by Dani Atkins
Of course, he did turn a very unpleasant shade of green when they cleaned up and sutured the wound on my forehead, but that was more due to a basic weak constitution and a phobia of needles, rather than alcohol. In the end, someone had stuck a moulded plastic chair behind him, which considering the way he’d been swaying on his feet, was probably a good call.
As the morning inched ever closer, he stayed by my side, refusing to leave me even when I was eventually moved to a small single room, where they insisted I was to remain under observation for the rest of the night. He left my room only to make regular trips to the nurses’ station to ask for updates on Amy, and was repeatedly given the same standard reply.
‘Still in surgery,’ he reported back to me at some time after six. The lights in my small side room were turned down to their lowest setting, presumably to encourage sleep, but nothing had ever felt less likely to happen. No night I’d lived through had ever felt this long.
I knew at once when he’d received different news. I swear the door handle opened strangely; his shadow fell in a peculiar way through the gap when the door slowly swung open. He stood awkwardly, and there was a look I have never seen before on his face. I prayed to God that nothing would ever happen in our lives, that I’d ever have to see it again.
He stood immobile and silent, and I just knew.
‘No,’ I protested, shaking my head in denial of something that hadn’t yet been voiced. ‘No, no, no.’
His eyes began to fill, yet still he never moved.
‘It can’t be true. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.’
He moved then, taking small unsteady steps towards me.
‘About ten minutes ago,’ he said hoarsely, reaching for my hand. I could hardly see it through my tear-blurred vision. I think he may have said something else then, something about them having done all that they could, or was it something about the gravity of her injuries? I just don’t know. I couldn’t get beyond the screamingly awful headline to the news.
Amy, one of my best friends for over twenty years, was dead.
CHAPTER 3
Numb. Novocaine numb. Ice-water numb. And not in a good way, more the kind of numb you feel when you have frostbite, right before you start losing your digits.
Richard and I had sat in total silence for what felt like hours, trying to assimilate and absorb something so gut-wrenchingly terrible that it was almost beyond acceptance. Amy, the most vibrant and alive person I’d ever known, had turned her own philosophy of living each day as though it was your last, into a prophecy.
The news had clearly shocked even the hospital staff, for I swear we were treated differently after it had broken. It was there when the nurse who came to take my blood pressure had given my hand a long hard squeeze, after removing the cuff from my arm. It was even evident with the registrar on morning rounds, who had finally told me I could go home. He had patted my shoulder, in a slightly awkward and uncomfortable way, and although nothing had been said there had been a look of sympathy and condolence on his face, which I had a feeling I was going to be seeing quite a lot of in the days to come.
After the hospital team left my room, Richard had helped me to get changed out of the starchy gown they’d put me into, and back into my suddenly highly inappropriate short party dress. I cringed when I felt the fabric brush against my bare skin, because there were several dark encrusted stains splattered on it, which I knew had to be blood. I just didn’t know whose. Mine? Jack’s? Or was it Amy’s? What difference did it make? It was going to go straight in the bin the moment I got home.
To save time, Richard volunteered to go the hospital pharmacy and fill the prescription for the painkillers I’d been given. ‘I won’t be long,’ he promised, kissing me briefly below the large white bandage on my forehead. ‘Will you be all right while I’m gone?’
I shook my head sadly and all he could do was nod back in understanding. It felt like nothing and none of us were going to be all right ever again, we both knew that. And I strongly suspected that the moment we left the confines of the hospital, it was going to get a whole lot worse.
A light knock on the door was followed by a young nurse who opened it just wide enough to slide her head through the opening. I assumed she was there to tell me the cab we’d ordered had arrived, but she surprised me instead with the words, ‘You have a visitor, Miss Marshall. It’s not our regular visiting hours… but given the special circumstances…’ There it was again, that VIP treatment reserved for those whose tragedies transcended the usual. I didn’t want to be a member of this club.
The nurse stood to one side to allow my visitor to enter the room. Jack stood for just one moment without saying anything, then his first words were my undoing. ‘Emma, I am so, so sorry.’
I tried very hard not to lose it. I nodded my head, acknowledging his sympathetic words, but I could already feel my lip beginning to tremble, like an opera singer about to sing an aria. With a sound that started like a hiccup and ended like a dog’s yelp, I was once again being held in his arms, while the tears, which hadn’t fallen when Richard had been there, finally found the crack in the dam.
I am actually not much of a crier, I never have been. So it was even more astounding that this American stranger, who I’d known less than twelve hours, had now comforted me in was arms while I wept like a child more often than my fiancé had done in the last twelve years.
I didn’t hear Richard enter the room, even though I was starting to regain control by then. So the first I knew that we weren’t alone was Richard’s rather cool enquiry, ‘Emma?’
Jack looked up, but kept his arms firmly around me. His hold was innocent and intended only to comfort, but I saw a challenging light spark in his golden-brown eyes at Richard’s tone. This was definitely something I didn’t need right then. I struggled out of Jack’s embrace, and his arms instantly fell from around me. He extended his hand to Richard. ‘Jack Monroe,’ he announced. ‘I’m sorry, we never got a chance to be formally introduced last night.’
