by Mary Larkin
Chapter Seven
Graham drove carefully up to Newcastle through the heavy mist and rain, struggling with his conscience all the way. He was sorry he had been unable to reassure Susan before he left that morning, but how could he deceive Alison and her parents? There was no way he could see himself telling lies about Susan’s welfare. He would never be able to keep up the pretence and would trip himself up in the process. Her silent reproach had been unbearable. Those beautiful, big grey eyes had almost swayed him. However, he had managed to stand firm, although it had pained him to see her looking hurt and tearful. Did she not realise just what she was asking of him?
Suppose he did pretend not to have seen her, and something went wrong at the birth and she died - how could he live with himself? And these things did still happen, in spite of the advancements of medicine. On the other hand, he could see her point of view. If he kept his mouth shut, she could come over later in the year, married to Donald, and no one would dare question the date of their wedding. The very idea of her married to someone else was like a knife turning in his breast. One thing he had learnt from the meeting. It had been brought home to him in no uncertain terms that he could not possibly marry Alison. Not feeling as he did about her sister.
To his dismay, while he was showering, a knock on his door informed him that the flight was delayed due to severe weather conditions at Aldergrove. He was in a dilemma. He couldn’t even phone Alison and let her know of the delay! She would be wondering why he didn’t ring sooner, but if he did, she would be sure to inquire after Susan and he had yet to decide what to do. What a mess! He was beginning to wish he had never come over here; better to have lived in ignorance than have this decision to make. But it was too late for those kinds of regrets. What could he say to Alison? If only he knew what to do for the best. If he followed his instincts and spoke out, would Susan ever forgive him? He might just drive her into marriage all the quicker. Donald seemed a nice enough guy, but he couldn’t bear the idea of her marrying him. Especially if, as he was inclined to believe, the child was his.
It was late afternoon before it was judged safe to take off and, after tedious hours prowling about the airport, he at last boarded the plane, still undecided. As usual, as they neared Aldergrove airport, the pilot told them what kind of weather to expect. They were warned to take care on the roads. Apparently there had been heavy snow during the night in Northern Ireland and the roads were treacherous.
It was dark when they eventually landed and, after picking his luggage up, Graham walked to where his car was parked in the long-stay car park. He cleared the snow from it and placed his suitcase in the boot. A Jaguar, the car was in perfect nick and the engine fired at the first turn of the ignition. Carefully he edged it out of the car park into the slow-moving traffic. As had been forecast, the roads were still treacherous and, to make matters worse, snow was starting to fall again.
His windscreen wipers were soon having trouble in their fight to keep a space clear for his vision. He sat hunched over the steering wheel, peering ahead through the swirling snow, carefully keeping a safe distance from the car in front. The needle never passed the thirty mark, but although impatient to get home, in these atrocious conditions he was not tempted to go any faster. To his astonishment he saw in his side-mirror a Mini car pull out to overtake him. On the brow of a hill? The man must be a lunatic. They both saw the headlights come over the top of the hill at the same time. In an attempt to avoid hitting the oncoming car, the Mini driver came close to the Jaguar, clipping the front wing. Graham swung the car towards the side of the road and automatically slammed on the brakes. The wheels locked and the rear swung sideways, hitting the Mini and sending it spinning into the path of the oncoming car. Then he crashed through a hedge. The trunk of a great oak tree came rushing to meet him through the snow.
Alison sat by her mother’s bedside, gently caressing her hand and whispering words of comfort to her. ‘The ambulance will be here soon, Mam. You’re going to be okay.’ Words her mother could not hear.
But was she? Alison was frantic with worry. Was Rachel going to be okay? What had brought this on? She had heard her parents arguing in their bedroom but had been unable to distinguish what was being said. This was nothing new; her father had a nasty tongue sometimes and seemed to save its sharpness for her mother. Susan had been on the receiving end of it before going off to England, but she had been able to face up to him.
Two hours they had been waiting now. With the heavy snow there had been a pile-up on the motorway and some accidents involving broken limbs on the slippery footpaths, with the result the ambulance service was under acute pressure. When her mother had collapsed, the doctor had diagnosed a stroke. He made her as comfortable as possible before calling the ambulance.
