by Maria Savva
Cara turned up the volume of the television to smother the usual noises coming from downstairs. She watched the news: news of wars in faraway countries, news of terrorism and murders and deaths. She hated the news. When it finished there was an advertisement for a programme that would be televised in a couple of weeks. The details of the programme didn’t interest her, but what caught her attention was the date. Is it that time of year already? Tenth of June: a date she could never forget.
On the tenth of June 1992, ten years earlier, she had still been quite mobile. While she was doing some weeding in her back garden, the front doorbell rang.
It was a few minutes after six o’clock in the evening: the time Billy usually arrived home from work. As Cara approached the door, she wondered whether he had forgotten his keys.
‘Mrs Edwards?’ There were two police officers at the door, a male and a female.
‘Um… Y-yes,’ she stammered.
‘May we come inside?’ asked the policewoman.
‘Y-yes, of course.’ Cara took off her gardening gloves and gestured for them to enter.
They walked into the front room.
‘Please sit down, Mrs Edwards,’ said the policeman. He removed his hat and sat on the sofa.
Cara trembled. Her mind recollected television programmes where things like this happened. Someone must have died, she thought to herself. Please let Billy be okay, she prayed.
‘Are you the wife of William Patrick Edwards?’ asked the kind-looking policewoman, as Cara seated herself on a chair.
‘Yes. Billy. What’s happened to Billy?’ She stood up quickly.
‘Please, don’t upset yourself, Mrs Edwards,’ said the policeman, standing up and approaching her. He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Please, sit down.’
She did as she was told.
‘Has he been in an accident?’ He drives too fast. I’m always telling him he drives too fast…
‘Yes, I’m afraid he has. His car collided with another vehicle,’ explained the policewoman. ‘We’ll take you to the hospital so you can see him. He’s had to have some surgery. It was quite a serious accident.’
The policewoman started to relay the details of the incident, but Cara had tuned out, not wanting to acknowledge that this was actually happening.
As the policewoman ushered her into the police car, Cara remained silent. Her mind raced with fearful imagery of what could have happened.
She recalled the conversation she’d had with Billy that morning: ‘Can you buy some milk on the way home?’
‘Yes, dear,’ he’d replied. ‘See you later.’
He had kissed her as he did every day before he left for work.
Had he perhaps made a detour to buy the milk on his way home? Was that the reason he’d ended up in an accident?
The policewoman, who had by now introduced herself to Cara as WPC Jenny Holmes, accompanied her into the hospital building. They entered through the glass double-doors at the front, labelled in large red writing: “Accident and Emergency”.
As they neared the reception desk, Cara trembled.
Jenny asked the woman behind the desk for directions to Billy’s ward.
Cara looked at the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with greying blonde hair that had been tightly set with rollers. The woman’s hair reminded her of a judge’s wig and this temporarily distracted Cara from her worries.
‘It’s along the corridor, then to the left,’ said the woman. ‘Take the lift to the third floor. There’ll be someone on the third floor who can direct you to ward three-C.’
Cara could not take in the directions. Words sounded as incomprehensible as a foreign language.
Jenny’s deep-set grey eyes regarded her sympathetically; she seemed to realise that Cara would have difficulty locating Billy’s ward on her own.
Jenny took her by the arm. Cara surmised she was perhaps the same age as her daughter, Catherine, though there were a few lines at the corners of her eyes and some speckles of grey dusting her mahogany-brown hair. Jenny’s demeanour gave the impression that she kept her emotions in check, her poker face not giving anything away: even when she smiled, Cara sensed a distance between them. She felt sorry for the young girl; it could not be easy doing a job like hers.
The large building reminded Cara of a maze. With endless corridors all painted white and grey, she found it impossible to tell one from the other.
‘Here we are, Mrs Edwards,’ said Jenny as they exited the lift on the third floor. ‘I’ll have to leave you now. You just have to go to that reception desk there and ask for ward three-C.’ She pointed to a desk that was labelled “Information”.
