Sewing the Shadows Together

by Alison Baillie

  ‘Mrs. Dunbar, would you like to sit down? I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.’

  The words burst into her head and echoed through her brain. The words she’d heard on countless police dramas on TV. Her legs went weak and she sank into the corner of the sofa. ‘Who?’ she breathed.

  ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your husband has been involved in an accident.’

  Chapter 16

  The Edinburgh Royal Infirmary was a shiny concrete new-build, which had replaced the gothic red-stone building in the city centre. Sarah had phoned the twins while the police were driving her to the hospital. The officers had asked a few gentle questions on the way, about why Rory was up on Salisbury Crags, the ridge of jutting red cliffs on Arthur’s Seat, at six thirty in the morning. Sarah was amazed at her own composure; she told them about the programme he was making and the filming with HJ Kidd. It hadn’t really sunk in; all she kept thinking was, thank goodness they didn’t find Tom. Remembering the passion of the night before, she felt herself blushing.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Sarah saw Nick and Lottie huddled together by the automatic doors at the entrance. Together they went up to the intensive care ward and the enormity of what had happened hit her for the first time. The over-bright neon light bounced off the shiny white walls onto an array of machines, screens and tubes.

  Rory was lying on a pure white pillow, with a sheet pulled smoothly up to his chin under the tunnel of a ventilator. His head emerged like a marble statue, his face calm, eyes closed, his lips with a slight smile. A white cap of bandage hid most of his hair. A small Filipina nurse was standing next to him, adjusting one of the monitors.

  ‘How is he?’ Sarah’s voice felt cracked. Unnatural.

  ‘The doctor will come and speak to you in a moment.’ The nurse turned away, avoiding eye contact.

  Sarah sensed Nick and Lottie next to her. She reached out and tentatively touched Rory’s cheek; it was warm and waxy to the touch. ‘Rory, can you hear me?’ Sarah realised she was whispering.

  There was no reaction. Sarah heard a muffled sob and saw Lottie’s shoulders shaking; Nick was staring at his father’s face, his features so similar, so finely engraved.

  There was a cough behind her. Sarah looked round and saw a tall figure in a white coat. ‘Mrs Dunbar? I’m Doctor Blair.’ The doctor reached out his hand to shake hers. His floppy hair and tired, youthful face made him look too young to be qualified.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘We’d like to run a few more tests before we can give a definitive answer. Would you and your family like to go to the café and I’ll speak to you as soon as I have the results?’

  Sarah felt a lump in her throat. The policewoman had said Rory was alive but critical and she’d felt hope; the young doctor’s measured tones filled her with a sense of dread. Nick put his arm round her, gently guiding her out of the room and into the long corridor. Sarah walked, her limbs moving robotically. All her senses seemed heightened: the green linoleum squeaking under the brisk white shoes of hospital staff, the click of the shiny lift doors, lights reflecting off the glass of the smiling staff photos on the white walls.

  Turning a corner, they saw an alcove with racks of magazines and a large plastic potted plant. HJ Kidd was sitting on one of the burnt orange chairs, his head in his hands. As they approached, he lifted his head, then got up and put his arms round Sarah.

  ‘Sarah.’ His handsome face was grey and drawn, the skin around his eyes in deep baggy folds. He looked much older than the last time she’d seen him. ‘Is there any news?’

  Nick stepped forward and introduced himself and Lottie. He explained what the doctor had said and led them all towards the cafe. It was filled with patients in dressing gowns, some of them attached to drips, visitors, staff on their breaks, all chattering loudly, but they managed to find an empty table in the corner near a window looking out over the carpark. Lottie took orders and moved the remains of the previous occupants’ meals onto a tray.

  Sarah looked at her old teacher’s stricken face. ‘What happened?’

