The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  “Well she always knew she would be Queen one day,” Jonathan pointed out.

  “Of course, but not so soon. Not while her children are still so young. Now her home life is finished.” She grabbed his hand and kissed it. “I’m sure it’s difficult for men to understand how important her home and family are to a woman. It’s quite frightening, isn’t it, how suddenly, almost at the snap of Fate’s fingers, people’s lives can be shattered. Changed forever.”

  “Frightening?”

  “Yes. I mean, it could happen to anyone, couldn’t it?”

  He sat on the arm of her chair and smoothed the hair back from her forehead. “My sweetheart. You mustn’t let this make you nervous! Life is good! And it’s going to go on being good.”

  She turned her face up to be kissed, and when he obliged their son joined in, demanding some of the action.

  *

  It was a wonderful summer. Terry was an able manager freeing Jonathan to accompany his family to the beach on fine afternoons where they were joined by various friends, relatives and adoring grandmothers. The hotel continued to show a healthy profit and at the end of the season when they closed, workmen moved in to begin the extensions.

  It was late one October evening in filthy weather, when Jonathan was returning home from a meeting, that a young speedster lost control of his car when it skidded on seaweed on the coast road. It slid across the road broadside, and hit Jonathan’s Vauxhall with such velocity that it was rolled over the low wall and plunged down onto the beach.

  The young man jumped out of his vehicle unharmed, ran to the sea wall and looked over onto the darkened beach in horror.

  Chapter Six – Emergency

  It wasn’t the story that Roddy enjoyed so much as the sound of his mother’s voice as she read to him. She had to spend so much time with baby Stephanie, nowadays, but in the evening when the baby was in bed it was Roddy’s turn to curl up on Sue’s knee and relish her undivided attention.

  Sue loved ‘Roddy’s Time’, particularly now that the evenings were getting dark earlier. The sitting room was cosy with the curtains drawn and a fire crackling in the grate while wind and rain lashed the windows. Roddy, in pyjamas and dressing gown, smelled sweet and fresh from his bath, hair still slightly damp against her chin as she read another poem from A.A. Milne’s When We Were Very Young, at the end of which he no longer wriggled and said, “Nuvver one, peese!” He was asleep. She lifted him gently, carried him upstairs to bed and tucked him in.

  Downstairs the kitchen clock said seven-fifteen; Jonathan had said his meeting would last about an hour, so he should be in at any minute. She lit the oven to warm the plates and started frying up the remains of yesterday’s shepherd’s pie.

  She hadn’t had time to look at the daily newspapers, so when the supper was ready in the oven she sat down with a sherry to read the latest details on the appalling London train disaster which had killed 112 commuters. The conversation she and Jonathan had had after the sudden death of the King came to mind: the way people’s lives can be so normal one minute, and without warning totally destroyed the next. She shivered and turned the page. There the headlines were all about Mau Mau atrocities in Kenya.

  At eight o’clock Sue was becoming hungry. Where was Jonathan? Sighing with irritation she went to the phone and dialled the hotel bar. “Is Jonathan up there?” she asked Terry.

  “No. Haven’t seen him since early this afternoon.”

  “Maybe he’s met up with some of the crowd. Never mind.”

  But she did mind. Dammit, he could have phoned to let her know. Supper would be a dried-up mess! She opened the oven, took out her own portion and sat at the kitchen table to eat alone.

  Suddenly she felt sick. It was quite difficult to eat at first, but she felt a bit better when she had finished her meal.

  *

  Gary’s first instinct had been to jump into his, or rather his Dad’s car and go. Anywhere. His legs were wobbly, his arm agony and his breathing was a series of short gasps. And he was terrified of what he had done. But there were two reasons why he couldn’t escape: one, it didn’t need a qualified mechanic to tell that Dad’s front wheel was now square and the axle obviously twisted; and two, a wee small voice of common sense was pointing out that he would be tracked down and publicly shamed for life if he did. Probably would be, anyway.

