Chapter 26
As honeymoons went this wasn’t quite what Mo had imagined. If she’d ever thought about a honeymoon, in that vague kind of where would I want to go if a) I didn’t have lots of equine friends who needed me 24/7 and b) I ever found a guy who wanted to take on a fiery redhead who was generally covered in mud and smelled of horse, then it probably would have been a Caribbean beach with icing-sugar sand and bathwater-warm seas, or perhaps an exotic rainforest filled with colourful blooms and chattering monkeys.
One thing was certain: it wouldn’t have been the waiting room of a large West London hospital.
Mo sat on an orange plastic seat and stared out through glass that was hazy with city grime. She saw through the blurred reflection of her own face, floating pale and ghostly against the darkness of the night sky, to the lights of the endless city beyond. High above, the red and white dots of planes circled over Heathrow. Funny to think that up there people were folding up their trays or flicking through magazines – oblivious to Mo sitting way below them, unable to move so much as an inch and hardly daring to breathe. As far as they were concerned she simply didn’t exist.
And they had absolutely no idea that her whole world could end at any moment…
Concepts like this hurt Mo’s head but at least they were a distraction from the other thing she could be worrying about. It was better to listen to the squeak of rubber soles on the floor and the clatter of trolleys being wheeled past than to the wailing of her thoughts. Less painful, too, to drift on the tide of murmured conversation from the nurses’ station than to allow her musings to carry her downstream to a destination she would rather not visit. Better even to thumb through outdated, dog-eared magazines and marvel at Summer’s skimpy outfit or Katie Price’s antics than to pick up her mobile and look at all the photographs her loved ones had been posting. Had that really been only two days ago? Already it felt like another life; the girl in the confetti-speckled wedding dress who laughed up at the handsome man holding her hands was an innocent and a stranger. When Mo looked at that girl she felt pity for her and a little contempt too, because she’d been so sure that she’d had everything in hand and that she could cope with whatever life was going to throw at her. What an idiot! She hadn’t had a clue how soon she would feel as though the surgeon was cutting her open and ripping out her heart. She’d had no comprehension that anything could hurt quite this much.
No, nothing in the world could possibly have prepared that flushed and smiling bride for this.
Mo wasn’t sure quite how long she’d been sitting in the waiting room, her numb legs moulded to the hard plastic and her eyes gritty with exhaustion. Long enough for the door to be tactfully pushed to, and long enough to have watched the daylight steal across the dishwater sky and bleed away again. Certainly long enough to have read all the messages on her phone and for the battery to be running low.
Sitting all alone, Mo allowed herself the small luxury of thinking about those messages again. The congratulations were too painful to contemplate but some of the messages, like the one Jules had sent a couple of hours ago, had gone a little way towards lifting Mo’s heavy heart.
Wanted you to know – six couples have enquired about booking the church and a TV production company has been in touch too! Even the bishop has called about coming back. It’s all looking good!
The text had concluded with Jules admonishing Mo for sneaking off on honeymoon without saying goodbye, and adding that Zak had been badly behaved as always. According to Jules, he’d been given a telling off by the new primary teacher. Now that was something Mo would very much have liked to see. She hoped Zak had been made to sit on the naughty step.
As for sloping off on honeymoon… Well, that was another story altogether. Mo glanced down at her right hand, clenched into a fist, and slowly opened her fingers. There it was, the perfect circle of gold that was Ashley’s wedding ring. It hadn’t even been on his finger for much more than forty-eight hours before it had been handed back to her. Staring at it now, there was an awful hollow feeling in Mo’s chest that she knew would never go away until she slid the ring back where it belonged. Closing her fingers around it again and shutting her eyes, Mo recalled how this strangest of honeymoons had really started.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” Ashley had said to Mo when, hand in hand, they’d stolen away from the heat and noise of the marquee and down onto the quay, “but we need to set off for London first thing tomorrow.”