  HJ reached across the table and took her hand, looking directly into her eyes. ‘It was all going so wonderfully. The sky was perfect and the first rays of the sun were appearing in the east. Rory had taken a few trial pictures and had seated me on the edge of a rock with my book. He was so excited about the project and this particular sequence. We’d done a sound-check and he was giving me the countdown for when I should begin reading. I was looking at the book when suddenly his voice changed…’ HJ’s voice faltered. ‘It became a scream. I looked up and saw him falling backwards over the cliffs. He must have stepped back to get a better angle.’ He held Sarah’s hand more tightly, struggling to speak. ‘I rushed to the edge and looked down. I saw his body lying on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.’

  Sarah saw the image before her eyes.

  HJ regained some composure and carried on. ‘I immediately dialled 999 and tried to get down to the bottom of the cliff. I went as quickly as I could but the police and paramedics were there before I arrived. I tried to get close to Rory, but they kept me away and wouldn’t let me travel to the hospital with them.’ He gulped again and looked up at Sarah. ‘The police took me to the station and interviewed me. I gave them my statement and came here as quickly as I could. How is he?’

  Sarah tried to speak but no words came out. Lottie took over. ‘He’s unconscious or in a coma, but he looks very peaceful.’

  ‘The doctor asked us to wait here while they do some tests,’ Nick added. ‘I think there’ll be more news later.’

  Sarah looked down at a dry-looking scone on her plate. She didn’t know how to act, she didn’t know what to feel. Her hand shook as she reached for a pale coffee, slopping some of the liquid out of the cup, before putting it back on the saucer with a clatter.

  ‘Mum, try to drink something.’ Lottie was reaching out for her mother’s cup when there was a scream behind her. Sarah looked up and saw her mother, candy-floss hair askew, designer coat open, bearing down to the table.

  ‘They won’t let me in to see him!’ she wailed. Nick stood up and gently lowered his grandmother into a chair, but she continued in a high-pitched squawk. ‘Poor dear Rory. They won’t let me see him. My own son-in-law. I love him so much, the son I never had.’ Her voice trailed off in an extravagant sob. She took a lace-trimmed hanky from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Dunbar?’ The Filipina nurse was standing behind Sarah’s chair. ‘Dr Blair would like to speak to you now. If you’d like to come up to his office…’

  Mrs Campbell stood up. ‘Can I go up and see my son-in-law now?’

  HJ Kidd laid his arm gently on her shoulder. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to go up to the ward after the doctor has spoken to your daughter. What can I get you? A cup of tea? A cake?’

  Flora simpered. ‘That would be very nice. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’ Sarah looked round gratefully as HJ explained who he was and heard her mother trill with delight. ‘How nice to meet you. I had the pleasure of meeting your sister at luncheon just the other day…’

  Sarah nodded to the twins to come with her and they followed the nurse along the corridor to the doctor’s office.

  Dr Blair was waiting for them and indicated three chairs. Standing next to him was a kindly-faced mixed-race woman in her forties. Sarah looked at the doctor, trying to guess from his expression what he was going to say.

  ‘Mrs Dunbar. We’ve completed all our tests now. Your husband suffered a severe trauma to the brain as a result of his fall. We’ve done everything we can for him, but our tests show that there is no brain activity.’

  He paused. Sarah felt as if she’d turned to ice. She stared at the doctor.

  Nick leant forward. ‘What does this mean? Is he in a coma?’

  Dr Blair moved uncomfortably in his chair. ‘There was such severe internal bleeding in the brain that there has been complete loss of brain stem functi
on. I’m afraid he is brain dead.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Lottie. ‘But he’s breathing, he’s warm.’

  Dr Blair gave a tired sigh, his eyes filled with pain. He hasn’t had to do this many times before, thought Sarah. She was surprised to notice that she felt sorry for him.

  ‘At the moment his breathing is being maintained by the ventilator. The law requires corroboration from a second doctor to make completely certain but, as I said, there was no brain activity detectable from the tests we have done so far. We’ve also tested for any other conditions that could produce these results, but there is no sign of drugs and only moderate alcohol in his system.’ The doctor cleared his throat again and indicated the woman standing next to him. ‘This is Mrs Brown. She would also like to have a word with you.’

  Mrs Brown stepped forward and shook hands with the family. ‘You have my deepest sympathy. You may think it insensitive of me at this time, but I am a transplant co-ordinator. In a case like this there is the possibility for a great deal of good to come from a tragedy. Do you know Mr Dunbar’s attitude to organ donation?’