  There was a cottage a little way off down the road. Shaking, Gary made his way to the front door, knocked and a middle-aged man in a Guernsey opened it.

  “There’s been an accident . . .” the boy gasped.

  “I see that.”

  “Uh?”

  “From the blood.”

  Gary looked down and in the light through the doorway saw the dark stain down his coat, put his fingers up to his head and located a warm, sticky patch.

  “Anyone else hurt?” the man asked.

  Gary nodded. “A car’s gone over the sea wall. No one got out.”

  “Aw, lordy! I’ll go next door and phone for help. Doris!”

  A stout lady appeared from a back room, and when her husband had explained she led Gary away to bathe his head. “I’ll make you a cup of tea to stop you shaking. It’s the shock, love.”

  He hoped the tea might also give him sufficient courage to go next door and phone his father.

  *

  Sue dug another shovelful of coal out of the scuttle to throw on the fire. She was shivering again and it crossed her mind she might be going down with ‘flu. She checked the mantel clock with her watch, and frowned: both said eight forty-three. She had been suppressing bouts of worry for nearly an hour, now she was beginning to feel seriously anxious. In her mind she went through all the places Jonathan might be: his mother’s, one of their friend’s places, or maybe at his Uncle Ted’s discussing the hotel extensions, Ted Martel being their architect. But every one of them had a phone, Jonathan would have rung and let her know. He always did. Should she start telephoning? If so, who?

  She didn’t want to be alarmist so decided to wait till nine o’clock and then telephone Norton.

  Ten minutes later, as she sipped a cup of tea by the fire, there was a knocking on the front door. She jumped to her feet, spilling the tea in her haste, and hurried to open the door . . . to a policeman.

  “Good evening,” he said, removing his cap. “Mrs Martel?”

  Speechless with fear, she could only nod.

  “May I come in, please?”

  She struggled for breath, stood aside and closed the door after him. “What’s happened? Is it my husband? Is he all right?”

  “I hope so. But I’m afraid he has been involved in a nasty accident.”

  “Is he badly hurt?”

  “I’m not able to say. We won’t know till the doctors have finished examining him.”

  “He’s in the hospital? When did it happen?”

  “We were called about a quarter to eight, so it must have been a bit before that.”

  “That’s over an hour ago. Why has it—”

  “We had to get a crane to lift the car off the beach before the tide reached it.”

  “Beach?” Sue shook her head, trying to fathom what Jonathan might have been doing.

  “The impact sent his car over the sea wall, or so it seems. Hard to tell exactly but we’ll be able to see more in the morning, in daylight. Look, ma’am, why don’t you finish your cup of tea then I’ll run you up to the hospital.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “Well let’s get you a fresh one. Where’s the kitchen?”

  She stood up, felt dizzy, and quickly sat down again.

  The policeman looked at her grey face, picked up her cup and carried it off in search of the kettle.

  *

  They took Jessica with them. Terry had fetched Emmy to sit with the children, while Sue collected Jonathan’s pyjamas, dressing gown and toiletries. The two women sat in the back of the police car, occasionally patting each other’s hand in encouragement.

  They were not allowed
to see Jonathan, having to be satisfied with the knowledge he was still alive. A man and a youth who had blood on his clothes and his arm in a splint, sat with them in a side room for a while. Only after they had gone did Sue and Jessica learn that the young man was the other driver in the accident.

  A police sergeant came in. “Okay, Wilkins, you can go now. I’ll be here for a while until we get some news.” He turned to the women. “Hello. I’m Bob Entwhistle. I’m so sorry to meet you under these circumstances,” he shook their hands.

  “We are the Mrs Martels, junior and senior. Wife and mother,” Jessica responded. “Can you tell us what happened exactly?”

  “Not exactly. But from what we can gather there was a collision on the Rocquaine coast road and Mr Martel’s car rolled over the sea wall.”

  Sue gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “They must have been going at some speed . . .”

