My father's visit is less emotional. Any feelings he showed earlier have been firmly locked away. He stands over the cot, his hands hanging loosely by his side, and I can tell he doesn't know what on earth to do with himself.
When Amy and Andrea come in around twelve, I walk with Beth to the café, leaving Dad and Tina in the waiting room. David has gone home to do some work.
“I'm going to try Alex again.” I wave my phone at Beth. My battery has almost gone, and I realize it's not going to last through the voicemail message. I jot Stuart's number down on a scrap of paper I find in the bottom of my handbag, and borrow Beth's phone.
She brushes off my suggestions that I'll pay her back. “Don't be silly, it's only money. You can keep the phone until we get your charger.” Another reason David's gone back. I've given him a list of things I need along with my set of keys. He's promised to be at the hospital by tea time.
I step through the automatic glass doors, into the outside air. After the artificial lighting of the hospital, the sunlight makes me blink rapidly.
The entrance is surrounded by anxious smokers, so I step to the side, past the ambulance bay, finding an empty corner where I can hear myself think. With the scrap of paper in one hand, I hastily press the numbers into Beth's phone. Lifting it to my ear, I wait for the now-familiar sound of Stuart's voicemail message.
Instead, I'm rewarded with a ringtone. The long beeps remind me they're in another country, a stark contrast to the jaunty ringtones in the UK. After three repeats I hear Stuart's voice, but not a recorded version.
This one is live.
“Hello?”
“Stuart? It's Lara.” I'm so shocked to hear his voice, I don't know what to say. I'm momentarily dumb.
“Lara? Whose phone are you using?” Is that suspicion in his voice? I shake it off, remembering why I'm calling.
“Is Alex there? I need to talk to him.”
“Nah, I'm afraid not. He's stepped out for a bit.”
“Did he get my messages?” I ask. “Does he know Max is sick?”
Stuart clears his throat. “Oh yeah, how is the little guy?” He makes it sound as if Max has a small cold. Not that his life is in danger.
“He's in hospital,” I explain quickly, feeling frustrated. “I need to talk to Alex. Does he know about Max?”
“Of course,” Stuart sounds affronted. “He's worried sick. Make sure you keep us updated with how he's doing.”
Keep us updated?
“What do you mean?” My stomach lurches. I wasn't prepared for this. “He's coming home, isn't he?”
A pause follows. I hear Stuart's breaths, the beating of my heart, and the sound of a car horn from streets away.
“He wants to, Lara, but we're on tour. He can't simply abandon his commitments.” For the first time, he sounds uncertain. “I mean, it's not like it's life or death, is it?” Stuart gives a little chuckle, and I want to strangle him.
“Max stopped breathing.” I manage to get it out, anger laced through my voice. “His oxygen levels were dangerously low and he was severely dehydrated. He could have died.” I breathe loudly through my nose. “And he’s still very sickly. I want to talk to Alex.”
“I'm sorry, Lara, but he doesn't want to talk to you. We've got another show tonight and you know how he gets.”
“He doesn't want to talk to me?”
“He'll be home in a couple of weeks. He'll see Max then. Remember what we talked about? You don't want to upset him, do you?”
“Let me speak to my husband, Stuart.” I feel like throwing the phone on the floor.
“Alex!” Stuart's shout reverberates down the phone. “It's Lara.” There's a muffled conversation I can't hear. I stand there, outside the hospital where our son is being treated, waiting to hear my husband’s voice.
Except I don't. Instead, Stuart speaks again, sounding slightly bored with the whole thing. “Sorry, Lara, he's tied up at the moment. I'll get him to call you later.”
Tied up?
Call me later?