  Sarah’s mouth fell open and she could not suppress a gasp. This was so final. She couldn’t believe it – Rory dead?

  Mrs Brown continued in a gentle tone. ‘Many families find comfort in the fact that their loved one can save many other lives through the donation of organs.’

  Once again, Sarah tried to speak but no words came. To her relief, Nick spoke. ‘Didn’t he have a donor card on him? My dad was really in favour of organ donations, he did a programme on it once.’

  Sarah nodded in agreement and Mrs Brown reached forward and touched her hand. ‘With your permission, we’d like to test his vital organs. After the results are through we would put the transplantation programme into action as soon as possible. We have a long list of people on standby for heart, lungs, kidneys, livers, corneas and many other organs.’

  Dr Blair added, ‘One person can make so much difference to so many lives.’

  He stopped abruptly, seeming to regret the interruption, thought Sarah. Mrs Brown was obviously a professional, used to this, but Sarah felt strangely that she had to make the young doctor’s difficult job easier. She found her voice again. ‘I understand. He’s not in any pain, is he?’

  ‘He can’t feel anything. He is at peace. Even if he had survived, the amount of brain damage would have meant that he would have been profoundly disabled.’

  Sarah imagined Rory in a wheelchair. ‘He would have hated that.’

  Mrs Brown nodded. ‘We will prepare the paperwork. You can go and spend time with your husband, say your farewells.’

  The young doctor hesitated and then added. ‘Please don’t be too shocked if you see one of his limbs move. There may still be vestiginal reflex actions, but this does not come from the brain. There is no brain activity at all.’

  He stood up; he and Mrs Brown shook hands with all of them before leading them out of the small office. Dr Blair indicated towards the ICU. ‘I am so sorry I was not able give you a more positive diagnosis, but I promise to keep you informed of any developments.’ Sarah felt he really meant it.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sarah sat by the bed, seeing Rory’s handsome face still and peaceful, as if sculpted from marble. He was still connected to a wall of machines and she watched as lines rose and fell, beeping regularly. She realised she was holding her breath, waiting for a flat-line, waiting for the warning screech of countless hospital dramas she’d seen on television.

  Doctors and nurses came in and out of the room, nodding respectfully, doing tests and holding charts. HJ Kidd and her mother came into the room, the poet standing silently, his face etched with shock and Rory’s mother-in-law interrupting the calm with hystrionic wails.

  After a few hours a nurse came and told them to go for something to eat. Nothing would happen for a while. The others went but Sarah stayed by the bed. She couldn’t eat anything; she was in suspended animation, not sure of what she felt, what she should do.

  Nick and Lottie came back and stared at their father. Nothing had changed. Rory lay as still and peaceful as before, the machines clicking and whirring in the background. Then Sarah felt a presence behind her. A more senior doctor, whose name she didn’t catch, approached them and stated regretfully that at 18.08 Rory Dunbar was pronounced dead and, in accordance with the family’s wishes, the organ transplant programme was being set in motion.

  Part 8

  Young Rory, his long hair blowing back from his face, a denim jacket over his T-shirt, collar up, scarf flapping loosely in the wind. He is standing on the tussocky grass slopes of Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh spread out beneath him, the blue waters of the Forth sparkling in the distance.

  The sun is shining warm on us, the breeze soft. I feel the stirring in my stomach, feel two pairs of legs kicking under my lace-trimmed smock. Rory stands warm and strong next to me, holding my hand, his arm round my shoulder. I feel so safe, so happy. Rory pats my tummy and kisses me tenderly. He steps back and beams at me, his arms stretching towards me.

  Then he falls back.

  I can’t catch him, he’s slipping away from my outstretched hands. He melts away from me.

  Chapter 17

  Sarah woke and reached across the empty bed, which seemed to be swaying in the darkness. A dull ache blocked her thoughts, creating a dense fog she couldn’t penetrate. There was something terrible, just below the surface. Then she remembered – Rory was dead.

