A Lady's Guide to Marrying Rich ✔

31

"NO signs of consciousness," comes the doctor's voice, muffled. "Still, it's blunt force trauma and only day three. Did you sort things out with the police?"

"Pinned him down for stalking, attempting kidnapping, and assault." I can hear the hardness in Tomiichi's voice. "Jared Darling is going away for a long, long time."

"That's some good news at least."

"We had help from a great lawyer. Martha Fielding, you know her?"

An impressed whistle. "I'll say. Yale schoolmate, she was. How'd you find her?"

"Lawyer of the patient. She has full evidence of Jared's textual threats and harassment calls."

"Sounds like a nasty bloke." The doctor sighs. "All that's left now is for the lady to wake up. Oh, before you enter the ward, bring in some hot food."

Tomiichi sounds surprised. "For Iris?"

"No. Your boy's been in there as long as she has, and I don't believe he's eaten a thing."

¥

The ward is quiet save for the gentle beeping of machines. The curtains have been drawn to let the sunlight in – beautiful rays of London sun spilling across my forearms and the bedsheets.

Iris lies in bed, perfectly still. A bandage wraps thickly around her forehead, and an oxygen mask clamps around her mouth like a plastic muzzle. There is little movement about her except for the rising and falling of her chest. Even that is fragile, as if the tiniest disturbance could shatter the rhythm entirely. And so when Tomiichi enters the ward, a little bit clumsier than he should have been, my eyes flicker upward sharply to fix him with a stare.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispers. He's holding a lunch bag in his hand, which he sets down on the table.

Wordlessly, I turn back to watch Iris. A small section of her blanket has folded down. I adjust it back into place.

"Here." The smell of ginger honey porridge hits my nose and my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven't eaten a proper meal in three days.

"I'm fine," I say shortly.

"You need to eat something, Akai."

"I did. A candy bar."

"When – last night? We're going to have two patients at this rate." Tomiichi's voice takes on a softer tone. "At least take a few bites. Mama made this specially for you, you know. She's put abalone inside."

Reluctantly, I let go of Iris's hands. My fingers are stiff, and as the heat from the bowl of porridge hits them, there's the sensation of pins and needles. I grimace.

Tomiichi eyes me. "You've been holding her hands too long. Did you even sleep?"

"Can't."

The first bite of salty chicken hits my tongue and it hits me just how long I haven't eaten. I scarf down the entire bowl in less than a minute and that's when Tomiichi pulls out a gigantic thermos flask from inside the lunch bag. He refills my bowl and passes it back to me.

"That's why you shouldn't have made Mama worry," he says reproachfully. "This entire flask must be eaten by you alone, she said."

We sit there for a while in silence.

"She's always so pale," I finally say. "Doesn't matter night or day."

"Just sleeping, that's all," Tomiichi says quietly. "Getting her rest, the doctor says. She'll wake, don't worry."

"I know." I move to sit back in the bedside chair, in the same position I've kept vigil over the last 72 hours.

"I just wish it didn't take this long."

¥

When all you need to do is wait, the hours pass agonizingly slow. I don't move out of the chair. I barely eat, and sleep even less.

Heather comes in the morning, with her family. In the afternoon, the Satohs, who stay until dinner time. They never ask me to eat with them, not because of any lack of etiquette on their part, but because I think they know, instinctively, what my answer will be. When they leave, there's always a thermos flask on the table.

On day five, Edlyn stops by for a visit.

"There we go," she says after we've placed her handmade quilt on Iris. "Not such a dreary-looking room now. Can't stand too much white."

Taking a seat on the couch, she proceeds to knit. We sit together in comfortable silence for a while.

"You remind me of someone," Edlyn says, not looking up from her work. "Crotchety. Not too keen on words. A bit snappish."

I listen but don't answer.

"Nothing wrong with that," she continues. "People show love in different ways, after all. Rose, for example – a gabber, if there ever was one. Could tell you I love you six different times a day and mean all of them. And then there are those who prefer to save their words for the right occasion. To make them even more precious when they're finally said."

Pushing up her spectacles, Edlyn smiles at me. Gentle and understanding.

"Just make sure the right occasion doesn't slip you by, hmm?"

¥

I don't take my eyes off her. When it gets a bit cold, I rub her arms, just so there's some circulation. Her blanket always goes up to her chin and I make sure her feet are tucked underneath. Sometimes, I think the nurses complain I steal their jobs.

Nights are the worst. The lights of the ward get turned down, the moon hides behind clouds, and the city smog makes it hard to see even the tiniest glimmer of stars.

The hospital is silent, asleep, and I have never felt so alone.