Richard took a moment too long in raising his hand to shake Jack’s. Then, just before the situation tipped from slightly discourteous to downright rude, he placed his palm against the other man’s. There was no warmth in the handshake, or on either of their faces.
‘Richard Withers,’ supplied Richard baldly, ‘Emma’s fiancé.’
A small muscle twitched on Jack’s face.
‘You’ve not been here all night too, have you?’ I queried, failing to notice until I’d finished speaking that Jack was in different clothes and had clearly washed and shaved since I’d last seen him.
‘No. I got fixed up and then went home.’
I noticed then a much smaller bandage on his forearm, just visible from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his dark shirt.
‘So what are you doing back here?’
I glared at Richard, because there was no way to gloss over such blatant rudeness. His returned look said what?, but he knew exactly what.
‘I phoned this morning to find out how Emma was doing, and to ask about Amy. They gave me the news and I just… well, I just felt like I should come back to see you.’
‘That’s very nice of you,’ said Richard, although his voice said he actually meant the exact opposite.
‘Yes, it really was,’ I added, with a great deal more sincerity.
‘However, as you can see, I’m about to take Emma home, and she really needs to rest up properly. So thank you for coming and all that, but we have everything under control here now.’
Under control? Nothing, ever, had felt less like being under our control; but dealing with Jack, being beholden to him for saving the woman he loved, was just one pressure too many for Richard to deal with at that moment, and I knew that, rightly or wrongly – and I really knew it was wrongly – I had to side with him.
‘Thank you for coming. It means a lot.’ My voice said Goodbye, please go now, even if my words didn’t.
‘I just wish it wasn’t under these circ
umstances. I just wish there was more I could have done. For Amy.’ I felt the last two words were added to prevent Richard from jumping in with some smart-mouth comeback about having done more than enough already. As ludicrous as it sounded, it was almost as though he resented Jack for saving me; as though not having been the one to do it himself belittled or emasculated him in some way. It made no sense. He should have been grateful, but all he sounded was petty and jealous.
‘Are they discharging you now?’ continued Jack. ‘Can I offer you a ride somewhere?’
‘No thanks. We have a cab waiting downstairs,’ jumped in Richard, so speedily I think he was worried I’d been about to accept. As if on cue, the same young nurse knocked on the door to inform us our cab was outside.
Richard placed an arm around my waist and steered me firmly to the door. I turned to look at Jack, whose face gave away so little emotion I honestly couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I gave a small sad smile of goodbye to the man who had risked his life to save me. Leaving him there felt like unfinished business, or a debt that hadn’t been repaid. When you owe someone your very life, perhaps it always does.
I didn’t think to challenge Richard on his behaviour during the cab journey home. There were bigger and more devastating things to deal with and the enormity of this seemed to hit us both like a wrecking ball the closer we got to home. When the cab pulled up beside my parents’ house, I laid a hand on Richard’s arm as he pulled out his wallet to pay the driver.
‘Why don’t you go back to your flat first, and wash and rest up and then come over later?’
‘Surely it would be easier if I just came in with you now?’
I shook my head sadly, and leaned over to kiss him gently, hoping he understood my reasoning. ‘It’s not going to be easy whichever way we do this. Just come back in a little while, okay?’
They were both waiting for me at the kitchen table. My dad got to his feet as soon as I walked in, his arms going around me in a bear hug of fatherly relief, concern and love. I’d already spoken to him on the phone from the hospital, so he knew about Amy. I saw his red-rimmed eyes and knew it had hit him hard. Amy and Caroline had been frequent visitors to the house for over twenty years.
‘Do you want some tea? I don’t suppose that hospital stuff was at all drinkable.’ His voice was gruff with emotion, and although I wasn’t fussed about the drink, I knew he needed some time to compose himself.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ I pulled up one of the pine chairs and positioned it next to my mother. I saw the balled-up tissue held tightly in her fisted hand and when she turned to face me, there was a matching look of grief on the features that so resembled mine, that looking at her was like staring into a magic mirror of my future. That used to give me comfort and a sense of continuity, now it just scared the hell out of me.
My glance flicked across to my dad, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. I felt a small wave of relief. It was, ironically, one of her better days, though quite possibly my very worst.
‘Dad told me,’ she confirmed sadly. ‘I can hardly believe it. Poor, poor Amy.’ I nodded dumbly, feeling the hot prickle of tears escaping down my cheeks. Her eyes fell on my bandaged forehead. ‘Your head? What happened?’
‘It’s a small cut from the accident. It’s nothing really. The plaster makes it look worse than it is. Don’t worry about it, Mum.’
She nodded, and just that ready acceptance of something that should have concerned her so much more, would have told anyone who had known her before, that this was no longer the same Frances Marshall.
‘I can’t imagine how Linda and Donald must be feeling,’ she continued, and my Dad and I both exchanged a surprised look. Even I might have struggled to remember the names of Amy’s parents, but despite not having seen them in years, my mother had recalled them instantly. There really was no explaining what this disease decided to rob you of, and what it let you retain.
We sat drinking our tea in a sad silence. My head was starting to feel too heavy for my neck, and I kept rubbing my fingers against my eyes, which felt like they were filled with hot gritty sand. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and try to take a little nap, love?’ my dad had finally suggested.
