman.

  But the doctor doesn’t say that. Instead she says, “We will keep her on life support until you, as a family, tell us not to.”

  I close my eyes and feel Nikko’s arm around me.

  I want to believe we will never have to make such a horrible decision.

  I want to believe that my mother will still come out of it.

  I want to believe in a lot of things.

  But I’m not sure how much belief I have left anymore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lachlan

  For days after Kayla left, the only people I see are my teammates and Amara. That’s all my world has whittled down to. Without Kayla, everything just shrinks. When she was here, the world was wide and infinite. Now, it’s back to sleepwalking, just as I had been all those years before she came into my life.

  So while I’ve been ignoring calls from my family, from even Bram in the States, I’m not too surprised to find Brigs buzzing my door and throwing stones at my window late one afternoon.

  I poke my head out the window, glaring down at him. “You know I have a buzzer,” I yell.

  “Would you answer your buzzer?” he asks.

  “No more than I’d answer some bugger pelting my window with rocks.” I sigh and take the key out of my pocket, dropping it down for him.

  To be honest, I’m nervous about seeing him. The last time I saw him was the day everything ended between Kayla and I and I still can’t quite recall what happened. But he was there, at least for part of it.

  He comes in the door, shutting it behind him. “Hey.” He slides his hands in his pockets of his sharp suit and saunters over, watching his shoes on the hardwood floor before glancing up at me. “I saw the game. Congrats.”

  “Thanks. You know I had nothing to do with it though,” I tell him, sitting on the couch, Lionel flopping over on my lap, begging for his stomach to be scratched. He knows when I’m anxious and this is more for me than him.

  “Ah, I’m sure everyone is playing better because they know you’ll be joining them soon.” He pauses, squinting at me. “How is Denny? He seemed in fine form.”

  I nod, trying to ignore the spread of shame. “Yeah he’s all right. I guess it helped that I was a bit drunk during that practice. I wasn’t able to do as much damage.”

  I look at him for a reaction.

  He only raises his brow. “I see. I thought as much. You know, Lachlan, this isn’t exactly a friendly visit from me.”

  I lean back in the chair and stare down at Lionel, running my hand over his stomach. “I guess that would be asking too much from my brother.”

  “Oh now I’m your brother,” he says. “I see. Only when you’re sober then.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, angry at ho
w weak my voice sounds. Pitiful.

  “I know you’re sorry,” he says. “But I don’t think you’re sorry enough. You know, Lachlan, I know you pretty well I think. I don’t claim to know everything about you but that’s only because you keep your cards close to your chest. And for good reason. But I think, even though we aren’t technically related, we handle things in a similar way. We drown in decay. Because when the pain gets too great, it becomes a comfort. You can fall in love with your sadness, your shame. I know I did.” He bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling, as if reasoning with God. “I did. And only now do I feel strong enough to crawl away. But you have to hit that point. You hit yours a decade ago, when your friend died and you were too fucked up to save him. But you and me. People. Everyone. We all have many points during our lives. There is always more than one bottom. This is your other one. You have to crawl out of it, I’m telling you this as your brother, your friend, someone that loves you and knows you. You have to crawl out of it now.”

  I stare straight ahead, letting the weight rest on me. “It’s not that easy,” I tell him and I regret it the moment I say it. I eye him warily and see so much indignation and pain on his face that it shames me.

  “Don’t tell me it’s not that easy,” he says softly, his voice shaking. “I lost my wife and my son. At the same time. They were taken from me and I have no one to blame but myself for that one. Do you know what the last words I said to her were?” I shake my head, not wanting to know. “They were ‘please forgive me.’ I was begging for her forgiveness because I fucked up something in a major way. And she never got a chance to forgive me. She took Hamish with her and she fled from me. She drove fast and the roads were wet and then I didn’t have a family anymore. The irony was that I was on the verge of losing them anyway. So, don’t tell me it’s not easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing to do, to come out of that black dark hole and into the light where you can clearly see what a piece of shit you are. And I’m still climbing out of it, but at least now I know that I’m going to make it through.” He closes his eyes and gives his head a quick shake. “I have to. I can’t live the rest of my life hating myself. That’s not a life at all.”

  I don’t have a rebuttal to that.

  He quickly sits down across from me, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “I’m not telling you all this to discount all you went through. This isn’t a competition to find out whose life went more tits up. Yeah? This is about me reaching out to you and trying to give you help. Will you let me help you? I know Kayla wanted to but she’s not here anymore and I’m not going anywhere.”

  I want to tell him that it’s not Kayla’s fault that she left but I think we both know it’s my fault anyway.

  “What kind of help?” I ask thickly.

  He reaches into his front pocket and pulls up a piece of folded up paper, holding it out between two fingers. “This is the number of my psychologist.” I stare at it blankly until he shakes it. “Take it. Call him. Make an appointment. Please.”

  I hesitate. My pride is begging me to turn it away. “Brigs…”

  “No,” he says. “Do you want gravity to take you back to the bottom? Do you want what happened with Kayla to happen with someone else? Do you want to lose your organization, your career, because I guarantee all of those things will happen if you don’t do something right now.”

  “This is some sort of intervention,” I mumble to myself but I take the paper from him.

  “Yes, it is,” he says to me. “Our parents don’t need to know about it so it’s between you and I. But I need to know that you’ll call him. I’d watch you do it right now but I’m not your bloody babysitter. I trust you, aye.”