Her father’s voice, fraught with anxiety, reached her from where he hovered in the hall. ‘They’re here, Alison.’
‘Thank God.’ Poor Dad was out of his mind with worry; was probably blaming himself. What on earth would he do if Mam died?
Descending the stairs, she was in time to hear her father ask the ambulance man, ‘Where are you taking her?’
‘The Mater.’
‘No, you are not! I want her taken to the Royal Victoria Hospital.’
‘Look, mister. Sorry and all that, but the doctor was lucky to get her a bed anywhere. Believe me, this weather is causing havoc on the roads and the hospitals are stretched to the limit.’
Seeing her father was about to argue, Alison cried, ‘Dad! Mam needs attention now. It doesn’t matter which hospital she goes to.’ With these words she pushed him aside and preceded the ambulance men upstairs.
Still unconscious, Rachel was lifted gently and carried downstairs. Trevor and Alison followed her into the ambulance. At the hospital they waited impatiently while she was put to bed and examined by a doctor. Alison sat huddled in a chair and Trevor paced the floor. At last they were allowed in to see Rachel.
She lay with eyes closed. One side of her face was slightly twisted. Alison reached for her hand, which also lay twisted on the bedclothes, and stroked it gently. Her eyes sought her father’s. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right, Dad?’ Her voice broke on a sob.
Trevor gripped his daughter’s shoulder tightly. ‘I hope so. Oh God, I hope so. How could we manage without her?’
It was some hours later and, having been assured that Rachel was in no immediate danger and that things looked hopeful for a full recovery, they agreed to go home and return next day.
The phone was ringing as they entered the house and Alison rushed to answer it. ‘It’s sure to be Graham, Dad. I expected him home long ago.’
Trevor watched her eyes widen and her face take on a shocked expression.
‘When did this happen? Why didn’t you let me know? Of course, I’m sorry. I’ve been to the hospital as well. My mother was taken into the Mater today. Dad and I are just home from there this very minute. Yes. Yes, of course I’ll come right away. Bye. See you soon.’
She dropped the phone in its cradle and ran to her father. His arms held her close. ‘What’s wrong, Alison?’
‘That was Mrs Robson. It’s Graham. He’s been in a car crash. He’s in the Royal.’
‘Is he badly hurt?’
‘They don’t know how bad his injuries are. I’m meeting his parents at the hospital in half a hour. Will you run me over?’
‘You should have something to eat first, Alison.’
‘I’d rather go now, Dad. Food’s the last thing on my mind at the minute.’
He released her gently. ‘All right. If that’s how you feel, let’s go.’
Susan replaced the public phone, installed at the bottom of the market, on its hook and hurried back to the stall with an apologetic look at Vera. This was the third time she had attempted to get in touch with Graham, but to no avail. Apparently he was on holiday and had not returned to work yet. But he had said he’d be in the office today. Perhaps he would be in this afternoon - she could try then,
or should she leave a message?
It being Holy Week, Vera had asked her to work the full week. ‘I’m sorry about this, Vera, but I did promise to phone and find out how things are.’
‘Never worry. We’re not exactly rushed off our feet at the moment. Feel free to phone when you get a respite.’
In spite of many more calls, the reply remained the same: Mr Robson had not yet returned from holiday. In despair, Susan asked for his home number, but was refused it on the grounds that the staff were forbidden to give out personal numbers. What was Graham playing at?
That night, on the pretext of letting her family know their newly acquired telephone number, Susan rang home. One way or the other she had to find out if Graham had blown the whistle on her. Here she also had difficulty making contact. After numerous attempts, she finally got through.
The phone was answered by her sister. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Susan asked, highly indignant. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages.’
‘Susan? Is that you, Susan?’
‘Of course it’s me. Don’t you recognise my voice?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t expect it to be you. We - Dad and I - were thinking of sending you a telegram.’
‘A telegram? What on earth for? What’s happened?’
