Till the Dust Settles

by Pat Young

  Lucie cleared her throat and tried to remember the lines she had rehearsed to the rhythm of her running feet. ‘Good morning,’ she said, rolling the r for effect. ‘Could you tell me how my mother’s doing, please? She’s Margaret McBride.’

  ‘Oh, are you Lucie?’

  That was not on the script. ‘No, sorry, that’s my sister. I’m Mhairi. I’m calling long-distance from Scotland.’

  ‘Your mom’s well as can be expected.’

  Lucie felt a surge of relief.

  ‘We have your mom sedated so she had a peaceful night. Did you say your name was Marion?’

  ‘Mhairi.’

  ‘Well, Marie,’ said the nurse, ‘I don’t know if you’re able to come see your mom?’

  Lucie had an answer prepared. ‘I’d like to, but getting a transatlantic flight right now …’ She left it hanging there, so it wasn’t a lie.

  ‘I can imagine. Still, if I were you, I’d come sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Oh my God, what’s wrong? You just said she had a peaceful night.’

  ‘Your mom’s been seriously injured.’

  ‘Is she in pain? Please tell me she’s not suffering?’

  ‘No, no. Don’t worry about that. But there is one thing?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t really know how to say this …’

  The nurse faltered and Lucie dreaded her next words.

  ‘Your mom keeps asking for Lucie. I don’t know if it’s possible for Lucie to come?’

  ‘I don’t see Lucie much these days, but I’ll pass that on.’

  ‘That’s great. I’ve a feeling it will mean a lot to your mom.’

  Lucie rang off, so overcome she couldn’t even say bye.

  She had to get changed and head to the hospital. But the thought of it made her ill. She stood before the bathroom mirror and chastised herself. Was she so scared of Curtis, or the consequences of what she’d done to Curtis that she wouldn’t go and see her injured mother?

  She was turning into Charlotte. Poor, self-contained, unattached Charlotte, who had no one. If her mum didn’t pull through, Lucie would be alone in the world too.

  It might be a risk to go to the hospital and declare herself as Lucie, but what was the alternative? Stay here, a prisoner of her own making, till the papers announced that her mother had died? Was that the way she wanted to find out she was an orphan?

  And what if seeing her would help Mum recover? What was it the nurse had said? ‘Seeing Lucie will mean a lot to your mom.’ Something like that. Perhaps being reunited would give her enough strength to claw her way back to fitness. When she got better, the two of them could go home. Maybe they could do some travelling together first. A cruise, perhaps, to help Mum convalesce. Mum had always fancied a cruise but Dad insisted he couldn’t leave the business. Mum said the truth was he got seasick in a rowing boat but wouldn’t admit it.

  Buoyed by optimism, Lucie jumped in the shower and scrubbed vigorously at her skin, as if she could slough off the veneer that was Charlotte. She’d been crazy to think this arrangement could work long term. Far better to help Mum recover and then face up to the Curtis situation. With Mum’s support, she’d come through it.

  As she made her way to the hospital, she tried to banish all memories of the last time she’d spoken to Mum and Dad. She didn’t want to think of her father’s cruel words, or her mother’s weakness. Having lived with a domineering, manipulative man herself, Lucie now understood a little better why her mother had so often deferred to her husband. To ‘keep the peace’. Life was easier that way.

  Mousie was on duty at the desk, ruffling through papers. If the woman noticed her, she showed no sign of recognition.

  Lucie hurried towards the little crowd of people waiting by the elevators. As a set of doors slid open a man stood back and allowed her to go in ahead of him.

  ‘Which floor?’ he asked her.

  ‘Third, please.’

  The man pressed 3 and a couple of other buttons, acknowledging her murmur of thanks with a smile that looked kind.

  At the third floor he said, ‘Your stop.’

  The elevator had already moved off before she had enough courage to push open the double doors marked ICU and step up to the nurse’s station.

