In response to Claire’s agitated enquiry, she was assured. “Your sister is sleeping comfortably, the doctor will talk to you later.”
“May I see her?” Claire asked. The nurse started to shake her head, but Claire added, “I’m a nurse myself.” The nurse glimpsing the desperate appeal in Claire’s eyes nodded.
“I’ll take you to her.”
She led Claire to a room with only one bed. Kirsty in a white hospital gown, lay ashen faced. With her hair tumbled around her head and wires and tubes connected to her chest and nose. Claire, trying to hold back tears, sat at Kirsty’s side and clasped her hand.
A young doctor arrived. He eyed the blood down the front of Claire’s dress and asked her if she was related.
“I’m her sister?” Claire asked, “Will she be alright?”
The doctor looked pensive. “There is no serious skull damage, and the brain scan shows no internal bleeding, but we will have to wait until she wakes to see if there is any impairment of brain function.” Claire let out her pent-up breath.
“Talk to her,” the doctor advised. “It might help.”
Claire sat hour after hour holding and stroking Kirsty’s hand and speaking to her about anything that came into her head. She mentioned Alan’s name as often as she could, and painted an imaginary picture of the wonderful life ahead for Kirsty when Alan came back. She talked of David and what a beautiful baby he was going to be, and how Alan would be so proud of them both. When her stock of tissues ran out she wiped her face with a corner of Kirsty’s sheet. She talked of anything she thought might get Kirsty’s brain working again and continued all through the night, stopping only for a few moments when a nurse brought her a cup of tea, and once early in the morning to phone her work to say that she wouldn’t be in that day.
Alan woke from strange dreams to find himself in a hospital bed with no recollection of how he’d got there. The last thing he remembered was walking out of the fort. He felt his head and the dressing, then recalled the letter from Kirsty and wondered why he’d made such a fuss. He remembered Claire and the way her eyes used to shine when she talked. He smiled. He was asked various questions by the doctors who gathered around his bed. They left discussing him in technical terms in Arabic which he couldn’t interpret. A little later, a smiling nurse brought him a light meal which he devoured. Then feeling tired, he slept.
A familiar voice calling her name from far, far away irritated Kirsty. She tried to ignore it, but the voice persisted, stabbing at her through the mists of sedated sleep. Names were mentioned which didn’t jog her memory but on some emotional level affected her and pulled her back from the darkness, like a swimmer struggling against a strong tide. She began to stir around lunchtime. She called for Claire in her sleep, then woke and looked around her, her eyes wide. Claire rang the bell to summon the nurse. The nurse had a look then disappeared. Claire’s heart gave a leap when Kirsty smiled at her. The nurse came back with a cup and helped Kirsty to drink, then stood back.
Kirsty squinted at Claire. “Where’s Mummy?” she asked in a puzzled childish voice, then without waiting for an answer, closed her eyes, and fell asleep again.
The doctor arrived soon afterwards. He examined Kirsty, gently touched the lump on her head and murmured to himself. Claire told him about Kirsty wakening and what she’d said.
“Not to worry,” he replied. “That is quite common after a head injury. She’s young and strong and her blood pressure and pulse are almost back to normal.”
Claire breathed a sigh of relief then took the opportunity to have a hasty breakfast in the hospital cafeteria before hurrying back to sit beside Kirsty again and to carry on talking to her as she slept.
Kirsty woke again in the afternoon, smiled weakly, and queried in puzzled tones.
“What happened Claire?.”
Claire smiled back. “You banged your head.”
“Is the baby all right?” asked Kirsty anxiously.
“Yes,” Claire assured her. “You only got a knock on your head.”
“Did you tell them at the shop that I wouldn’t be in?”
Claire had forgotten all about Kirsty’s work, but lied. “Yes, I said that you might be off for a few days.”
“Any letters from Alan?” was the next question.
Claire didn’t know what to make of this. “Not yet,” she replied.
Just then the doctor came in again and asked Kirsty to move her toes, legs and fingers then put a string of questions to her. What was her name? When was her birthday? Where did she stay? Who was the prime minister etc.? Apparently satisfied with the answers, he smiled at Claire and assured her that he didn’t think that Kirsty had suffered any adverse effects. Shortly afterwards, a nurse appeared with another drink.
“I’m starving,” Kirsty murmured.
“You’ll get something later,” the nurse assured her.
Claire assumed there was a sedative in the drink because Kirsty soon began to get drowsy. Claire stroked her hair away from her face and left her sleeping. She phoned the shop to explain Kirsty’s absence, warning that she might be away for a few days, then she went home. Shuddering as she passed her ruined door, she went to bed to try and get some sleep. She tossed and turned, but her stomach muscles seemed to be tied in knots and her mind kept replaying the events of the day before. What would Kirsty do when she got her memory back? How could Kirsty ever forgive her for killing Alan? How could she live with the guilt while Kirsty’s child was growing up? She could see no way out; not a chink of light in her black tunnel of despair. Unable to cope with her black thoughts, she rose and dressed, then visited the nursing home to tell the manager that there was a family crisis. She managed to get the week’s holiday she’d intended to take soon, transferred to the present week. She did some shopping then listlessly tidied the house, putting off visiting Kirsty, pushing down her dread.
