Free Crashing Down by Kate McCaffrey

curtain.
    â€˜Come back in a minute.’ He looks at an imaginary watch. ‘I’m timing you.’
    She tries to laugh, but is frightened it will come out as a sob.

18
    Lucy walks unsteadily down the hallway. Is this permanent? Is this how he will stay? She rubs her hand over her stomach. Her awareness of how serious everything has suddenly become makes her want to swoon. It sounds so romantic — swooning — but there is nothing romantic here; it’s dirty and sad and totally wrong. She sees her mum in the lounge area at the end of the corridor, listening to Mrs K, who is gesticulating wildly. As she gets closer, she notices they’ve both been crying. There’s a pile of tissues between them and their eyes are red-rimmed.
    â€˜Hey,’ her mum says. ‘Okay?’
    Lucy shrugs and slides into the chair.
Make it all go away,
she wants to say. This is a nightmare. ‘Yeah.Nah.’ She shrugs again and blinks; she doesn’t want to cry.
    â€˜But he knows you. No?’ Mrs K says. ‘He sees you. I see his face. It changed. He knows you, Lucinda.’
    Lucy shakes her head. ‘He does know me,’ she says, ‘but something’s wrong.’
    â€˜Wrong?’ her mum asks. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜He’s totally paranoid. He thinks there’s some type of conspiracy, or something. He thinks he’s a prisoner. He thinks …’ — she recalls as much of the conversation as she can — ‘that years have gone by. That this is, like, in the future.’
    â€˜Oh dear,’ her mum says. ‘What did he say to you? Did he get angry?’
    â€˜No.’ She retells as much as she can remember, each word giving the weirdness an odd reality. ‘He didn’t get mad. He got sad. He cried.’
    â€˜No. Not my Carlo.’ Mrs K allows the never-ending tears to roll. ‘My boy never cries.’
    â€˜Well, he did.’ Lucy looks up as Mr K approaches.
    â€˜Carl remembers you?’ he asks.
    â€˜Yeah, he remembers me, but he’s pretty confused.’
    â€˜He remembers you. That’s the important thing.’Mr K looks elated. ‘The doctors said he might not remember anyone again. But if he remembers you, that’s good. It means he can get better now. Thank God. I’ll go to him.’
    Lucy nods; she feels exhausted.
    She goes to the coffee shop and grabs a water for Carl and a latte for herself. As she nears Carl’s room, she hears loud voices. Not again, she thinks. She approaches the curtain cautiously and pulls it back. Mr Kapuletti is seated next to the bed, looking up at Carl who is glowering at him. The hard, eyeless face boring holes into Mr K. Lucy grips the curtain.
    â€˜Carl, Lucy
has
been to see you.’ Mr K sounds imploring.
    â€˜I’ve told you already. I don’t know why you tell me the same things all the time. She hasn’t been in. I haven’t seen her for ages.’ Carl spits the words at his father.
    â€˜Mother Mary,’ Mr K says. ‘We may have to let them test your head.’
    â€˜What!’ Carl roars and makes to launch at his father, but he is restrained by the leather straps. ‘You tell your God-bothering friends, Father, that you won’t touch my head. One opportunity and I’ll takethe lot of you down.’
    He glances over to where Lucy hovers in the doorway. ‘Lucy!’ His tone is immediately softer. ‘There you are. I was just talking to the Father about you. Been a long time, hey?’ That sleazy tone is back.
    Lucy finds herself nodding.
    Carl looks at his dad. ‘Go on, then, Father. Fuck off. Mother is waiting for you. Go bore her.’
    Lucy’s hand flies to her mouth. She watches Mr K rise like a broken man from the chair. He touches her elbow as he passes, his face a crumpled mass of misery. From the bed Carl growls like a dog, like he was growling when she first arrived, and it makes her