‘Does Amelia evenknowanyone called Sam Wilson?’ I asked Mum now.
‘I don’t know, Lexi. I’ve never heard the name before today.’ Mum reached for another tissue and quietly blew her nose. ‘She certainly isn’t married to him, I can tell you that.’
My laugh was brittle, like glass shattering, for there was nothing even remotely funny about this situation.
‘This is just going to be a reaction to the drugs she’s on,’ I assured my mother, crossing my fingers beneath the table, because I had no idea if that was actually the case. ‘Once she’s off the medication, everything will be fine.’
‘What if it isn’t the medication? What if this is a result of what happened when her heart stopped?’
I shuddered, realising I wasn’t the only family member to have searched the internet about the devastating effects of lack of oxygen to the brain.
‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,’ I said, knowing the phrase was one of the few things that could put a watery smile on Mum’s lips right now.
‘That was one of your dad’s favourite sayings.’
I squeezed her hand warmly. ‘I know.’
*
This time, the senior charge nurse was waiting to waylay us before we reached Amelia’s room. She motioned us into her office. It felt like being summoned to the headteacher’s study.
‘I won’t keep you long,’ she assured, sensing our hesitation.
We declined her offer to ‘take a seat’, which she seemed to have been expecting. She nodded and then took a deep breath.
‘Amelia is much calmer now. We’ve given her a light sedative, so you might find her a little sleepy when you go back in.’
‘But is she still… deluded?’ I didn’t like the word, but I could think of no other to substitute it.
‘Confusedis perhaps a better way of looking at it.’ Involuntarily, her eyes went to a family portrait on her paper-strewn desk. Inside the wooden frame was a photograph of a man and two young children under sunny skies. ‘Amelia is adamant that she is a married woman. She believes it as strongly as I believe the people in that photograph to be my own family.’
It was incomprehensible and overwhelming, but more than anything it was impossible to fix, and I was a born fixer. ‘But Amelia’s never evenwantedto be married. She’s so fiercely independent. Out of all the things to fantasise, why this?’
The charge nurse looked at us with kindly eyes. ‘I have no idea. Hopefully, Dr Vaughan will be able to tell you more about it than I can when you meet with him. He’ll certainly want to outline the clinical and neurological investigations he feels would benefit your sister.’
The future suddenly looked very dark and scary and unconsciously I reached for my mother’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
‘As difficult as it is for family members in this kind of situation, unless your sister’s care team advise you differently, I think the best thing right now would be to go along with whatever Amelia believes to be true.’
‘You want us to pretend that we can see someone who isn’t actually there?’ Mum asked incredulously.
The charge nurse shook her head. ‘Amelia isn’t hallucinating. She isn’t seeing invisible people, she’s just remembering a different past from the one that actually took place. For the time being, I think it’s more important to avoid distressing her than it is to convince her that she’s wrong.’
*
Amelia’s eyes flashed to the doorway when she heard the sound of our footsteps. It was hard not to feel crushed by the disappointment in her eyes. We were her family, the people who loved her most, but we weren’t who she was hoping to see.
The beeping of one of her monitors rose in a worrying crescendo, and guilt as thick as bile threatened to choke me. But I would do or say whatever I had to, to help my sister get well. If she wanted to claim black was white, she’d get no argument from me.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked, bending to kiss her cheek. A nasal tube delivering oxygen had been fitted during our absence, and I gently freed a strand of her hair that was trapped beneath it.
‘Drowsy,’ she mumbled.
Mum moved to reclaim the visitor’s chair, but I perched on the side of the bed and lifted Amelia’s hand to slot my fingers through hers.
‘Is there any word yet from Sam?’ she asked. Her eyes – identical to mine in every way – held my gaze prisoner. It was a test. But it was one I had no intention of failing.
‘Not yet. Hopefully soon.’