  Behind a counter a young nurse was tapping away at a keyboard, her eyes locked on a computer screen. She hit the return key like a maestro reaching the final note of a piano concerto. Her cheeks puffed as she blew out a huge breath. When she noticed Lucie watching she flushed a deep red and said, ‘Sorry, that’s the bit of the job I like least – I hate computers.’ Her mouth turned down at the corners and Lucie smiled.

  ‘I’d like to see my mother, please. Mrs Margaret McBride. I came as soon as I could. Mum’s been asking for me.’

  ‘Ah, you must be Lucie? Would you like to take a seat? I’ll fetch one of the doctors.’

  29

  The nurse came back a moment later with a young woman who looked far too young to be responsible for all those very sick people. Her hair was tied in a ponytail high on her head, her face clean of make-up. Her eyes were weary but they brightened as she introduced herself.

  ‘Hi, I’m Doctor Meyer. I’ve been taking care of your mom.’

  ‘Is she going to be okay?’

  ‘She sustained a severe fracture to her pelvis in the collision which required immediate surgery. The procedure was fairly lengthy but straightforward and your mom appears to have come through it well. That’s really all we can say at the moment. She’s going to need time and rehab but we’re hopeful that in a few months she’ll be good as new.’

  ‘She’ll be able to walk and everything?’

  ‘Of course. She may want to give up the ballet …’ Dr Meyer smiled and Lucie felt her trust grow.

  ‘Try not to worry. I promise we’ll take very good care of your mom. Before you know it she’ll be ready to fly back to Scotland and you can take her home.’

  The doctor led Lucie to the side of a bed where a woman lay asleep. Lucie didn’t recognise anything about her. Her hair was blonde with greyish roots while Mum was dark, like Lucie. This woman’s face, albeit swollen and bruised in places, was thin, almost haggard. Lucie’s mother, like Granny, had a round, rosy face. Lucie was about to tell Doctor Meyer she’d made a mistake, when the doctor gently touched her patient’s arm.

  ‘Mrs McBride,’ she said, ‘your daughter’s here to see you.’

  The woman in the bed opened her eyes and the corners of her mouth rose. Lucie would have known those hazel eyes and that smile anywhere.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ said Doctor Meyer. ‘Please press the buzzer if you need anything.’

  Lucie pulled a chair close to the bed and touched her mum’s cheek. Her skin, always so soft, felt dry and flaky. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she murmured.

  ‘I had a crash. Too tired.’

  ‘How come you were driving, Mum? Why wasn’t Dad with you?’

  ‘We’ve separated.’

  ‘What? When was this?’

  ‘About two years ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was too ashamed. And worried you’d blame me.’

  ‘Why would I blame you, Mum?’

  ‘I left him, Lucie. When he cut you off, it nearly broke my heart. At first I played along, thinking he would soften once the baby was born. But then we heard nothing from you.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum. I should have kept in touch. But Dad made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me, or Curtis. I thought you felt the same.’

  ‘I kept on at him. Every day, nagging at him, but you know your dad. He wouldn’t budge from his position. We fought about it constantly. I became chronically depressed. Couldn’t get out of bed. Didn’t wash. Wouldn’t look at him. The pills helped a bit, I suppose. But the damage had been done by then and eventually your dad found solace elsewhere.’

  ‘You’re joking! What a bastard.’

  Her mum cringed and Lucie remembered she d
idn’t like bad language.

  ‘He’s not, Lucie. I drove him to it. When you left for America, he was just as heartbroken as I was.’

  ‘He had a funny way of showing it. He wouldn’t even come to see me off at the airport, remember?’

  ‘That wasn’t because he didn’t care, sweetheart. It was the opposite. Your dad’s a typical Scottish man of his generation. He doesn’t like to show emotion. He can’t help it. It was the way he was brought up.’

  ‘Mum, it’s the twenty-first century.’

  ‘I know, I know, but your Granda was just the same. Laying down the law and expecting everyone to obey without question.’

  ‘At least Granda loved you.’

  ‘Oh Lucie, your dad worships you. He always has, from the day you were born. Do you not remember him calling you his wee princess?’

  ‘So why did he cut me off when I got pregnant? How is that love?’