‘Ward three-C,’ repeated Cara, in a whisper. Peering at the grey walls, she turned to the WPC and said, ‘Yes, dear. I’ll be fine. Thank you for bringing me this far. I’m sure I would have got lost without you.’
‘You’ll be fine from here on your own,’ said Jenny stiffly. ‘Don’t worry. I hope your husband is all right.’
‘Thank you, dear.’ Cara watched Jenny walk back into the lift.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to approach the desk that Jenny had pointed to.
The tall man at the information desk greeted her. He appeared to be of African origin. The man wore a nurses’ white coat, with a silver name badge. Cara couldn’t make out the name on the badge as she wasn’t wearing her reading glasses.
‘Hello, madam, can I help you?’
She was squinting, trying to read his name: wanting to be polite and address him by his name. Suddenly that became the most important thing in the world to her; she inwardly scolded herself for not bringing her glasses with her.
‘Madam?’
She looked up at him, realising that she had not answered his question. Why was knowing his name so important? The absurdity of her thoughts disturbed her. She knew she could just ask his name. Why not just ask? But somehow that wasn’t enough. She wanted to read it. To do that. To do something. Anything. To take her mind off what she was really here for. The fear she felt inside was strangling her perception and making her obsess about the littlest thing.
The man had now emerged from behind the desk. He touched her arm gently. ‘Madam, are you all right? Would you like to sit down, perhaps? There are some chairs over here, and I’ll get you some water.’
The name badge was closer now. Peter. That was his name. Such a nice name, she mused. An image of her uncle Peter sprang to mind and she recalled the fishing trips she’d been on with him as a child.
‘Peter,’ she said absent-mindedly.
The man’s eyes followed hers to his name badge and he nodded awkwardly. He then took her by the arm more firmly. ‘Come with me, madam. I will get you some water and you can take a seat.’
Cara knew all she was doing was delaying. Delaying seeing Billy. She didn’t want him to be in hospital. He should be at home. Should have bought the milk and gone home. Why did I ask him to get milk? If only Jenny had stayed longer.
Closing her eyes, Cara took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m fine, really, I’m here to see my husband, Billy… er… William Edwards. He’s in ward three-C.’
The man let go of her arm. ‘Okay, I’ll just check the records.’
He walked away, glancing at her over his shoulder with a friendly smile. Once behind the desk, he studied a sheet of paper. When he looked at her again, his expression had changed from a smile to a frown. ‘Mr Edwards has been moved to ward ten. I’ll ask the nurse to take you to the right ward. Please take a seat.’ He pointed to a trio of orange plastic chairs lined up against the wall.
In a daze, she walked over to the chairs, not wanting to sit, wishing she had company.
Shortly, a nurse appeared. ‘Hello, Mrs Edwards,’ said the petite, dark-skinned woman. ‘I’ll take you to see the doctor who operated on your husband.’
Once more, Cara was led along the grey and white corridors.
Soon they arrived at a door labelled “Ward 10 – Intensive Care”.
> The nurse led her by the arm into a small room. A large green rubber plant sat in the far corner, and a few grey plastic chairs were scattered around a grey plastic table.
‘Please take a seat, I’ll call the doctor,’ said the nurse, turning the lights on as she left the room. Daylight was fading quickly outside.
Cara sat on one of the chairs, wrestling with her anxiety.
‘Mrs Edwards,’ said a deep voice.
Cara turned her head to see an ashen-faced young man wearing a surgeons’ white coat walk into the room. His hair was brown, and thinning slightly on top. In his hands were a few sheets of paper. ‘Please remain seated,’ he said as she tried to stand up to greet him. He sat opposite her on one of the plastic chairs, his eyes lowered as if he were about to deliver some bad news.
‘How is he?’ she asked, clenching her teeth, fearing the worst.
‘He’s in a serious condition. A coma. I would say the next few hours will be critical.’
‘I want to see him.’ Her voice sounded extremely high-pitched, even to herself.