‘Mam’s had a stroke. She’s in the Mater hospital. Please come home, Susan.’
So this was probably the reason why Graham wasn’t at the office. He had obviously decided to keep his mouth closed about her. Or . . . dear God, was the bad news he had disclosed the cause of her mother’s stroke? No! Alison would not be so calm if that was the case. She would be ranting and raving. Graham had probably decided she had no choice but to come home now; that’s why he was keeping quiet. Well, he was wrong! Unless her mother was in immediate danger she would stay put.
‘Susan? Susan, are you still there?’
‘Yes. I’m still here. Look, I’ll ring you back tomorrow and find out how things stand. Okay? We’re very busy in the market. I might not be able to get the time off.’
‘Susan, how can you?’ Alison was aghast. ‘Mam’s unconscious. We need you here.’
Susan had no intention of being rushed into doing anything hasty. There was too much at stake. ‘I’ll phone tomorrow night, when you have more news.’
‘You should come home in the morning, if you have any decency in you at all. Don’t you understand? Mam’s had a stroke. You should get the first possible flight over here. How am I supposed to attend two hospitals every day? Eh? Tell me that.’
Alison’s voice had risen hysterically. ‘Hush, calm down. Two hospitals? I don’t understand. Is Dad ill, too?’
‘No . . . Oh God, didn’t I tell you? Graham’s car crashed on the way home from Aldergrove on Monday. He’s in the Royal in a critical condition.’
Susan’s knees buckled and she sank down on to the nearest chair, unable to believe her ears. ‘Graham’s injured? How badly?’
‘He has concussion and broken ribs. He’s unconscious and his spine is damaged, and God knows what else is wrong with him. They won’t know for some time whether or not he’ll walk again. It’s awful watching him lying there. Oh, Susan, I’m going out of my mind with worry. Dad’s useless. He blames himself for Mam’s condition and he’s fit for nothing. You’ve just got to come home.’
‘And is Dad to blame?’ Susan asked, an edge to her voice.
‘Of course he isn’t! They had an argument, but that’s nothing new, as you well know. Susan, please . . . please, come home.’
Susan’s lips tightened as she digested this information. She knew only too well how arguments went between her parents. Her mother was too soft! She let him bully and jeer at her and ended up in tears. Mam would need her. Whether she liked it or not, she had to go home.
‘All right. I’ll book a flight tomorrow and let you know what time it arrives. Good night, Alison.’
Alison stared blankly at the receiver as the disengaged tone purred. Susan hadn’t even given her a chance to say good night. But then she must be terribly upset. Thank God she was coming home.
Trevor had come into the hall and listened to Alison’s side of the conversation. ‘Well? What had she to say for herself?’
‘She’s coming home tomorrow.’
Needing time to think before she blurted out her decision to Edith, Susan grabbed her coat and scarf from the rack in the hall and headed for the door.
‘I’ll be back soon, Aunt Edith,’ she called out and was through the door before anyone had a chance to question her.
As she stormed along West Auckland Road anger was uppermost in her mind, followed closely by despair. She was angry that, after all her planning and plotting, the decision whether to go home or stay was being taken out of her hands. Then shame smote her as she pictured her poor mother lying ill in a hospital bed. How bad was she really? There was only one way to find out and that was to go over and see for herself.
And what about Graham? It would be awful if that fine man never walked again. She remembered the strength of his arms, the passion he had aroused in her, and felt like weeping. Life was so unfair. It would be such a waste if he was crippled. He would need someone strong to support him. Would Alison be able to face up to marrying a cripple? Her sister could be very selfish at times. Hopefully she would be a comfort to Graham, but Susan had her doubts.
She walked for a long time, into the countryside. It was a cold, crisp evening and in the comparative quiet, calm entered her soul. Whatever lay in front of her had to be faced up to. It was as simple as that. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but the decision had been taken out of her hands, so . . . so be it. At last, with a deep sigh, she turned tail and headed home.
Donald’s car was drawing up to the kerb as she approached the house. Deciding that she may as well break the bad news to him first, she motioned him to stay in the car and climbed in beside him.
