by Isobel Hart
STILL LIFE
By
Isobel Hart
Text copyright © 2017 Isobel Hart
All rights reserved
For Mum – who made this book possible
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Chapter 1
A pedestrian stepped out of the fog and onto the crossing, forcing me to brake hard. The seatbelt bit into my shoulder as it locked. Edward drew a quick breath, but didn’t say anything. Just as well.
The man passed in front of the car, his skin and clothes shimmering with a pink film of whatever shit was inside the mist. The stuff was everywhere. Head down, he walked briskly and didn’t look up – in too much of a hurry to get under cover, I presumed. I watched him, my hands still trembling, until he vanished back into the fog. Then, I inched the car forwards again, peering through the opaque darkness. The thick, swirling gloom made it difficult to see any other traffic on the Brighton streets.
I accelerated, my foot slipping off the clutch too soon, sending us lurching forwards. This time Edward’s hands shot out, one grabbing the door handle, the other gripping the side of his seat. My next gear change wasn’t much smoother. I sensed him looking at me, wanting to talk.
“Samantha–”
I jabbed at the radio button, to shut him up and avoid having to listen to any more of his bullshit. He was damn lucky I’d let him share the car home. The cool tones of the BBC news reporter soothed me, the day’s events a welcome distraction:
“An unusually heavy fog has led to transport delays and disruption worldwide today.
Despite reports of an apparent ‘luminosity’, the Department of Health has issued a statement advising that the phenomenon is not believed to be a cause for concern – however they’ve recommended children and the elderly stay indoors as a precaution.
Continued travel disruption is expected while the fog persists–”
Edward flicked the off-switch.
I took my eyes from the road to glare at him. “I was listening to that.”
“Sam, we need to talk–”
“Why? I was there, remember?” I slowed as we hit a mini-roundabout, the fog hiding it until the last moment.
“It was nothing. She meant nothing.”
“You’re still talking about it? Really?” I closed my eyes for a second, but found a perfect portrait of Edward fucking Serena over the table seared onto the backs of my eyelids. “She meant nothing? Doesn’t that make it worse?”
He looked away. “Maybe if you weren’t always being such a bitch to me, I wouldn’t feel tempted to look elsewhere.”
Typical Edward, trying to shirk responsibility even when he’d been caught with his pants down. I swallowed, blinking furiously to prevent my tears. “I’m done talking. I’m done . . . I’m just done.” I fixed my eyes back on the road, accelerating onto the dual-carriageway. “We’re done.”
“You’re overreacting.”
I looked across at him. “You fuck someone else and I’m overreacting?” I gripped the wheel tighter. “We both know this has been a long time coming. I don’t believe for a minute she was your first.”
“Sam, don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away over a meaningless fuck . . . she meant nothing to me.”
“So you keep saying. She meant something to me though. I’ll move out when we get home. Heidi said I could stay at her place.”
“Fucking hell! Fucking Heidi . . .” He hammered his fist against the passenger window, throwing himself against the headrest.
I pulled my attention back to the road, drawing a deep, calming breath to quell the rage he’d provoked, to be met with a wall of haloed lights looming red in the pink fog ahead.
I was going way too fast to stop. I turned the wheel hard and stamped my foot on the brake, praying I’d reacted in time to avoid ploughing into the back of anyone. Edward screamed – or was it me? – as we clipped the back of a stationary vehicle. Airbags exploded towards us as the car lurched. We lifted and the world tilted. For a moment we were flying, then we hit the ground, hard. The impact sent a jarring pain through my leg and neck. Glass imploded as the windscreen shattered and metal shrieked as it twisted beyond endurance. My head rolled first one way, then the other, as we turned over until, at last, it all stopped.
Silence. Then slowly, I became aware of a dripping sound. “Edward!” I turned to look at him. Like me, he hung upside down by his seat belt, his full weight supported by the thin strap. He didn’t respond. “Edward!” I reached over to shake him. Blood covered his face, a small pool already forming below him.
“Help!” I screamed, when he still didn’t move. I couldn’t catch my breath, managing only short, ragged gasps. Am I going to die here? Not if I could help it.
I pulled at my seat belt, trembling hands fumbling with the buckle, lightheaded and disorientated as the blood rushed to my head. It didn’t move. I tried again; nothing happened. My leg throbbed as I twisted, looking for another way to free myself, a wave of pain forcing me to stop until the nausea passed. My skin slickened with sweat. Then I smelt fuel. I pushed away thoughts of fire.
“Hey!” a voice called from outside the car. “You okay in there?” Someone was out there – a man. His feet outside my window.
Relieved, I started to cry. “Here,” I sobbed. “Down here. My boyfriend’s hurt. Please, call an ambulance.”
“Already done. Let’s see if we can get you out of there.” He bent down and peered into my broken window, reaching inside to take the key out of the ignition. “That was a hell of a crash. I couldn’t believe it when you shot past us into the barrier–” He talked on, but I heard little else until, “I think I can release you.” The seat belt moved a fraction. “Before I do, tell me where you’re hurting?”