The doctor nodded his head but didn’t stand up—apparently trying to decide whether it would be a good idea for her to see Billy. Eventually, he smiled sympathetically at Cara. ‘Follow me,’ he said.
She followed and was given protective clothing to wear before entering the sterilised environment.
Walking into a brightly lit room, Cara saw Billy lying on the bed. Even though she’d known he was in a hospital room, it still came as a shock to her that he was lying there, not moving, with an oxygen mask partially covering his face. For the tenth time that day she prayed this was some sort of dream and that she would wake up.
The nurse she had met earlier was inspecting one of the machines next to Billy’s bed.
‘Is there anyone else we should notify?’ asked the doctor.
‘I’m sorry?’ Cara said, her mind blank.
‘Should we notify anyone else about the accident?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘Our children.’
‘Nurse, please take the details.’
Cara gave James’s and Catherine’s details to the nurse, then sat next to Billy’s bed. He looked peaceful enough. Apart from a couple of scars on his cheeks and forehead she could not really tell that he had sustained any injuries. A sheet covered his entire body.
She listened for a while to the sound of his heartbeat on the electronic machine. The sound comforted her slightly; it meant he was alive.
‘Try speaking to him,’ said the doctor. ‘It can help if they hear a familiar voice. We’ll leave you alone.’
She watched him walk out of the room followed by the nurse. A strange fear overwhelmed her when she found herself alone in the room with Billy.
The doctor’s words rang in her head: ‘It can help if they hear a familiar voice.’ “They”, as if Billy were part of some group of people who were different. She felt too distressed to talk. What do you say to “them”? What do you say to people in comas?
‘Billy,’ she forced the word out. ‘Billy, it’s me, Cara.’ Her voice broke, and tears formed in her eyes.
Unexpectedly, her mind went back to their first meeting at Stoneleigh when she’d been so frightened and he’d stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. He’d always been there for her ever since; she could not imagine life without him.
If he died now, he’d never know the truth about their meeting. She put a hand to her neck and sighed.
Soon tears were streaming down her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry!’
He lay motionless.
‘I should have told you, Billy. You deserved to know the truth about me back then.’ Should she tell him everything now? Would it make a difference? He was in a coma. Could he even hear her?
‘Billy, wake up! Please wake up!’ Her despairing cry rang out in the hospital room.
Unzipping her bag with trembling hands, she took out her packet of travel tissues. She wiped her eyes and face, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself.
‘Billy, can you hear me?’ she ventured softly.
There was no movement, nothing to suggest he’d heard her, but maybe… ‘Billy, I love you. There’s something I have to tell you. I should have told you this before. This… This accident has made me realise that. I’ve been so selfish. I’m sorry.’
The words poured out. It made it easier that he couldn’t respond, so she could tell the whole story without him interrupting. ‘Billy, when we met, you thought you’d saved my life, but I jumped off the cliff. I didn’t fall. I tried to kill myself because I was in love with a man and found out he was married.’ She stopped, and put a hand in front of her mouth, aware her confession sounded like a declaration of love for Frederick.
The sound of Billy’s heartbeat on the monitor remained unchanged. Surely, if he’d heard such news, and understood, his heart rate would have been racing.
Watching him lying there, a compulsion to continue swept over her; this might be her last chance to tell him.
‘Billy, it’s possible Ben isn’t your son. I didn’t know it for sure at the time, but—’
A terrifying sound was emitted from the heart monitor. Cara felt faint, the room becoming a blur of white and red as panic gripped her and she struggled to breathe. She stood up, gasping, and the long bleeping sound became louder.
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No! Billy! Help! Please, someone, help!’
Stumbling towards the door, she pulled it open. The doctor was just outside. Several nurses followed him into Billy’s room.
Cara froze. Too afraid to go back inside, she made her way into the corridor. Please, don’t let him die, please… Her mind screamed. He couldn’t die now: not at the moment when she had told him everything. She needed an opportunity to explain the facts to him properly.