One look at her face and he was all concern. ‘What’s wrong, Susan? You look awful. Are you ill?’
She shook her head. ‘Let’s go for a short drive. I need to talk to someone. Clear my brain. Just stop anywhere, Donald.’
Once out of the built-up area, in the quiet of the countryside, he drew the car to a standstill on the grass verge and turned to face her.
‘What’s happened that has upset you so much?’
‘I’m going home tomorrow.’
Reaching across, he gripped her hands. ‘You can’t! I won’t let you.’
‘I’ve no choice! My mother’s ill. She’s had a stroke and she’ll need me. Our Alison will be absolutely hopeless in a sick room.’
His grip tightened. ‘Ah, Susan.’
Her eyes were bleak. ‘I just hope when she sees this bump,’ her gaze rested sadly on her stomach, ‘it doesn’t finish her off. As for my dad, he might very well show me the door. Then where will I go?’
‘What about your husband? Is there any chance of you going back to him?’
He sounded so worried that she wanted to blurt out the truth, but what good would it do at this late stage? Donald might take her confession as encouragement - a sign that she cared for him - and she had enough on her plate at the moment without fending him off.
‘There’s no chance of that.’
His sigh was heartfelt. ‘Thank God for that, at least!’
‘Will you take me back now, please? I haven’t told Edith yet.’
Edith and Billy were about to get into a taxi when they arrived back at the house. ‘We didn’t know you were coming up tonight, Donald, or you could have saved us the taxi fare,’ Billy exclaimed.
‘Jack phoned about fifteen minutes ago,’ Edith explained. ‘Margaret’s in labour, so we’re in a hurry down to Greenbank Hospital to lend him support. Will you keep an eye on the dinner, Susan? I put it on hold, not knowing where you’d run off to.’ There was a query in the words, but Susan pretended not to notice. No need to upset Edith at the moment with her own bad news. ‘Now you’re here, you
can finish off that pie in the oven. About another half-hour should do it. When it’s ready, you have yours and give Donald some. There’s plenty to go round. Just stick ours in the oven till we get back. I’ll ring as soon as there’s any news.’
‘Give them my regards.’
‘I will, love. Bye for now.’
Susan waved them off and entered the kitchen. A look at the steak-and-kidney pie and she too judged it would be another good half-hour before it was ready. The turnip was already cooked and strained and set to one side. She lit the gas under the potatoes.
Donald was watching her closely as she went about these chores. Her hands were shaking, and every now and then tremors passed through her body. Edging her gently to one side, he lowered the gas under the pots. Then, taking her by the arm, he led her into the living room. Pushing her into one of the armchairs, he poured some whiskey and thrust it into her hand . . . ‘Here, drink up.’
She tried to push the glass away. ‘I don’t want . . .’
‘Drink up.’ He stood over her until she had drunk some of the whiskey, and then, taking the glass from her, placed it on a nearby coffee table. Pulling her up into his arms, he cradled her against the warmth of his body.
‘I dread going home, Donald. My dad will do his nut when he sees me.’
‘Then don’t go!’
‘I have to. I must go and find out just how bad my mother is.’ Suddenly Graham entered her mind. ‘I forgot to tell you. Graham was involved in a car crash. He’s badly hurt.’ She felt guilty. Imagine forgetting about Graham.
‘Good God! When did this happen?’
‘On the way home from the airport. It was snowing heavily at the time.’
‘Poor Graham.’
‘I know. And poor Alison. She was almost hysterical on the phone, and no wonder, with Mam and Graham both in hospital; she doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going. I’m afraid I was no comfort to her whatsoever. All I could think about was my own predicament.’ He heard her out in silence. Glad of his understanding, she relaxed against him for some moments, then gently pushed herself free. ‘I’ll finish off the dinner and after we’ve had ours, perhaps you’ll take me somewhere quiet for a drink?’ He nodded and she continued, ‘Edith will be upset when she hears the news. We’ll let her get over the birth of her first grandchild before breaking it to her.’
