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Sophie

‘Are you sure this is Lily?’

It was the first time I’d been allowed out of the neurological unit to visit my best friend, who was two floors up in intensive care. I was convinced the nurse, Erica, had led me to the wrong bed.

‘I understand it’s distressing to see Lily like this,’ she replied. ‘But our medical team is doing everything possible to support her.’

I shook my head in disbelief. I barely recognised Lily. Tubes were attached to her mouth, chest and arms, and her face was horribly swollen, cut and bruised. Her legs were heavily bandaged, and she was hooked up to a ventilator that was helping keep her alive.

Above all, I noticed Lily’s number.

It was much, much smaller than the 16,425 that popped up when I saw Erica today. Her colleagues in ICU had five digits, along with the doctors on my ward. The critically ill patients in here had at least double figures, apart from Lily and the elderly man in the next bed. They shared the number 7.

I blinked rapidly, trying to bat away the floating figures, as my consultant had suggested, but they didn’t disappear. Why couldn’t I get rid of them? What did they mean? Every object and person had them. When would they go?

Shit! My forehead throbbed repetitively as if with the beat of a drum.

When I came round from surgery, the first thing that hit me was the searing, fiery pain in my head.

The second was that numbers were everywhere.

Somehow, I knew the curtain was 2.53 metres long, the gap in the material was 0.

56 centimetres, and the saint-like nurse who gave me more painkillers was 18,647.

I stared at Lily, willing her to recover.

I had no idea why everyone had different digits, or why they got smaller each time I saw them.

Mum was 383 when I first remember seeing her clearly after my op but was 373 yesterday.

I had no idea if Adam had a number. I couldn’t face seeing him, at least not until Lily had woken up and forgiven me.

That had to be soon, surely? Seven was supposed to be lucky and Lily was a fighter.

She’d survived the initial impact that had killed Vinny, Priti and the other driver before they could be rushed to hospital, despite her lack of seat belt.

My arm had been looped through the strap, preventing me from flying through the windscreen the way Priti had.

‘How is Lily doing?’

‘We’re providing round-the-clock care and closely monitoring her responses,’ Erica said quietly. ‘Her vital signs remain stable, which is encouraging. That’s what we always want to see.’

‘She’s doing well?’ I pressed. ‘She’ll come out of the coma in the next few days?’

‘It’s hard to predict. Some patients wake up relatively quickly while others take much longer. But there have been small signs of improvement in the last twenty-four hours, which is positive.’

I knew it – 7 was Lily’s lucky number!

‘You can stay a while if you want?’ Erica said. ‘Lily’s parents think it could help if she hears familiar voices and feels touch. They’re encouraging her closest friends to try. Her boyfriend was here this morning.’

Thankfully, I’d missed Tom. I couldn’t face seeing him after the misery I’d inflicted on everyone.

Tears stung my eyes as I kissed Lily’s hand.

‘I miss you,’ I whispered in her ear. ‘I’m sorry. I love you .’

I repeated those last three words over and over, praying she could hear them.

Lily’s number was counting down by a digit each day, the same as everyone else in ICU.

7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2.

The figures filled me with hope. I was visiting regularly while her parents took breaks.

There were fresh signs each day that Lily was getting better.

Erica said she was doing ‘incredibly well, considering her injuries’, and I was certain I’d felt her fingers twitch beneath mine yesterday.

That’s what helped me work it out – I finally knew what Lily’s digit meant.

Her number was 1 this morning: she was on the verge of waking up!

The old man in the next bed, who hadn’t received a single visitor since Lily was admitted, seemed to be recovering. If I was right, he should come off his ventilator shortly.

I returned to ICU that afternoon and hugged Lily’s mum, Betty, but her dad, Roger, hung back, staring brokenly at the floor.

‘It’s going to be okay, I promise,’ I told her. ‘Lily will open her eyes and speak to us today. I think it’s definitely going to happen. You know how desperate she is to find out her A-level results. She’ll be heading into school with me in a fortnight to collect them!’

A tear rolled down Roger’s face and Betty choked back a sob.

‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘It’s awful to see her like this, particularly when Albert’s died. It makes you realise how precarious everything is – the machine’s keeping her alive but she’s hovering between life and death.’

‘Albert?’ I frowned.

‘The elderly gentleman in the next bed,’ Roger said, his voice cracking. ‘His heart gave up a short time ago. The nurses asked us to step out while the porters remove his body and take it to the morgue.’

This couldn’t be right. His number was 1, like Lily’s, so he should have recovered.

‘What? No! I need to see her.’

‘Give it a few minutes,’ he replied. ‘Why don’t you come down to the canteen with us? We’re grabbing a quick coffee and something to eat before heading back.’

‘It’s okay, thanks. I’ll wait here.’ I sat down on one of the red plastic seats.

I didn’t want to be alone with Lily’s parents. Their kindness and forgiveness felt more devastating than if they’d yelled or completely blanked me. Initially, after my brain surgery, they’d split their time between visiting me and Lily. They’d sat at my bedside longer than my own mum.

Betty kissed the top of my head and Roger gave me a small, sad hug. They walked away, clutching each other as if neither could stand without support. Suddenly, Betty turned around, her face etched with worry and grief.

‘Tom was asking how you’re doing this morning. He said you can message him any time – day or night. And Adam desperately wants to see you.’

Roger nodded, wiping his eyes. ‘No one blames you, Sophie.’

The police had said the same during my interview.

But I did. I couldn’t forgive myself.

Lily was critically injured because she loved me. She’d chosen to go with her best friend instead of Tom. I wished she’d left me to my fate.

As soon as Betty and Roger stepped into the elevator, I gave my hands a quick squirt of anti-bac and walked into the ward. The curtains were closed around the bay next to Lily’s, but through the gap I saw a nurse and two men by the bed. Their numbers were 19,573, 21,412 and 10,894, respectively.

Then I caught a glimpse of Albert before a sheet was pulled over his face. His eyes were closed. His number was 0.

No!

I fell back a step, a sharp pain stabbing my chest.

This couldn’t be . . . The numbers couldn’t mean . . .

I stumbled towards Lily’s bedside and clutched her hand. I still saw the figure 1.

‘Please don’t die,’ I whispered. ‘I love you.’

An alarm suddenly sounded from the monitor beside her. Lily’s heartbeat was flatlining. Doctors and nurses ran over, pushing me aside.

‘You need to leave,’ Erica said firmly. ‘She’s gone into cardiac arrest.’

I felt the colour drain from my face as a defibrillator was pushed to her bedside and a nurse stuck pads on her chest.

I backed away, tears streaming down my cheeks.

It was too late. The electrical shocks wouldn’t restart Lily’s heart however many times the team tried to revive her.

The figures I’d seen weren’t signalling Lily’s or Albert’s recovery, they’d been counting down to their deaths.

Lily’s number was now 0.