I should have waited. I shouldn’t have told him now… Maybe he didn’t hear.
She sat on the bench outside the room, feeling like a criminal waiting for the jury to reach a decision, already knowing what the verdict would be.
‘Mum!’
Cara raised her head to see her daughter, Catherine, running along the corridor towards her.
‘Where’s Dad? Is he all right?’
Unable to expel the sense of remorse, Cara stared blankly.
‘Mum. Is Dad all right? He’s not… He’s not… I’m not too late, am I?’
‘No, no,’ Cara assured her daughter, with fear in her heart. She reached out to hug Catherine. ‘Thank you for coming.’
The young doctor walked out of Billy’s room, visibly disconcerted. ‘Mrs Edwards,’ he said in a deep, sombre tone, ‘please follow me.’
He led the way to the small room where Cara had first met him.
‘Please sit down,’ he said, pointing to the grey plastic chairs. After closing the door, he sat opposite them. ‘Mrs Edwards, I am very sorry. We did all we could, but…’
Cara held her breath.
‘Unfortunately, we couldn’t revive him.’
‘You mean he’s d… He’s d…’ She could not bring herself to say the word.
The young doctor closed his eyes briefly, then said, ‘Your husband died a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry.’
Cara and Catherine nodded dumbly.
‘They’re moving him to another room. You’ll have a chance to go and see him, if you wish,’ he added.
‘Yes,’ said Cara, a vacant look in her eyes.
The doctor stood up and approached the door.
‘Excuse me, Doctor,’ said Cara in a weak voice.
He turned to face her.
‘Do you think he heard me when I was speaking to him?’
Catherine put an arm around her.
‘Yes, Mrs Edwards. I’m sure he knew you were there.’ He smiled and left the room.
‘What happened?’ asked Catherine, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘How did it happen? He was so healthy.’
‘It was a car accident,’ Cara whispered. She began to cry again, this time
fearing the tears would never stop falling.
‘Where’s Jamie? Does he know?’
‘Yes. Yes, the nurse was going to call him,’ replied Cara through sniffles.
‘He should be here, Mum! Dad’s dead! He should be here!’
‘He must be on his way.’ Cara wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
Catherine produced a packet of tissues from her handbag and gave one to Cara, also taking one for herself.
‘And Ben,’ said Catherine, ‘he doesn’t know Dad’s dead. Ben should be here too! We won’t even be able to find him to let him know about the funeral.’
Cara recalled the last thing she had said to Billy. Maybe it had killed him. She began to shake.
‘Mum. Mum!’ said Catherine. ‘Everything will be all right, you’ll see.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Penelope sat on the sofa, trembling, holding Andrew in her arms. ‘Look what you’ve done to your son!’ she screamed.
David stood in front of her, staring at the boy; she could see the bewilderment screaming out from his eyes. Her conscience said she should forgive him. It’s not his fault… He needs help.
‘It’s got to stop,’ she said loudly, to smother the unwanted thoughts. Her tears fell onto Andrew’s hair.
She always forgave David, every time—even when he caused her to miscarry their baby daughter—but now she felt ashamed… weak. If only she’d walked away then, this wouldn’t have happened to Andrew.
Her mind became clear. If she stayed with David, she’d be condoning what he’d done. She had been wrong to forgive him in the past, and she could not forgive him now.
‘This vicious cycle has got to stop!’ she shouted. The television in her grandmother’s room upstairs sounded louder than ever. A familiar sense of humiliation stirred within her. Usually, she would try to ignore it and fool herself that her grandmother turned up the volume because she was hard of hearing. Penelope could no longer deny the truth. Today she had come face to face with the reality she’d denied year after year.
David’s eyes were glazed over in shock, but she fought the urge to comfort him. He often became upset after being violent, but this was different. He’d hardly moved since hitting Andrew. It was the first time he’d laid a finger on any of the children, and she had to make sure it never happened again.