  ‘Two reasons, I think. The main one was anger. He was angry with you for going away in the first place. He was raging that you got pregnant and wasted the opportunity you’d fought so hard for. And he was apoplectic that Curtis abused his position of trust.’

  ‘What was his other reason for telling me I was “dead to him”?’

  ‘He was mortified. Believe it or not, Lucie, when you left, your dad did a fair bit of crowing about how you were away to America for specialist coaching that you couldn’t get in Scotland. He told anyone who’d listen that you’d be coming home with an Olympic medal round your neck. Probably gold.’

  ‘And then I phoned to tell him I was pregnant and ask him for money because my boyfriend had lost his job for diddling his student.’ Lucie sighed, understanding for the first time how big the shock and disappointment must have been to her parents. ‘Yeah, I can see why he’d be gutted.’

  ‘He felt all the men were laughing at him. High and Mighty McBride with his wee lassie up the spout, no better than any other.’

  ‘They were right.’

  ‘The only way your dad knew how to cope was to pretend you didn’t exist. But I heard him, crying in bed at night, when he thought I was asleep.’

  ‘I wish I’d known. I’d have got in touch long before this.’

  ‘Well, we’re in touch now. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

  The huge lump in Lucie’s throat meant she could only nod.

  ‘Don’t think for one minute your dad doesn’t love you, Lucie, please. He’s basically a good man. He’d welcome you with open arms. You’re his only child.’

  ‘But you said he had another woman.’

  ‘Yes, he has now. But I’m not sure I can blame him. I was a bitch, pecking at his head all the time. And then the depression came, and I wouldn’t even speak to him. No wonder he fell for somebody soft and loving.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I left him to it. Moved out.’

  ‘You went through all that on your own? Oh, Mum. I am so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. I tried my best to trace you, but you seemed to have disappeared. I’d given up hope of ever seeing you again.’

  ‘And then you got my letter?’

  ‘Eventually. When it was forwarded to my new address. About three months after you’d sent it. You must have thought I didn’t care?’

  That was exactly what Lucie had thought, but none of it mattered now. ‘Of course you care. You came all this way, on your own. That’s really brave. But, Mum, whatever possessed you to drive from the airport? Couldn’t you take a cab?’

  ‘All part of the new, independent me. I planned this whole trip, you know, all by myself. Booked it on the internet.’ She paused as if for approval.

  ‘Wow,’ said Lucie, ‘that’s impressive.’

  ‘You know your dad used to make all the arrangements whenever we went anywhere. He always said I’d mess it up. I was determined to prove to myself that I can do anything I want to do. And what I really wanted to do was to whisk you and the wee one off for a road trip, so I rented a car. Turns out your dad was right after all.’

  ‘Mum, I hate to ask, but, did you remember to take out travel insurance?’

  The blank expression on her mother’s face gave Lucie the answer she’d been dreading.

  ‘Oh, for the car, you mean? Yes, it was covered. I even paid extra. And I didn’t bring any valuables.’

  When Lucie didn’t comment, her mum’s face clouded over. ‘Oh, no. Don’t tell me I’ve messed that up too?’

  Lucie ran her fingers lightly over her mum’s brow, smoothing away her frown. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mum. It’s no big deal,’ said Lucie, thinking the opposite. There was little point in worrying her. ‘Listen, I like the sound of that trip you’d planned. I’d love to travel up the coast. See Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. But first you need to get back on your feet. Did the docs give you any idea how long it might take?’

  Mum grimaced. ‘They say it could take up to three or four months before I’m back to normal.’

  Lucie whistled. ‘Looks like we’re going to have plenty of time to think about our road trip.’

  ‘And to get to know each other again.’

  ‘Mum, when you’re better, can I come home with you, please?’

  ‘Aye, of course, pet. For as long as you like. But what about your own family?’

  Lucie shrugged her shoulders and hoped Mum would sense she didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘Och, we can have a good long chat about all that tomorrow. Bring me some photos, eh?’