  He gets to his feet. “I also hope you’ll check into rehab. There’s a great facility for sports players. They’re discreet. And you know it’s nothing to be ashamed of anymore. Don’t make me sing you an Amy Winehouse song.” He nods at me. “I’ll be in touch. Make the coach put you back on the pitch. You need it.”

  And just like he leaves, leaving me reeling on the couch.

  “What do you think about that, Lionel?” I ask him, holding the paper. He sniffs it then deems it uninteresting and goes back to sleeping.

  I’d been to rehab before but a psychologist is a totally different thing. My prescriptions so far have been filled by the team doctors. Tell me your problems, here is something to fix it, boom, you’re done.

  But a psychologist will bring up every single ugly detail of your life. I don’t think I’m strong enough to relive it, I relive it enough in my nightmares as it is.

  I don’t discount it though. I respect Brigs too much for that. I get up and post it on the fridge door, underneath a magnet, so it will look me in the eye every day until I finally get the courage to do something.

  ***

  Game number two is tomorrow and I know Alan will be putting me in. I’m nervous but relieved all at the same time. I don’t want to fuck up but I’m so glad the waiting period is over. With Kayla gone, there’s just this ghost of her everywhere I look, haunting my bones, and I need something else to keep me going, to push me along the right track

  Still, I need to hear her voice. Just for a moment. All my texts and calls to her either go answered or they just get something generic and I need, want, so much more from her. And I need to be there for her. I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now.

  I call her. It’s around dinner time here so I know it has to be the morning for her.

  As usual though, it rings and rings and rings.

  I’m just about to hang up when she answers.

  “Hello?”

  The sound of her voice nearly breaks me.

  “Kayla?” I say. “It’s me. It’s Lachlan.”

  “I know,” she says flatly. She sniffs and I wonder if she’s been crying.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her. “How is your mum?”

  “She’s…she’s still in a coma.”

  “Shit, love. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to call you…”

  “I know. I’m in the hospital a lot, they don’t really want you using your phones.”

  “That’s okay, I understand.” I pause, pressing my fist into my forehead, closing my eyes. “It’s just…you don’t know how good it feels to hear your voice. I miss you. So much.”

  So much that my chest is burning with the words.

  I hear her swallow. “Yeah. I miss you too.” Her voice sounds so fragile, like glass, as if she doesn’t really believe what she’s saying. But still, I cling to it. She misses me.

  “I…I think about you all the time. You know. I love you,” I whisper.

  But there is only silence stretching an ocean between us.

  I go on, unable to handle it. “I know I really fucked up, love, but…”

  “Lachlan,” she says tiredly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes it does. It matters. You matter. I’m changing, I swear, I know I have a problem.”

  She grunts angrily. “Yes you have problems. But I have problems too. My mother is in a fucking coma. Forgive me if I don’t care to hear your sob story right now.”

  Ouch.

  No blow in rugby has hurt quite like that.

  “Okay,” I say raggedly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” she says. “Look, I have to go, I’m heading back to the hospital now. I’m just…this is my life now, you know? Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “I could come over there,” I tell her. “I can help.”

  “No, you can’t help.” she says quickly. “You can’t even help yourself. You stay where you belong. Okay. Look, I just can’t deal with you, with what we were, right now. Please just…don’t call me again. Don’t text me either. I can only handle one heartbreak at a time.”

  I feel the last shred of hope inside me crumple into a ball, blown away by some cold wind, never to return.

  “Bye Lachlan,” she says.

  I can’t even move my lips to answer her back. She hangs up and
everything I had with her is immediately severed. I can feel it, cutting so deep.

  I’ve truly lost her.

  My love.

  I get up, grab my wallet and keys, and leave out into the night.

  I go to the closest shop, pick up a bottle of Scotch, then go and sit in the park across from my flat. I sit there for hours.

  I drink nearly the whole damn bottle.

  When I wake up, I’m on the bench still and some man is trying to steal my shoes. I kick at him, catching him in the face and he runs off across the grass, jumping over a fence.

  I stumble to my feet, leaving the bottle behind, and somehow manage to get inside my flat.

  When I wake up again I’m on my stomach in the hallway.

  A puddle of vomit lies beside me.

  My vomit.

  A few piles of shit and piss are near me too.

  Thankfully those aren’t mine. Just poor Lionel and Emily’s, since I never took them out last night.

  No, instead I did such a noble thing and got absolutely wasted by myself, chasing the sorrow Kayla left on me with an unending flood of Scotch.

  I can’t do this anymore.

  Brigs is right. I won’t get Kayla back this way and I probably won’t get her back any way, but one day, if I ever get a chance again, I can’t fuck it up.

  I can’t fuck up my life anymore.

  I have these dogs. I have my friends. My brother. My family.

  I have all these beautiful, lovely aspects of my life and when I started out as a wee lad, I had nothing at all but a stuffed lion.

  I started with nothing and was given everything.

  And look where I am, drinking, feeling sorry for myself, trying to give it all away.

  I slowly pick myself off the floor.

  I clean up the mess.

  Take the dogs for a very, very long walk, practically to the shore and back.

  I talk their ears off, apologizing, drawing looks from passerbys as I usually do when I’m talking to dogs, but I don’t care. They need to hear it all. I need to get it off my chest.