Mo had tilted her head and looked up at him. His face had been shadowed in the darkness but there’d been no mistaking his serious expression.
“I thought we were just going to have a quiet day tomorrow? Stay in Mariners and take a day or two to rest and get over this?”
He’d squeezed her fingers. “Believe me, Mrs Carstairs, I’d love nothing more than to hole up in bed with you for weeks on end, but it isn’t going to be possible. Stephen Oliver called this morning.”
Mo had tried to speak but it had been as though her voice no longer worked. Instead all she could do was cling tightly onto his hand as the stars above began to whirl.
“Mo, he wants to operate as soon as possible and there’s a slot on Monday. I didn’t want to tell you before the wedding but it seems I’m out of time. It has to be now.”
She’d closed her eyes. Two tears had slid silently down her cheeks and Ashley had wiped then away tenderly with his thumb.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he’d whispered, pulling her close and pressing a kiss into the crown of her head, the curls and roses long since having escaped Summer’s handiwork. “I am so sorry. If I could delay it I would. I’d give anything just for a few days with you.”
She’d swallowed back the hard lump of grief and done her best to smile. After all, hadn’t she known deep, deep down that each day that had dawned had seen him a little weaker, the headaches stronger, the sickness and the dizzy spells more crippling? And hadn’t she always realised that this moment was coming?
Of course she had, just not so cruelly soon.
So Mo had raised her chin and dredged up all she could of her old fire and determination.
“What are we waiting for, then? The sooner this is over, the sooner we can really start our honeymoon.”
Ashley’s answer had been to take her face in his hands and kiss her.
“I love you, Mrs Carstairs,” was all he’d said.
The drive to London had passed in a blur for Mo, as had the arrival at the hospital, the consultations and the final discussions with Stephen Oliver. There had been blood tests, drips and injections and then finally, and most frighteningly, the preparations for the operation itself. As a section of his scalp was being shaved, the reality had hit her hard – and as much as Ashley had joked about his new Vin Diesel look, Mo had struggled to hold it together. He’d looked so pale and vulnerable, so unlike his usual sarcastic and vital self.
Oh God, Mo had thought as she’d stared at the cannula in his hand and all the machinery around him, this is really happening. She could really lose him. How was that possible when she loved him so much?
Ashley had slipped the shiny new wedding ring from his finger and passed it to her.
“Take care of this for me, Mo,” he’d told her, and there was the old determined note in his voice that surely nobody from the Pollards to the Grim Reaper could argue with. “You needn’t think you’re hanging onto it, though, because I want it back. Put it back on the next time you see me.”
She’d nodded and taken it with shaking hands. So this was how it was to be. No dramatic declaration or promises. Just a tender touch and a look that said more than any words ever could.
“No big goodbyes.” Ashley had read her mind. “No dramas, Mo. I love you and I couldn’t be happier or prouder than I was when I saw you walking down the aisle to meet me. No matter what may come, you’ve made me happier than I ever deserved or dreamed I’d be.”
He had kissed her again – and in that softest touch of his mouth, a millio
n words and memories had passed between them. Their first meeting, all the heated exchanges, a midnight kiss at a summer ball, the first time they’d made love on the cliff top, a proposal as the sun slid into the sea, and finally that too-long walk down the aisle with Mo wanting to run to reach him all the sooner…
Then the porters had wheeled him away and Stephen Oliver had turned to Mo, fixing her with the serious grey eyes that dominated his thin and clever face.
“I’ll do my very best for him,” he’d told her, “but you must prepare yourself for the worst. It’s a complex and risky procedure.”
Mo had swallowed back her terror. “I understand.” But understanding wasn’t the same as accepting – and while she could breathe and pray and hope, she would be waiting for Ashley to come back to her. That she might never again talk to him, bicker with him or feel his arms around her was inconceivable.