  Lucie felt a surge of gratitude and love. She leaned forward and gathered her mother into her arms. When Lucie squeezed her in a hug, she heard the sharp gasp of pain and let go.

  ‘Mum, I’m hurting you! Will I get the doctor to give you something for the pain?’

  ‘No, no, no. It makes me sleepy. I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t want to miss a moment.’

  ‘I love you, Mum. And I’m so sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you. If I could turn the clocks back, I’d listen to you and Dad.’ Lucie couldn’t hold the tears any longer.

  Slowly, as if every inch was agony, her mum raised her hand and stroked Lucie’s hair, just like she used to when Lucie was little.

  ‘Hush, little baby, don’t you cry,’ she sang, her voice as sweet as Lucie remembered.

  30

  Dylan had been unable to go to work the day after he’d found out about Lucie’s death. He’d gone straight from the information office to his mother’s home, seeking comfort. Mom had been great, although he hadn’t been able to tell her the real reason he was so upset. As far as his mother was concerned, he was mourning a favourite colleague who’d gone to a business meeting in the North Tower and never made it out again.

  Mom had seemed glad of the chance to mother him again. She’d cooked him mac’n’cheese, the same comfort food she’d cooked when he was a little kid falling off swings all the time. While they ate, she regaled him with one story after another about the search and rescue operation that was going on only a few miles from where they sat. She seemed to be fascinated by facts and figures and quoted random information like someone talking about a favourite hobby, not a biblical-scale disaster.

  ‘Can you believe there are more than three hundred and fifty dogs searching for people who are trapped? I mean, where do they keep all those dogs? And how do you train a dog to go into a dark, scary place below a collapsed building?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Mom,’ he’d replied, not wishing to offend her. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here rather than go back to his own apartment.

  ‘And did you know people also died on the street that day? Folks just going about their business, nothing to do with the World Trade Center. Hit by debris that fell from the burning building. Else they got smothered in that awful dust that came down like a snowstorm. Can you believe that, Dylan? I mean, how unlucky can one person get?’

  It was too much. ‘Mom,’ he said, ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if I jus
t went to my room now? I’m kind of tired.’

  ‘Sure, son. You go ahead. I need to call Lanie about something before she goes to bed.’

  He’d started to help clear the table but his mom had shooed him out of the kitchen with the promise of a cup of cocoa, with mini-marshmallows and cream, as if he’d earned a treat.

  He’d lain there staring at the ceiling, brooding over his mother’s words. ‘How unlucky can one person be?’

  Lucie had her whole life ahead of her. She could have made up for the time lost with Curtis. Time wasted on a man who didn’t appreciate her. It was ironic that she put up with abuse for so long, and when she finally plucked up enough courage to retaliate, she’d picked that day, of all days, to make her bid for freedom. Dylan couldn’t help wishing she’d taken a few more punches that night and stayed put. She might have been injured, but at least she’d be alive now. And he’d have got the chance to quit being such a coward. He could have stood up to Curtis, challenged him properly this time, physically if necessary. He could have offered Lucie an escape route, a safe haven. If not with him, then with his mom. Dylan knew his kind-hearted mother would have taken Lucie in.

  Instead, it looked like she’d hit back and run for it. And she’d run out of one hell straight into a disaster zone, as if tragedy was stalking her.

  What he’d give for a chance to put things right.

  As he’d lain grieving in his childhood bedroom, the tears had run over his temples and into his ears. The pillow had still been damp when he woke in the morning.

  A mixture of sadness and anger had made visiting Curtis impossible that day, but Dylan could put it off no longer.

  So many of his fellow citizens were affected, but Curtis was too wrapped up in his own misery to show any emotion for anyone else. And all this talk about taking his revenge on Lucie by having her killed? Dylan found it difficult to listen to that stuff, even though he believed it was nothing but idle talk. Curtis might be tough, a big shot when it came to hitting his wife, but he was no killer.

  In any case, Dylan was sure Curtis believed Lucie was alive. Probably thought she was keeping a low profile, staying out of his way for as long as she could.