I shook my head. ‘I can’t, Dad, there’s so much to do. So much that we have to think about. I should check on Caroline, I’ve no idea how she is doing, and then I should go and see Amy’s parents. And then there’s the wedding. We’ll have to postpone it—’
‘What?’ questioned my mother sharply. ‘You’re postponing the wedding? Why? Have you and Richard argued?’
I looked at her in confusion. ‘No. Of course not. But we can’t go ahead with it now. Not after Amy…’ My voice trailed away. Surely she could understand? I looked across at my dad who was studying her with an intense expression, as though willing her failing brain synapses to function properly. It was a look he wore often.
‘Oh, yes. Of course. She’s your bridesmaid, isn’t she?’
I nodded. That should have been was and not is. Everything about Amy was now in the past tense. No future for her. The thought sliced me like a sabre.
‘There’s time enough to think about everything later,’ my dad said, turning his attention away from my mother, who was completely unaware she had just passed a small unspoken test. ‘You won’t be able to help anyone with anything if you make yourself sick. Go and get some rest now.’
It felt wrong to allow myself the luxury of sleep, and with it a brief welcome escape from reality, but I knew he was right. If we were going to postpone the wedding, and I couldn’t think of getting married now, then there was a hell of a lot to sort out, but I was incapable of functioning or even thinking straight by then. I got shakily to my feet. I bent and kissed his forehead and then did the same with my mother. Her face scanned mine in concern.
‘Just a couple of hours,’ I cautioned my father. ‘Don’t let me sleep any longer than that, okay? Richard will be over later, and I don’t want to still be in bed when he gets here.’
‘Richard’s coming round?’ said my mum, and the pleasure in her voice should have alerted me. ‘How lovely.’
Her parting words came as I reached the door to the hallway, and successfully ensured that rest would be a long time coming. ‘Emma.’ I turned back to face her, and the confusion on her face said it all. ‘What’s happened to your head? Why is it bandaged up like that?’
Not one of her better days after all.
From the dark circles beneath his eyes, it looked as though Richard had been as unsuccessful in catching up on sleep as I had. Every time my eyes had closed I’d seen again, in horrible, graphic detail, the events of the night before, like a spooling trailer for a film you never wanted to see.
Feeling restless and edgy within the confines of the house, I’d wandered out into the back garden, bundled up in an old comfortable cardigan to combat the late afternoon chill, and sat on a wooden bench beneath a leafy tree. I watched unobserved through the glass patio doors as Richard entered the cosily lit lounge. I saw him go across to my father, and felt a fledgling smile tug at my lips as I watched their handshake greeting turn clumsily into a brief and uncharacteristic embrace. His greeting to my mother looked considerably more natural. He’d crossed straight over to her armchair, crouching low to speak to her. I don’t know what words were exchanged, but I saw him patiently nod his head and take hold of her hand as she spoke. He was more than good with her, he was amazing, and in a natural and tolerant way, that was never patronising or impatient. As hard as I tried to emulate him, I was nowhere near as good with her as he was. Perhaps, like he suggested, I was just too close, and losing her piece by piece like this was so damn hard and unfair.
I saw my dad point in the general direction of the garden, and Richard’s answering nod. A few moments later he was beside me on the bench, sliding an arm around my shoulders and drawing me up against him. I fitted against the familiar contours of his body, like a jigsaw piece completing a puzzle. I could smell the spicy aroma of his show
er gel and aftershave and for the first time in almost twenty-four hours I felt a slight lessening in the tension that had knotted around me like a garrotte.
We didn’t speak for a long time, there was no need. A virtual lifetime spent in each other’s company meant we were pretty intuitive at knowing what the other person was thinking. But this time, when I finally broke the silence, I genuinely had no idea how he was going to react. ‘We have to postpone the wedding, Richard.’
For a long moment he said nothing, and I twisted slightly in his hold to study his impassive profile. A gentle breeze ruffled his dark blond hair, and the impossibly long eyelashes of the same colour fanned his brows as he stared down the length of the garden with an expression on his face I simply couldn’t name. Whatever images were running through his mind, he certainly wasn’t seeing the neatly trimmed lawn or the flanking shrubs and plants. The silence stretched like elastic, and just when I started to think that surely it was going to twang and break with a painful and noisy protest, Richard gave a deep and sorrowful sigh, and gave me his answer. ‘I agree.’
His words pierced and deflated the argument I had waiting in readiness. I’d been so sure that he was going to disagree, I was completely taken by surprise. Irrationally, I felt a moment of disappointment that he’d not tried harder – or at all – to dissuade me.
‘It’s the right thing to do,’ I said, parroting the script I’d prepared in my head.
‘It is.’ He reached for my hand then, and gently fingered the diamond solitaire on my ring finger. It had only lived there for three months, and I was still almost constantly aware of its weight and presence.
‘Just for a while,’ he agreed, lifting my hand to his mouth and grazing the knuckle gently with his lips. ‘Postponing, not cancelling.’ His eyes were locked on mine. I nodded back, unable to trust my voice.
