by Jill Mansell
Oh God, please don’t let him die …
Time had become meaningless. For the next hundred or so hours, day blended into night as Sophie haunted the ward, the waiting room and the corridors of Queen Elizabeth Hospital.
Theo was comatose in the intensive therapy unit, unresponsive and with his life hanging in the balance. Organ failure was a possibility. So was neurological damage. The doctors warned her that even if he survived, he might wake up and no longer be recognisably himself.
Guilt and terror had her in their grip; she was trapped in a clammy spiral of fear. The medical staff were treating her like Theo’s wife, but they knew the truth. It was all there in his medical notes. They were being wonderfully kind and sympathetic towards her, but what were they saying to each other behind her back? Did they despise her? Were they gossiping and speculating over what she might have said or done to Theo to make him that desperate to end his life?
And yes, she’d explained the circumstances to the doctor who’d asked her, and he’d written them down too, but did anyone actually believe her, or did they secretly assume she must have done something terrible to provoke him?
On the third evening, one of the ITU nurses came over to her table in the cafeteria and said, ‘Hi, I’ve finished with my magazine … do you want to read it?’
‘Thanks.’ Sophie was touched by the kind gesture, even if she wasn’t sure she could concentrate on reading anything. But when the nurse had left the cafeteria and she looked at the cover of the magazine on the table, certain bright red words leapt out at her:
ME AND MY NEW MAN JUST WANT TO BE HAPPY BUT MY HUSBAND WON’T LET ME GO!
Was it a coincidence, or was the nurse making some kind of point, silently letting her know that they knew? Even though they didn’t, because there was no other man.
On Wednesday evening, the first signs of recovery became apparent. By Thursday morning, Theo was beginning to regain some sort of consciousness. Pain caused him to react irritably. Slowly his eyes began to open for short periods. Calling his name elicited a brief response, as did squeezing his hand and asking him to squeeze in return. The hospital staff were cautiously optimistic but continued to warn Sophie that brain damage could be a possibility.
Racked with guilt, she had already silently vowed that if Theo was brain-damaged, she would devote the rest of her life to looking after him. Simply because her conscience wouldn’t allow her to do anything else.
But by Friday, the prognosis – thankfully – was becoming brighter. Having been persuaded by the medical staff that he was now out of danger, Sophie spent the night at home. Physically and mentally exhausted, for the first time in almost a week she actually managed a full night’s sleep.
Arriving back at the hospital the next morning, she bumped into one of the doctors, a cheerful Aussie, as he was coming off duty.
‘You wait till you see him,’ he told Sophie with a broad grin. ‘You won’t believe the difference. It’s like someone flicked a mains switch and he’s back.’
Oh thank God, thank God for that. As the doctor headed off down the corridor, Sophie held her emotions in check for as long as it took to duck into the nearest ladies’ and lock herself inside a cubicle.
Then she burst into tears of relief; more tears than she’d known she possessed. Theo was going to be all right. It was like facing the death sentence, then being reprieved at the very last minute. No longer would she have to bear the unendurable guilt. From now on she would do whatever Theo wanted her to do. If he preferred to take things slowly, fine. But if he wanted her to move back into the house with him … well, that was fine too. They could resume the marriage where it had left off. Anything, anything that meant she no longer had to feel that terrible weight of guilt.
Entering the ITU, she paused at the sink as always to thoroughly scrub her hands. There was Theo, she could see him from here, sitting up in bed talking to one of the nurses. She was laughing at something he’d just said. Oh wow, they were having a completely normal conversation. Sophie’s heart turned over as she dried her hands. She was going to walk over there now and greet him as if everything was fine, as if she’d never moved out, as if nothing had ever happened …
The next moment the nurse spotted her and said something to Theo. He turned his head to watch as Sophie approached the bed. Her shoes clicked against the polished floor. It felt as if all the staff on the ward had fallen silent.
Her arms were already half outstretched when she realised that Theo wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was slowly shaking his head. As she drew to an awkward halt, he said, ‘No, no. What are you doing here? I don’t want to see you.’
