These Days

xiii

IT'S TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE CHARTERS FINALLY VISIT AARON, BUT IT FEELS LIKE TWO YEARS. Priyanka might have aged twenty years in that time - she has dark bags beneath her eyes and it doesn't look like she's slept much.

Aaron's not surprised.

He doesn't really remember the transition between here and there - it's all a blur. He doesn't remember the ambulance; he doesn't remember arriving at the hospital. All he knows is the drip, drip, drip that soaked into his system, the drip, drip, drip that kept his heart pumping and his lungs heaving.

"Hi Mum," he says timidly, when he first sees her. She's followed closely by both James and Daniel, but there's no sign of the twins.

"Hi," she whispers.

And then she wraps him up like a Christmas parcel, engulfing him in her arms and he can feel her shaking as she weeps silently onto his shoulder, he can feel her hot breath in irregular spurts on his collarbone. She's holding him so tightly that he can barely breathe, that his lungs feel like they might pop and his muscles feel like they might snap.

"I'm so sorry, Mum," Aaron says, voice wobbling.

"Don't be," she tells him, stepping back and wiping her eyes. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done that's got you here."

Aaron wants to tell her that no, none of this is her fault he's just a few screws loose and they're knocking about in his head somewhere, they're rolling around the empty space of his mind, but he's never been the kind of person to speak his thoughts and now is certainly not the time for apologies, so he just nods and looks away.

James is next with hugs far less brutal than those of Priyanka. It's almost too much - as though he's terrified of breaking the already-broken Aaron.

"I'm okay," Aaron mumbles, "I promise." But no one seems to listen.

"Kareem and Tarun wanted to come, but we didn't want to overwhelm you," Daniel explains, sort of tapping Aaron on the back gently. It's an awkward gesture, one that screams stranger more than family, but Aaron accepts it all the same.

They sit down and Aaron feels more like he's in a prison or an interview than talking to the people who have known him his entire life, despite the sofas and games piled high in the corner.

"So - what's it like?" James asks.

Aaron's always been envious of how effortlessly James seems to do life - how conversation flows quickly and smoothly and words don't trip over themselves as they fall off his tongue. But even James seems to be struggling now.

"Umm, it's alright really," Aaron says. He wants to stop there but he doesn't want the silence, so he digs deep and continues. "I've got some alright friends, my room's decent and umm, the food's, umm, alright, I guess."

"It smelled good when we were walking up here," James comments. "Some sort of curry for tea, maybe?"

Aaron shrugs. "I don't know. I eat what I'm told."

It's become much easier to talk about things, he notices. It's probably something to do with the sheer amount of therapy sessions that require him to talk about things on a daily basis, if he's honest. It's almost like he's numb to it now: talking about his condition or what it's like to be in here just kind of feels like he's telling a story, like he's describing someone else's life. He doesn't feel attached anymore.

It's an odd feeling, he realises. It's like he's waiting in the wings, whispering stage directions to a puppet, whilst his family and friends sit in the audience, gasping and wincing in all of the right places.