  The door opened and light shafted in. A figure was silhouetted in the hall light. ‘Mum?’ Lottie’s voice. ‘It’s me. Can I get you anything? A drink?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Sarah sat up and looked around, everything disjointed, everything wrong.

  Lottie sat down beside her and patted her arm. ‘Dr Meldrum left something to help you sleep. Would you like some more to take you through to morning?’

  Sarah put her arms out to her daughter. ‘Oh, Lottie. What are we going to do?’

  Lottes’s voice was calm. ‘You don’t have to do anything. Just rest. Nick is dealing with the arrangements at the moment and I’ll be here with you. Would you like anything to eat?’

  Sarah sat up. ‘I have to get dressed. There is so much to do. What about the funeral?’ Her voice caught on the word.

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ Lottie’s voice was solicitous. ‘As it is an accidental death, it has to be reported to the Procurator Fiscal, but the police say the body will be released soon as there is no indication that it was anything other than a terrible accident.’

  Sarah lay back in the pillows, glad that she didn’t have to think, aware of the irony in the role-reversal as Lottie took charge.

  *

  Tom pounded along the side of the road leading from Duddingston over to Dunsapie Loch. He’d run on this side of Arthur’s Seat before, but now it almost seemed prurient. He’d intended to keep well away from the Salisbury Crags, but his feet seemed to lead an involuntary path towards the foot of the rocks.

  As ever, running helped him to sort things out in his head. The events of yesterday raced round and round in his thoughts. Being with Sarah, making love, their closeness, and then the knock at the door. The police voices describing the accident…

  The rest of the day he’d spent pacing round his small bedroom in the Regent Guest House, thinking about Sarah and wondering what was happening. He longed to phone her or send her a message, but he didn’t want to intrude, didn’t know who else might be with her.

  After a claustrophobic day in the B&B, he’d spent the evening in a seedy Portobello pub, nursing a few lukewarm pints and looking expectantly at his phone. How was Rory? He wished Sarah would contact him, wished he could do something to help her.

  The next morning, after a restless night, he’d been eating his full Scottish breakfast in the cramped breakfast room of the B&B when a brief announcement came on the radio. Rory Dunbar, BBC Scotland’s journalist and chat show host, had died in
hospital as the result of injuries sustained in an accident on Arthur’s Seat. Mrs Ritchie had swayed and collapsed on a chair, tears coursing down her plump cheeks.

  Tom’s feet pounded the tussocky ground and his thoughts raced round his head in the same relentless rhythm. What should he do now? Should he contact Sarah? Offer his condolences? She needed time to grieve, she’d be surrounded by her family, she’d not be thinking of him.

  Sarah. Her name pulsed through his head with every step. Sarah – I wish I could help you, hold you safe.

  *

  Sarah lay in bed, aware of the movements in the house. The phone seemed to be ringing constantly and she could hear Lottie answering briefly. Unable to lie there any longer, she got up and walked through to the en-suite bathroom. Rory’s shaving stuff was lying on the shelf below the mirror and she smelt the distinctive scent of the Hugo Boss aftershave he liked so much. He was never going to use them again.

  Making a huge effort, she forced her limbs to function as she showered and dressed, hearing more rings of the phone and the doorbell. She thought she heard a man’s voice.

  ‘Mum’s resting at the moment and she really can’t see anyone,’ she heard Lottie’s competent voice insist.

  As Sarah walked gingerly into the hall, Lottie was talking to a tall figure in a crumpled trench coat. Archie Kilbride – Rory’s journalist friend.

  Archie spotted her and moved towards her, embracing her with a gesture of unexpected tenderness. ‘Sarah. I can’t believe it. Rory gone. I thought he’d go on forever, he was so full of life.’ He paused. ‘He was a great journalist, and a great mate.’

  Sarah smiled at the obvious sincerity in Archie’s voice. The journalist seemed to collect himself and then carried on. ‘I hope I’m not intruding now, Sarah, but it’s important that I talk to you before any other journos arrive. There’s going to be a lot of press interest. Rory’s a Scottish celebrity.’