‘What?’ She felt sick; it was bad enough that all the nurses were watching. Thank goodness the rest of the patients were unconscious. ‘But Theo, I’m here because—’
‘Don’t care.’ He shook his head again. ‘Not interested. I don’t need your sympathy.’ Turning to the nurse on the other side of the bed, he said, ‘Get her out of here.’
‘OK, calm down.’ The plump nurse rested a soothing hand on his shoulder. ‘But she was worried about you. She’s been here every day since you were brought in.’
‘I don’t care. I wasn’t awake then, I couldn’t stop her.’ The disdain in Theo’s eyes and the flat tone of his voice was chilling. ‘But I am now, and I want her to go.’
‘Sorry, dear.’ The nurse’s eyebrows signalled to Sophie to do as he said.
‘And don’t come back,’ Theo called after her, his voice rising as she made her way back down the ward that suddenly seemed a mile long. ‘I never want to see you again. Ever.’
Chapter 15
‘Look into each other’s eyes and smile,’ said Sophie, though it was hardly necessary; the two of them hadn’t been able to stop beaming all day.
‘Hold your stomach in,’ the bride told the groom.
‘You hold yours in,’ he countered. ‘Yours is bigger than mine.’
Even with both of them trying their best, they still looked like a couple of bowling balls. Gloriously happy ones, though. The brand-new married couple were enough to restore the most pessimistic person’s faith in happy-ever-after. They’d already told Sophie their story during the pre-ceremony photographs, and it had only made her love them more.
‘He moved into the flat below mine,’ Hannah cheerily explained. ‘With his trumpet.’
‘And she was upstairs from me,’ Owen chimed in, ‘dancing along to her blasted exercise videos. And guess when she used to do it? At seven o’clock in the morning before she left for work. I mean, can you imagine the joy I felt, being woken up by that?’
‘So he started playing his hideous trumpet at ten o’clock at night. Honestly, I used to fantasise about stuffing it down his throat. I’m a lark,’ said Hannah, ‘and he’s a night owl. You can’t imagine how much we hated each other.’
‘So how did you end up getting together?’ Sophie was busy setting up the gold Lastolite reflectors that would give the photos a warm glow.
‘My flat needed rewiring. I asked the landlord how I was meant to cope without electricity while it was being done, and he told me Owen had kindly offered to let me come down and use his flat for the evening.’
Owen said, ‘And he told me that Hannah had begged him to ask if she could come and spend the evening in my flat.’
‘So we were forced to be nice to each other,’ said Hannah. ‘For six whole hours.’
‘And it kind of did the trick.’ Owen grinned. ‘We both realised the other person wasn’t as bad as we’d thought.’
‘Well I wasn’t,’ his new wife retorted. ‘I still had my doubts about you.’
‘But then I won you over.’ He surveyed her with affection. ‘Even though you didn’t want me to.’
‘I was thirty-eight,’ Hannah told Sophie. ‘And completely happy being single. I’d long given up on the idea of meeting Mr Right and having children.’
‘That was eighteen months ago.’ Gesturing at his wife’s hugely swollen stomach,
Owen said with pride, ‘And look at her now.’
It was a wonder the excitement of the big day hadn’t sent Hannah into labour. Giving her husband’s own rotund belly a pat, she said gleefully, ‘Look at you too.’
By six o’clock everyone was relaxing and enjoying the party, being held in a marquee in the back garden of Hannah’s parents’ house in Launceston. The speeches had been made, the sit-down reception had finished and now the dancing could begin. Except for those still working, needless to say. But Sophie loved this stage of a wedding, once everyone had stopped being self-conscious about the fact that they were wearing their best outfits. High heels had been kicked off, lipstick had faded and fascinators had slipped as the day progressed. Now the formal photos were out of the way, she could capture everyone having fun. Slipping between tables and watching from the edge of the dance floor, she captured perfect moments in time: one of the tiny bridesmaids with her flowered headband askew, dancing with her grandfather whilst carefully holding on to a half-eaten slice of wedding cake … A broad-hipped matronly type in skin-tight lilac satin doing the hokey-cokey to an Abba song … A teenage boy stealthily tipping some of his mum’s wine into his own empty water glass …
‘Excuse me, have you seen Riley anywhere?’