  “One of them was, certainly. And between you and me it wasn’t your husband. However, it’s not for me to make any judgements at this stage. Fortunately the sea hadn’t reached the shingle where the car landed, and we were able to get a crane on the scene before high tide. Unfortunately your husband was unconscious and therefore unable to help himself.”

  “Who called the emergency services?” Jessica asked.

  “The young lad who was in the other car. Silly young tearaway. I don’t know which is scaring him most at the moment, us, the consequences of his actions or his father’s anger at having his car wrecked.”

  “At least he stayed at the scene and got help. That must have taken some courage,” Jessica remarked.

  Sue nodded.

  “Very generous of you to say so, ma’am, in the circumstances. Ah, perhaps we have news?”

  The newcomer’s white coat and stethescope indicated authority. He nodded briefly at the sergeant and then looked at the women. “Which of you is Mr Martel’s next of kin?”

  “We both are. This is his mother. I am his wife.” Sue’s heart was thumping loudly with fear. “How is he?”

  “He has multiple injuries, but none appear to be immediately life threatening. We will have to operate to reset a bad break in his left leg tomorrow. The next forty-eight hours are crucial but he appears to be strong and healthy and his heart is good. His wounds are being dressed at the moment and as soon as he is admitted to a ward a nurse will fetch you to see him.”

  “Could he be put into a private ward, please?” Jessica asked.

  “Possibly. I’ll speak to Sister. Would you like some tea while you’re waiting?”

  *

  It had been the worst night of her life.

  Returning home with Jessica at four-thirty a.m., Sue knew that sleep would be impossible. The women returned to the hospital next morning, to sit by Jonathan’s bed, watching the restless, bandaged figure labouring for breath, praying for him to return to full consciousness. Then, when he did begin to surface and they saw pain twisting the visible parts of his face, they could only wish him the relief of semi-consciousness again.

  During the following week, two facts emerged: one, that Jonathan had three broken ribs, multiple fractures of his left leg and damage to two vertebrae, plus severe lacerations to his head and face – and the other, that Sue was pregnant again.

  “Which means Stephanie will be only seventeen months when this one is born.” Sue and Sarah had paused for a cup of tea before resuming work on the washing, drying and ironing. “Maybe, once Jonathan is home again and I don’t have to fit hospital visits into my day life will be a bit easier.”

  “Any indication from the doctor when that might be?” her mother asked.

  “Not yet. They are still concerned that there is no response in his good leg. If there is no improvement by the end of the week they are going to do more tests and X-rays.”

  Neither of them voiced the worry nagging at their minds, but it was an anxiety confirmed ten days later, when the decision was made to send Jonathan over to Guy’s Hospital in London to investigate the damage to his spine.

  Sue felt wretched every time she saw his face – removal of the bandages had revealed the extent of the injuries caused by his partial exit through the car windscreen. His nose, eyebrows and one cheek had been slashed, and stitch scars dotted his forehead up into his scalp. For Sue, the trouble was that the pregnancy nausea was activated by this horrific sight, forcing her to struggle each visit not to appear repulsed. She had decided against telling him of the forthcoming happy event until he was stronger.

  The building works, meanwhile, progressed slowly. Ted Martel spent considerably more time on site than he was contracted to, but nevertheless there were repeated calls on Sue for decisions – which she prayed would comply with Jonathan’s wishes. Terry managed the bar, taking on extra help to give him time for supervision of party bookings and meals. Edna spent two or three days a week organising the repairs and replacements Sue had listed for the guest bedrooms for the following season.

  Sue and the doctor accompanied Jonathan on the aircraft to London, and she stayed with Sybil whose flat was conveniently within a short taxi-ride of Guy’s.

  “Come on, Sue! We’re going shopping,” Sybil announced one morning. “There’s no point in you moping around here all day while the medics are mauling your man. Let’s do Harrods.”

  Sue laughed. “You really are a tonic, dear cousin. Yes, I think a really smart outfit and a new hairdo would be super. Where do you have your hair done?” Now that Sue was adult the fact that Sybil was eleven years her senior no longer mattered: she could enjoy the company of her favorite cousin on equal terms.