“My leg. I think it might be broken.”
“Maybe we should wait for proper help. I don’t want to damage you more. You might’ve hurt your neck. I can hear the ambulance.” Sirens drifted towards us on the still, night air.
“Leave me, I’m okay,” I said. “Check Edward. He’s bleeding.”
“I can’t get to him. We need to move you first.”
“Well, fucking move me then.” I pushed relentlessly on the release button until it gave way, the strap recoiling in a rush, dropping me in a heap onto the debris from the windscreen. My leg protested agonisingly at the sudden movement, and I moaned as darkness swallowed me.
***
I blinked my eyes open. “His pulse is thready,” a voice said from somewhere nearby. “We need to get him in fast or he’s not going to make it.”
“Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?” A man leant over me and shone a bright light into my eyes. I flinched and tried to move away, my movement restricted by straps and a neck brace. Paramedic, I realised. I twisted
my head as far as the brace would allow. Edward lay near me, motionless, visible through a crowd of medics surrounding him, lit by the flashing blue lights turned purple in the mist.
Snatches of conversation drifted past: “His blood pressure’s through his boots . . .”
“. . . internal bleed . . .”
“Air ambulance can’t land in this fog. He’ll have to go in by road.”
“Let’s go,” the voice closest to me said. My stretcher lifted. Pain shot through my leg, and my vision faded again.
***
“At least let someone wheel you up there,” the nurse said, as I grabbed my new crutches and tried to insert my arms into the cuffs. Pain shot down my neck, the throbbing in my head making me want to vomit. “I’ll call a porter.”
“They’ll take forever to come. I’ve been down here for hours. Anything could have happened to him.”
“I told you, he’s still in surgery.”
I ignored her and took an unsteady hop forward.
“Oh, for God’s sake, woman, let me take you.” She huffed and grabbed hold of the wheelchair. “You have concussion, whiplash and a broken fibula. You should be resting, not running about the hospital on crutches.”
I tuned her grumbling out, the hospital corridors passing in a blur, focused instead on what I knew: He’d been in surgery since arriving at the hospital, but was, according to the last report at least, still alive. They’d told me this like it was good news. I guessed it was, in the context of the alternative.
“Here you go.” The nurse pushed me into a room filled with moulded orange plastic chairs. A small television fixed to one wall flickered with silent images of the worldwide chaos caused by the fog.
Edward’s parents rose in weary symmetry. “Samantha, my God! Thank goodness – I’m so glad you’re okay. It’s all so awful.” His mother wiped at red, blotchy eyes with a tissue disintegrating from overuse. “He’s in surgery,” she said, telling me again what I already knew. “Your poor leg.” She looked down at my cast and then back up at the neck brace. “The pair of you are lucky to be alive. The policeman said the car was ruined. It’s just awful. Awful. Poor Edward.” She sniffed, her voice wobbling as more tears slid down her papery cheeks.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Edward’s father stepped towards me. “I believe you were driving?”
I swallowed, guilt paralysing my vocal cords. My inattention to the road had, if not caused the accident, at least worsened the outcome. Plus, I may have wished him dead, right about the time I caught him fucking Serena. If it happened . . . I wasn’t sure I would be able to live with myself, regardless of what he’d done to me.
“You were at a wedding?” his father prompted. I nodded as much as the brace allowed. “Were you drinking?”
“No. I was driving, so I didn’t drink.” I didn’t feel the need to add I wasn’t looking at the road because we were in the middle of a row about their son’s infidelity. “You can check my blood results.” He nodded, and seemed somewhat reassured. “It was the fog. The cars had stopped, but I didn’t see them until it was too late. I swerved . . . I tried to miss them, but then we rolled. The car turned over–” I sobbed as I relived the terrifying memory.
Edward’s mum rushed over to hug me. “Oh, this awful fog! They still don’t know what caused it. It’s havoc out there.” She turned on her husband. “Leave her alone, Patrick. Hasn’t she been through enough today without you giving her an inquisition?”
“I just want to know what happened. I want to understand how our son–”
The door opened, and a doctor entered. He looked tired, his green scrubs creased from long hours in the operating theatre, mask pulled down so it hung loose around his neck. Young, probably in his early thirties like me, he also looked familiar. Very familiar. I’d met him through work. I remembered him attending a couple of my lunchtime presentation meetings. He had the kind of looks that made him hard to forget.
He nodded at me before shifting his attention back to Edward’s parents. “Mr and Mrs Patterson . . .” He sounded serious. Ominous. It didn’t bode well. “. . . I’m Dr Harvey. I’ve been looking after your son. I wanted to update you on his progress.” He paused, and I feared the worst. “Your son is critical but stable. We’ve done what we can for now. He has several injuries; a head injury, as well as a severely lacerated liver – from the abdominal trauma he received during the accident. We’ve patched him up as best we can, but the next couple of hours will be critical.” He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, running a hand through his hair. “If we’re lucky the patches will hold. The liver is a remarkable organ, but I need to prepare you . . . they may not. He may start to bleed again internally. If he does, then our chances of being able to patch him up a second time would be slim.”