Turning, Sophie saw the tall blonde girl who had brought Riley along with her to the wedding. She shook her head and said, ‘No, sorry, I haven’t.’
‘He’s disappeared. Just buggered off twenty minutes ago and hasn’t come back,’ the girl said crossly. ‘I can’t imagine where he’s got to.’
Sophie did her best to look similarly mystified, though when it was Riley you were talking about, where he might have got to was anyone’s guess. He could be up to anything at all.
The girl stalked off, clearly annoyed, and Sophie wandered outside to see if Riley was visible anywhere. If he was busy chatting up another girl, she could warn him that the blonde was on the warpath.
But there was no sign of him among the guests in the garden. It wasn’t until she crossed to the far side of the lawn to take a few photos of the house and marquee from a distance that she glimpsed a hammock strung between two trees. From the shape of it, the hammock was occupied.
Surely even Riley couldn’t have sex in a hammock, could he? Nevertheless, Sophie proceeded with caution. Then she relaxed; all was well, he was on his own. And fast asleep.
Too much champagne, probably.
He did look kind of cute, though, the handsome surfer boy with the sun-bleached hair and killer cheekbones, his habitual casual air at odds with the dazzling white shirt, dark morning suit and highly polished shoes. She was more used to seeing his tanned feet in faded blue flip-flops.
Stepping back and raising her camera, Sophie took a couple of shots of Riley asleep. As the shutter clicked, he opened one eye.
‘Hi.’ A slow smile spread across his face. ‘Sorry, dozed off.’
‘Your girlfriend was wondering where you’d got to.’ She took one more photo for good measure, just because he was so pretty.
‘Ha, don’t tell me, and you came out to look for me because you were worried I might be up to no good.’
‘Funnily enough, that thought did cross my mind. Can’t imagine why,’ said Sophie.
He spread his arms in protest. ‘And here I am, completely innocent. Not doing anything naughty at all.’
‘Apart from having too much to drink, abandoning your girlfriend and crashing out.’ She gave the side of the hammock a playful prod.
‘It’s nothing to do with the drink. I didn’t get much sleep last night; it just kind of caught up with me.’
Sophie raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm.’
‘And Amelia isn’t my girlfriend,’ Riley added. ‘She didn’t want to come along on her own, so she asked me to be her plus-one.’
‘She wishes she was your girlfriend.’ Sophie had seen the way Amelia had been acting around him all day.
He shrugged, acknowledging the truth of this. ‘Well I’m just doing her a favour … oh, here she comes now.’
Turning, Sophie saw Amelia stalking across the grass towards them, clearly still not in the sunniest of moods.
‘There you are. What’s going on?’
‘I was tired. Popped out for a power nap,’ said Riley.
She narrowed her eyes accusingly at Sophie. ‘And you said you didn’t know where he was.’
Honestly, why did girls never realise how behaving like this made them look? Sophie said, ‘That’s because I didn’t know.’
‘But now you’re out here talking to him.’
‘She was letting me know you were looking for me,’ Riley said.
‘Well you can come back inside. You’ve been gone for ages.’ Her voice softening, Amelia held out her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Hang on a sec. What time are you heading back to St Carys?’ Riley turned to Sophie.
‘I have to be here until ten.’
‘Can I get a lift with you?’
‘What?’ Amelia looked dismayed. ‘But I said you could stay at mine! I’ll drive you back tomorrow morning.’
‘I know, but I really need to get home. Marguerite called; she needs me to fix her computer.’
This was so obviously not true that Amelia’s eyes narrowed. Hauling himself out of the hammock, Riley said to Sophie, ‘Is that OK?’
She shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want to do.’
‘Great. Come on then.’ Reaching for Amelia’s hand to make it up to her, he said, ‘Let’s go and have ourselves a dance.’