Kirsty opened her eyes and lay still, afraid to move. She peeped around the room, keeping her head motionless. Her memories of the previous evening returned with a rush. She remembered Claire sitting on the bed looking up at her and her words, making no move to protect herself. Sudden horror at what she might have done made Kirsty shake. She remembered Alan and the letter. She sat up feeling a scream trying to escape from her throat. Then it was as if a familiar warmth radiated from somewhere inside her and she sensed out of the corner of her eyes a golden shimmer. Her emotions see-sawed from agony to joy. She could feel Alan again, he was alive! With tears streaming down her cheeks, she lay back to sense and probe the connection to him. She could feel he was all right.
A staff nurse looked in near lunchtime to take Kirsty’s temperature.
“Like a cup of tea?” she asked.
“I’m starving,” Kirsty replied hopefully.
“We’ve not to give you any food until the doctor has seen you.”
“Is, my sister still here?” Kirsty asked.
“No, she is probably sleeping,” the nurse replied. “She sat beside you, holding your hand and talking to you for nearly a whole day.” She smiled, “You must be very close?”
Kirsty lay for the rest of the afternoon thinking. She asked for the phone trolley and tried to phone Claire without success, but managed to get through to Isobel, who didn’t seem to know whether to believe her or not when she told her about Alan. She made light of her being in hospital, saying she’d fallen and hurt her head and was just in for observation. Isobel promised that she and David would visit the next day. Early in the evening the nurse wheeled the phone trolley to her bed and told her that she’d had a message to ask her to phone David.
She dialled, and David answered. “Great news Kirsty,” he started, “The Foreign Office have just phoned to say that Alan is recovering in hospital and that he wasn’t shot but hit on the head with a rifle butt. How did you know?”
“I just felt him,” she replied.
“Well I don’t want to tire you, we’ll come up and see you tomorrow and maybe visit Claire. Is that okay?”<
br />
“That would be great.”
“Well bye, we both love you.” David rang off.
A wave of relief swept over her. Alan should soon recover. She again probed the connection to him, trying to send her thoughts and feelings to him. She thought about Claire. How could she ever forgive her? But maybe it was time the hurt stopped. It was her hurt. Maybe she could keep it inside herself.
In the evening, Claire came hesitantly into Kirsty’s room, her face a white mask of worry. Kirsty was awake and sitting up and the tubes and wires had been removed.
She gave Claire a frosty look and scolded. “That was a horrible thing to do Claire you almost killed Alan.”
Claire was relieved, thankful that Kirsty had her memory back, even if it meant that her sister would hate her. Then Kirsty’s words sank in.
She asked startled. “What do you mean almost?”
She saw Kirsty seem to look inward then she stated. “I can feel him again, he’s all right, and I got a message from David that he’d been hit on the head with a rifle butt and was recovering in hospital.”
A tight knot of tension suddenly eased inside Claire. She breathed, “That’s wonderful.”
Kirsty gave her a strange look. “I scared the hell out of you, didn’t I?”
Claire agreed. “I’ve never been so afraid in my life!”
Kirsty scowled at her. “Well it served you right.”
Claire appealed. “I’m sorry Kirsty. I didn’t mean for anything to happen to Alan, I just wanted to hurt his feelings the way he’d hurt mine. I thought he’d turned you against me.”
She saw Kirsty appear to look inward and stated. “Well you tried to …” then she stopped and stated. “Oh! let’s just get on with our lives.” There was an awkward silence then Claire took a bundle of newspapers from her bag.
“I’ve brought these papers, so you can catch up with all the news.”
Without a word Kirsty started scanning the papers. “How do you feel,” Claire asked.
“I’ve got a thumping headache,” Kirsty replied, without taking her eyes off the newspaper.
Claire put a bottle and a basket on the locker. “I brought in squash and some fruit,” she said gently. Kirsty grunted, but didn’t look up.
Claire felt snubbed. She stood up. “I’ll take your clothes home and bring a change next time.
A mute nod came from Kirsty. Claire looked through the bedside locker and bundled Kirsty’s clothes into a plastic bag. Her sister seemed to be engrossed in the paper.
“Well I’d better go,” she murmured awkwardly.
She glanced at Kirsty and met her eyes for a moment, then Kirsty looked back down at the paper. Claire turned away, feeling tears at the back of her eyes. Kirsty saw Claire’s distress. She felt shocked. The sister who’d been so strong, such a pillar of strength now looked fragile and vulnerable. Memories of her sister from happier times flashed through her mind. She felt an indefinable sense of loss, almost of bereavement, as if she’d lost some precious part of her childhood. She remembered the nurse’s comments and Claire’s years of fierce love despite her own selfishness and ingratitude. She glanced at Claire through suddenly adult eyes.
“Claire?” Claire turned back wearily. “Did you mean what you said?” Kirsty asked, still studying the paper.
Claire was puzzled. “About what?”