It was only once the neurosurgeon had left, his shoes clicking all the way down the corridor as he headed to the theatre elevator, that Mo had covered her face with her hands and wept. When there had been no more tears to cry, she’d straightened her back, raised her chin and asked the nurses where she could wait. Brushing aside their concerns that it would be a very long and very complicated procedure and that she might be better to go back to her hotel, Mo had set up camp in the visitors’ area where she’d remained ever since. She and Ashley hadn’t come this far to be apart now. Before switching off her mobile, Mo had sent Jules a text asking her to pray for Ashley; then she’d begun her long and lonely vigil.
Hours on, Mo was so deep in thought as she watched the planes endlessly swooping into Heathrow that she didn’t notice the nurse who’d joined her in the waiting room. The name she gently called, Mrs Carstairs, was too new for Mo to even register. It was only when a tentative hand was laid upon her shoulder that Mo realised with a start she was no longer alone.
“I’m sorry to make you jump, Mrs Carstairs,” the nurse apologised. “I thought you might want to know that your husband is out of theatre and in the HDU.”
There was a rushing in Mo’s ears and for a dreadful moment she thought she might faint. Ashley was in the High Dependency Unit, which meant that against all the odds he’d survived the dangerous surgery.
The man she loved with all her heart, her husband, was still alive.
“Is he OK?”
“It’s early days, but that he’s made it through this far is a very good sign.” The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile. “Mr Oliver will be able to tell you more.”
Mo understood. Nobody would be prepared to say anything at this stage. Stephen Oliver had told her and Ashley enough times that they would have no real idea just how successful the operation had been until Ashley came round. She knew the deal: the tumour might be removed with every success but he could remain in a coma, or be brain-damaged or—
Mo pulled herself up sharply. She wasn’t going to think like that.
“Can I see him?”
The nurse nodded and as she led Mo along the corridor to the dark and hushed rooms at the far end she added kindly, “He’s been stable for the past couple of hours and he’s off the ventilator now too. You’ll see that we’re doing frequent neuro obs, but he’s still unconscious. Try not to read too much into that though. Lots of people don’t wake up for a few hours after their operation.”
She held the door open and suddenly Mo found herself disorientated in another world of eerie darkness, flickering screens and beeping machinery.
Ashley was lying in his hospital bed with the sides up, like sleeping beauty guarded by a thicket of tubes and wires. Mo knew in theory what they were all for because Stephen had explained everything in detail, not wanting either of them to be alarmed afterwards, but even so it was a shock.
Take a deep breath, she told herself furiously as she clenched her hands into fists and fought for control of the rising panic. You can handle this. You saw Danny in hospital.
But Danny, although horribly hurt, had never looked as close to death as Ashley did at this very moment. His inky eyelashes and midnight-dark stubble were startlingly black against his white skin.
Stephen Oliver was checking the monitors beside the bed. Looking up from his charts, he gave Mo a faint smile.
“So far so good,” he said, in answer to her unspoken question.
Mo could feel her nails biting into her palms. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
Mo glanced helplessly at the tubes. She knew that there would be ones from the wound to drain any excess blood and fluid, as well as a drain from the brain to prevent hydrocephalus. There would be a catheter, an intracranial pressure monitor and lots more that she couldn’t even remember. But apart from those and a big dressing on Ashley’s head – Mo never thought she’d miss the silly beanie hat – he looked as though he was just having a nap.
“Can I sit with him?”
The consultant nodded. “He’s stable for the moment. He may even be coming round. Talk to him. It helps.”
Mo slipped onto the hard chair to the left of the bed and took Ashley’s closest hand in hers. His fingers were terribly still.
“Listen, Carstairs,” she said, brushing his cheek with her lips, “this is no way for a girl to spend her honeymoon. The coffee’s dreadful, the food is worse than anything I could cook and there hasn’t been any sex. I’m thinking I should ask for a refund.”
The machines beeped and whirred. The door clicked shut behind Stephen.