An hour later, another girl approached Sophie and said shyly, ‘Could you take some photos of me?’
Sophie smiled. ‘Of course I can.’
‘Not here in the marquee. Outside.’
In the garden, the girl began to pose for the camera. She was in her late teens, a bit overweight and wearing a Lycra dress that clung like a sausage skin and didn’t do her any favours. But she threw herself with gusto into a range of poses.
‘Very good,’ Sophie said, to be kind. ‘You’ve done this before.’
The girl flushed with pride. ‘Yeah, I’m a model.’
Okaaay …
‘Really?’ Doing her best to sound interested rather than downright astonished, Sophie said, ‘What kind of modelling do you do?’ Please not the X-rated kind.
‘Well, I’m just starting out really.’ The girl assumed a pose with both arms raised high above her head and her pudgy face tilted back. ‘I was spotted by a talent scout from a famous modelling agency and he said I was a natural.’ She twisted round so she was beaming at Sophie over one shoulder. ‘It was, like, the best day of my life. I never thought I could be a model, but he said I definitely could!’
She was a sweet girl, but not the prettiest. Nor was she anywhere near tall enough to work as a model. Her heart sinking, Sophie said, ‘And what kind of work has he been getting you?’ Although she was fairly sure she didn’t want to know.
‘Well I haven’t done any actual jobs yet, but they’ve got my portfolio sorted out now, and then they’ll start sending photos out to people who need models for, like, photo shoots in New York and Paris and glossy magazines and stuff.’
Oh God. ‘Right. And do you have to pay the model agency to be on their books?’
The girl looked horrified. ‘No way! That’s what the scam agencies do. If they ask you to pay them money, you know they’re not a proper business. They were the ones who told me that.’
Oh. OK. Chastened but still baffled, Sophie said, ‘Well, good for them.’
‘They never do that,’ the girl went on. ‘Because they’re a proper agency you can trust. The only thing you have to put a bit towards is the photos for the portfolio, because they need to be done by a proper professional.’
Ah …
Sophie nodded slowly. ‘And how much were they?’
‘Six hundred pounds. Well, six hundred and ninety-five. But it’s, like, an investment,’ she added hastily. ‘Cheaper ones wouldn’t be
any good. And my nan and grandad used their savings to help out. They said it was worth every penny if I was going to end up being a supermodel like Kate Moss!’
Sophie told Riley about the scam as they left Launceston behind them and headed back to St Carys. ‘It makes me so mad. I mean, seven hundred pounds to take a few photos then pretend to be sending them out to magazines. That poor girl. And her grandparents used all their savings … poor them.’
‘What’s the name of the agency?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me. They’re based in London, apparently, but they so-called scouted her on a beach in St Ives. And she got defensive when I kept asking questions.’ Sophie grimaced. ‘Said she couldn’t remember the name of the agent. Or the photographer. Honestly, some people are just disgusting, taking young girls’ money and getting their hopes up.’
‘Leave it,’ said Riley. ‘Nothing you can do. Anyway,’ he changed the subject, ‘when are you and me finally going to get together?’
Sophie shook her head in amusement, because Riley was truly in a league of his own. ‘Never.’
‘Do you realise,’ he clapped a hand to his chest, ‘that every time you say that, you rip my self-esteem to shreds a little bit more?’
As if.
‘The only reason you ask me is because you know I’ll say no.’
‘Not true. I’m just an incurable optimist. Every time I ask you, I hope and pray that this time you’ll say yes.’
‘Fine,’ Sophie said patiently. ‘In that case, yes. Let’s do it, let’s go out on a date.’
‘Seriously?’ Riley sat up.
She grinned. ‘No, of course not. I just wanted to see the look on your face.’
‘Why won’t you come out with me?’
‘Don’t fancy you,’ said Sophie. How many times had she said it now?
‘How about Josh Strachan?’
‘Don’t fancy him either.’ It was true; she didn’t. I’m in charge of my own emotions.
Riley raised an eyebrow. ‘You know what your trouble is? You don’t fancy anyone.’