The blood drained from Edward’s parent’s faces.
“Can we see him?” his mum asked.
“He’s in ITU, heavily sedated, but you’re welcome to sit with him. No more than two visitors at a time.” Doctor Harvey glanced at me in my wheelchair.
I swallowed. “You two go first, Brenda, I’ll see him after.”
They nodded. Brenda squeezed my shoulder, then followed her husband and the doctor out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
If only Edward hadn’t drunk a whole bottle of merlot at the wedding breakfast.
If only I hadn’t imagined him choking on his own vomit in a corner when I couldn’t find him, and gone looking. Or, hadn’t heard a noise from inside the hotel conference room as I walked past.
I should’ve listened to my instincts the first time I suspected he might be fucking around on me. But the thought of starting all over again, with someone new, when I was already over thirty . . . I shouldn’t have settled for the Devil I knew.
I glanced up at the rolling images on the television. If only there’d been no fog.
***
Patrick walked back in ten minutes later, he’d aged. “You can go and see him now.” His glassy eyes shone with unshed tears. “Follow the corridor to your right–” He looked down, as if seeing my wheelchair for the first time. “I’ll take you.” He grabbed hold of the handles.
He left as soon as we reached his son’s room. It took a couple of moments for my eyes to adjust to the lighting. Edward lay motionless amidst a mass of wires and monitors, that bleeped and flashed around him. The background rasp of a ventilator punctuated the passing seconds.
Brenda sat beside him, clutching his hand, her desperate eyes fixed upon her son. “I’m here, darling,” she whispered, reaching out to brush her fingers through his fringe. A mother’s comforting touch.
Alarms sounded from every monitor simultaneously.
Brenda dropped Edward’s hand as if she’d been scalded, and staggered backwards, horrified. “I’m so sorry . . . Did I do something? I didn’t mean to.”
The nurse pushed her aside and slammed her palm against a panic button behind the bed on the wall, calling for help in an urgent voice. People came running; the doctor we’d met earlier – Dr Harvey – barked instructions as they bent over the bed, preparing him to go back into surgery.
“Get them out of here!” someone shouted. A nurse grabbed my wheelchair, and Brenda and I were pushed out the room and deposited in the hallway. The sounds of frantic activity echoed out to where we’d been left. A monitor’s single tone, the soundtrack to death, announced the moment Edward’s heart gave up and stopped beating.
For twenty minutes, Brenda and I could do nothing but stare at one another in horror. Then the commotion stopped, its absence even more terrifying: “Time of death, two twenty-seven.”
Brenda clasped a hand to her mouth and moaned.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Instead, I pushed myself into the doorway in time to see a nurse reach towards the heart monitor. Renewed sounds of bleeps halted her hand in mid-air. Heads swivelled round. No one moved, as if waiting for the monitor to stop a second time. When it didn’t, pandemonium broke out
again.
Twenty minutes later, Dr Harvey stumbled into the hallway, his ashen face covered in a sheen of sweat. “He’s stable again . . . for now.”
Chapter 2
A week later, Edward continued to confound his doctors. Whilst not out of the woods, the signs were positive. His parents and I maintained a permanent vigil at his bedside. I couldn’t speak for Brenda and Patrick, but I stayed because I believed no one should have to die alone. That, and the guilt that still choked me. After the first day, I had been convinced he would die. Now, I felt less sure. There had been no further heart-stopping moments, for him or for us. Today they intended to remove the ventilation to see if he would breathe independently.
I flexed my head from side to side, enjoying the sensation of mobility after the removal of my neck brace, despite muscles still tight with tension. Dr Harvey looked up from reviewing Edward’s notes with the anaesthetist, and we shared a small smile. I glanced over at Brenda and Patrick who were already positioned beside the bed, eyes fixed upon their only son. Both appeared a little more stooped, and greyer.
“Okay,” Dr Harvey began, “It’s a simple enough procedure. We’re happy to give this a try based on the improvement we’ve seen in Edward. You have a remarkable son, Mrs Patterson.”
She gave a thin smile. “If it doesn’t work? What will you do?” She clasped her hands, pulling at the rings on her fingers. Twisting them off, then pushing them back on. I understood her anxiety: she’d already seen her son’s heart stop beating. No one should have to watch their child die, and certainly not more than once.
“Then we ventilate again. We have everything here we need to re-intubate.” He pointed towards a prepared tray. “His body will tell us when it’s ready.” He smiled with more confidence than I imagined he had to be feeling. “Okay,” he said, “if you wouldn’t mind standing to the side?”
“Do we have suction?” the anaesthetist asked. A nurse confirmed they did. “Levels?” When they were both fully satisfied, Dr Harvey gave the instruction to proceed.
As the tube slipped from his throat I held my breath, watching as Edward stilled without the artificial action of the ventilation machine. Then, a faint breath reinforced by the rise of his chest as his lungs inflated. His heartbeat elevated briefly, and then just as quickly returned to normal.
