He cut her off and dialled 911 immediately.
Bryn’s breathing was so shallow it was barely there. Jim was not familiar with this part of town. He had no idea where the nearest ambulance had to come from. A siren screamed somewhere in the distance. Jennifer, Casa D’Or flashed in his mind, but then it was gone, his attention focused on his father as he willed him to stay alive.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The doctors were serious and the nurses sympathetic and efficient. You couldn’t really fault them; everyone did everything right. The ambulance had arrived within minutes and broken every traffic law getting Bryn to the emergency room. Jim had sat in the back, holding his father’s hand, watching his grey face behind the oxygen mask, urging him to live.
Bryn had been wheeled straight into the treatment room, the gurney bumping through the double doors. Elizabeth had arrived half an hour later, white as paper, her cheeks stained. Jim couldn’t remember seeing her cry before. Three hours later, a doctor had informed them that a stabilising procedure had been a success, then explained that ‘success’ simply meant that Bryn had survived the procedure; his survival beyond that was not guaranteed. ‘We just have to watch and pray,’ he had said.
‘Go home,’ said Elizabeth now, putting her hand on her son’s shoulder. ‘Get a few hours’ sleep.’
‘I dozed a little,’ said Jim, forcing his eyes to snap open.
He had not left Lennox Hill hospital from the moment he had arrived in the ambulance the day before. Now he glanced out of the window and saw that the sun was rising, a whole night had disappeared and he had not left the tiny, sterile hospital room, although his mother had gone home around midnight when she had been told her husband was stable.
‘Come on, Jim. You can come back later. We can rotate. Take the keys to the brownstone if you want. It’s closer.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, thinking how much better he would feel if he had even just a couple of hours’ sleep and a shower.
‘Just go,’ she whispered as they both looked towards Bryn lying in the hospital bed. His skin was ghostly pale; a drip fed from his arm to an IV bag held up on a rack. The sound of the respirator was slow, steady, but despite everything, he looked peaceful.
He got a taxi downtown, back to his apartment. It was a dark, wet morning, the streets of New York a sea of commuters and umbrellas, a jigsaw of colour on the rainy streets.
The events of the past twenty hours didn’t make sense to him. His father had always been such a vibrant man. He’d turned seventy that year but he had the energy of someone twenty years younger.
The first consultant Jim had met after their arrival at Lennox Hill had told him that his father had gone into a brief but complete cardiac arrest, which had limited the flow of oxygen to his brain. He knew the doctor was trying to break the news that his father might have incurred some sort of brain damage, though it was too soon to tell if this had been the case. The idea of Bryn Johnson without his mind, without the full range of his faculties, was unthinkab
le. His intellect and wit were what he prided himself on, what defined his very being. Given the choice, Jim knew his father would rather not wake up.
His phone vibrated. He picked it up without even looking at the caller ID. He recognised Jennifer’s voice instantly.
‘Hello,’ he said, feeling his voice tense.
‘I thought I’d call. I thought you’d be back from the Caribbean.’
‘Yes, I’m back,’ he said briskly.
‘Are you OK?’ She knew him too well, and he was too tired to create the charade of being nice.
‘Something’s happened.’
‘What? Is everything OK?’ she asked with concern.
‘My father has had a heart attack.’
‘Oh Jim. I’m so sorry. How bad is it?’
‘He’s at Lennox Hill. He’s stabilised. That’s all we really know for now.’ He was aware how clipped his voice sounded.
‘Where are you?’
‘In a taxi.’
‘Going where?’
‘Home.’
‘I’m coming round,’ she said more urgently.