“OK, we’re all alone now, Ashley,” Mo told the motionless figure. She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered, “So if you’ve ever had a fantasy about having sex in a hospital bed then now’s your chance, but you’ll have to be quick. The nurses just can’t stay away. I think they fancy you. God knows why when you’re such a massive pain in the neck.”
Was it her imagination or did his fingers move? Was she so desperate for a sign that she was seeing only what she wanted to?
“Ashley? Can you hear me? It’s me, Mo. Please, Ashley, show me you can hear me! Wake up, please. I love you so much. I can’t be without you. I can’t!”
She was sobbing now and for once Mo didn’t bother trying to hide her feelings or be brave. What did that matter if he couldn’t see or hear her? What did anything matter if she couldn’t be with Ashley?
“Ashley Carstairs! Don’t you dare lie there pretending you can’t hear me!” Mo wept, her tears falling onto the starched sheet. “I’m your wife!”
The fingers twitched. They definitely did; it wasn’t her imagination. Looking down in wonder at the palm of his left hand, Mo saw that Ashley’s thumb had moved across it to his third finger.
“I’m your wife,” she choked. “You can’t get away from me that easily.”
The thumb tapped his ring finger. Once. Twice. Then for a third time.
Mo’s hand went to her mouth and hope fluttered in her chest, suddenly daring to open its wings and fly. Perhaps the doctors would call it a coincidence, but she knew beyond all doubt that Ashley was coming back to her.
Of course he was. Even without words he was telling her so.
As his dear face blurred and shimmered before her vision, Mo slipped his wedding ring back on and felt his fingers close around hers.
“In sickness and in health,” she said softly, “till death us do part.”
Ashley’s eyelids stirred.
“Mo?”
His voice was so faint that Mo wasn’t sure for a moment whether or not he had really spoken; perhaps she had just longed for it so much that she was dreaming. Her tears fell even faster.
“I know you’re there,” he murmured. “I felt you put my ring back on.”
He was speaking. He really was!
Mo’s only answer was a sob.
Ashley’s eyes opened and even though he looked as though he’d walked a thousand miles they still brimmed with love.
“Honestly, Red,” he said hoarsely, “the lengths a man has to go to in order to get your attention
. I hope you’ll take me seriously now!”
Mo tried to dash her tears away with the back of her hand, but even as she was laughing with a heady cocktail of relief and happiness she found that she was crying harder still. Not only was Ashley awake, but he was teasing her too? The euphoric rush of joy was greater than winning Olympic gold could ever be.
“You really didn’t need to go to all the trouble of a brain tumour,” she told him, blinking away the tears and smiling so widely that her face would probably ache for days. “If you’d actually asked nicely I would have gone for dinner with you months ago.”
Ashley’s eyes had closed again but his mouth, the gorgeous sexy mouth that took Mo right the way to heaven and back, curled into a smile.
“So now you tell me, Mrs Carstairs! And, if I ask you nicely this time, is there anything else you might do for me?”
Mo was just on the brink of telling Ashley exactly what she would like to do for him when Stephen Oliver returned. The consultant gave her a stern look.
“Much as I’m overjoyed to see that my patient is awake,” he said firmly, “I think any talk that will raise his blood pressure is strictly off limits for now!”
Ashley’s brow crinkled as a host of nurses, doctors and copious other medical types surrounded his bedside. His eyes were shut and he was drifting back to sleep but, in true Ashley style, he was determined to have the last word.
“It’s my honeymoon,” he protested. “I want my blood pressure raised!”
Laughing through her tears, Mo kissed his hand before stepping aside to allow the medics to do their job. At that minute she adored every single one of them.
The little bird of hope had hopped through the cage door of her dread to stretch its wings before soaring high above, as proudly and effortlessly as the gulls that swooped and glided above Polwenna Bay – and Mo’s heart flew with it. Suddenly the world was filled with possibilities, and Mo was more thankful for this than she could ever say.
For the new Mr and Mrs Carstairs their future was a time for living.
A Time for Living: Polwenna Bay 2 Page 25