  They spent the whole day in Harrods, taking coffee, lunch and afternoon tea in their stride.

  Tired but content, they taxied home with their spoils.

  “Tell me, what are the police doing about the accident?”

  “Gary, the other driver, has been charged with dangerous driving. The Inspector in charge says the boy is only thankful he’s not on a manslaughter charge.”

  “I should jolly well think he is! Stupid idiot!”

  “Apparently his father had lent him the car on condition he got it home in time for him to go to a Rotary dinner that night, and Gary was already late. I think he was actually more terrified of his father than the police.”

  That evening at the hospital, the ward sister led Sue into her office, saying the specialist wanted to speak to her.

  “What about?” Sue frowned.

  “I can’t say. Would you like a cup of awful coffee?”

  “Thank you.” Still frowning she sat on a proffered chair. Jonathan was obviously so much better now, so what on earth . . .?

  The door was swung open by a tall, pinstriped young man. “Mrs Martel?” He held out his hand. “I’m Mr Weston.” He sat down beside her.

  Sue shook his hand. “How is my husband?”

  “I’m afraid the news is not good. His spine is far more severely damaged than was first thought. Thank you, Sister,” he accepted the cup of evil coffee, took a sip, then launched into a detailed medical breakdown of Jonathan’s injury.

  Sue tried to follow it all and when the specialist raised his cup again she demanded, “Yes, yes. But what does this all mean? What is the bottom line?”

  The cup was returned to its saucer and he looked her straight in the eye. “The bottom line, Mrs Martel, is that your husband is paralysed from the waist down. There is no chance he will ever walk again.”

  *

  “Oh my darling!” The big, blue eyes swam as they peered up at her from his shattered face. “They told you?”

  Sue nodded, and leaned over to kiss his lips very gently.

  “You realise I’ll be a useless wreck, a liability for the rest of my life?”

  “Rubbish! For the Lord’s sake don’t take that defeatist attitude,” she responded fiercely. “We’ll work something out. We’ll get you mobile, even if its in a wheelchair.”

  “To do what?” he muttered.

  “To be a husband and father!
And hotelier. You can still run things from a chair. Supervise. Make decisions. The only difference will be that the chair behind the desk has big wheels on. So what?” Sue didn’t honestly know that she believed what she was saying, yet. But she jolly well had to try and convince them both. Jonathan was still too weak to think positively, to summon up the will to fight.

  He closed his eyes. “Husband! Only in name. I’ll never be able to play cricket with my son or dance with my daughter at her first ball.” He sighed and turned his head away.

  Sue wanted to scream at him to shut up. Instead she held his hand and laughed. “Don’t be an ass! You’ll watch Roddy from the boundary, yelling instructions. And you’ll smile benevolently as your daughter dances with her retinue of admirers.”

  Jonathan opened his eyes, gazed at her, waiting. “Go on. What about us?”

  She knew what he meant and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “You are going to be amazed what we will achieve together on our nuptial couch, boy!”

  At last he grinned. “Okay. I’ll believe you, though thousands wouldn’t. Did the quack give any idea when we can go home?”

  “Soon as we like. But you’ll have to return to the hospital till I’ve got things organised at home. Wheelchairs don’t go up steps too easily.”

  “Or upstairs, for that matter.”

  “Uncle Ted’s coming to see me when we’re back. We will discuss what can be done.”

  “You are going to be extremely busy, sweetheart.” He looked worried, distressed for her.

  Busier than you realise, she thought, wondering how long to wait before telling him of the new conception. “So are you, honey bunch. So the quicker you get yourself fit the better.”

  *

  “It’s simply not practical.” Ted Martel stood in the hallway analysing the construction of the old granite house. He walked through from front to back. “This part has been added to link what was once the shed to the original dwelling. They weren’t too fussy about angles and levels, as you see. To straighten things out for a wheelchair we would have to remove load-bearing walls two feet thick, and insert something else to take the weight.”