Kirsty seemed riveted by the paper. “That you’d always loved me?”
It was too much. Tears streamed down Claire’s cheeks.
She sobbed. “Yes Kirsty, I always will.”
Kirsty looked up. Her eyes lustrous as they gazed at each other, then she put down the paper and opened her arms wide. Claire sobbed, then their wet cheeks were together, and Kirsty was stroking Claire’s hair and patting her on the back.
They sat for a long time holding each other. Claire let the tension and guilt of the last few days fall away from her. They smiled, their love for each other washing over them. They talked until Kirsty’s tea was brought in and Claire watched her sister wolfing down the small portions and then asking for more, but being refused with a smile and told she mustn’t overtax herself.
Before Claire left Kirsty mentioned that Alan’s parents were coming to visit her the next afternoon and they wanted to call on Claire afterwards.
Claire didn’t know how she made it to her house. The sudden release of tension and dread had left her legs quivering like a jelly. She phoned Frank and she begged him to come around. When he arrived, she told him the full story of what she’d done not sparing herself in the slightest.
“Will you stay with me tonight please,” she entreated. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Frank seeing her need, agreed. He was horrified when he examined the ruined door and realized what Claire must have gone through, but some part of him reflected that maybe she’d been taught a salutary lesson. He offered to see about getting a new door for her and Claire agreed with relief, reluctant to have to explain to the workmen what had happened.
When they went to bed, Frank was sensitive enough to realize that Claire just wanted his presence, so even when they lay naked he had no thought of sex. Claire was deadly tired, after her sleepless nights and was soon sound asleep with Frank’s arms curled protectively around her.
She woke late in the morning to find Frank stroking her hair and smiling at her. She smiled back, and grateful for his considerate behaviour began trying to arouse him but he gently stopped her, murmuring. “That isn’t what you need just now.”
Claire sighed and relaxed. A new warmth seemed to have grown up between them. They held each other close for a while then dressed and had breakfast.
“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Frank asked before he left. Claire accepted his offer with alacrity.
When Claire visited Kirsty that morning, she found her greatly improved, with the lump on her head already starting to subside. She was beginning to fret at being confined to bed, and wanted to get home.
“I phoned Dorothy and Marylin,” Claire mentioned. “They said that they would visit this evening.” Kirsty cheered up at the news.
After visiting Kirsty, Alan’s parents called in to see Claire the next afternoon and again described their message from the Foreign Office.
“How on earth did Kirsty know?” Claire queried.
“They must be very close,” declared Isobel. “I think that Kirsty is psychic.”
“She’s very much like her mother,” Claire told them. “She had a bit of a reputation for reading teacups.”
“What happened to Kirsty?” David asked. “All she will say is that she fell and hurt her head.”
Claire, took a deep breath and related the whole story without sparing herself. She showed them Alan’s letter and told them of her misunderstanding.
Isobel, shocked, burst out. “Oh! Claire!” and started sobbing.
Claire wished that she had a hole to crawl into. She continued with the story, finishing with Kirsty hitting herself with the hammer and being taken to hospital. Isobel and David sat speechless, just looking at her.
She stood up drying her eyes. “I’ve got sandwiches in the kitchen.”
Isobel rose too. “I’ll come and give you a hand.”
The two women disappeared into the kitchen for a heart to heart woman talk, David assumed. In his long experience he’d treated many women and felt a deep sympathy at the way their emotions could take over them, sometimes beyond all reason. He’d often had to try to repair horrific damage caused by brutal partners, sometimes more than once to the same woman, as a few persisted in going back to their man, no matter how badly they were abused. Claire’s explanation of why she’d sent the letter to Alan wasn’t the whole truth. She loves him too, he mused. He wondered how the situation would sort itself out.
Still musing he called. “Coming dear!” when his wife called him to the kitchen.
Chapter 42
Kirsty was discharged from hospital shortly after Isobel’s visit. The lump on her head
had almost disappeared and she felt well enough to phone the shop and arrange to start work again at the weekend. To all enquiries as to what had happened to her, she would only say that she had fallen and bumped her head. She watched the televised pictures of the build-up of troops and equipment in Saudi Arabia and the anti-American demonstrations in Iraq. She wondered how far away Alan was from where the pictures were taken and what he was doing and thinking. Ted Heath appeared on the television announcing that he was going to Iraq to see Saddam Hussein to plead for the hostages’ release. Her hopes rose.
After a week in hospital, Alan was discharged and escorted back to the fort. The other members of the party crowded around the main gate when Bruno shouted from the terrace that a Land Rover had arrived, and Alan was being taken into the barracks. After being given a warning by the officer in charge that he might not be so lucky if he tried to escape again, Alan was released at the gates of the fort. When the others crowded around him, welcoming him back, he apologised for his foolishness and the trouble he’d caused. Andrew and Dot eventually managed to get him back to his room and told him of the latest radio news from home. When eventually Andrew left, Dot took Alan in her arms and confessed.
“I’m sorry Alan, I felt that there was something wrong. I should never have left you.”
Love Patterns Page 34
