Losing You (25 page)

‘That was not what I said, and anyway, I told the police when they came here ...’

‘I’m not interested in what you told them, Sylvie, because by then the real damage had already been done.’

Her expression darkened with confusion and suspicion.

‘Oliver thought you were going to kill yourself,’ he continued, ‘so being a son who loves his mother he jumped in his car to get to you. On the way he had an accident and as a result a young girl is now in intensive care fighting for her life.’

Sylvie’s eyes began to dilate with horror.

‘Oliver was arrested for drink-driving, and now we are waiting to see what happens to the girl to find out the full extent of what he’s to be charged with. Either way, he is likely to go to prison for this.’

Sylvie was becoming agitated, not knowing which way to turn, or how to escape this. She was trying not to look at the wine rack, but the need was too great. ‘I – I don’t believe you,’ she rasped.

Turning her back to face him, he said, ‘Do you really think I’d make up something like this?’

‘I don’t know ... I can’t ...’ She tried to get up, but knowing where she wanted to go he held her firm.

‘This,’ he told her, ‘is what your drinking has done. It’s
you
, Sylvie, and that demon inside you, who are responsible for ruining the lives of two young people, and one of them is your own son.’

Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head back and forth. ‘But it is not my fault ...’

‘It is absolutely your fault. If you hadn’t made that call ...’

‘I wouldn’t have if you had not been with Fiona ...’

‘Don’t worry, I accept my role in this, but if you think that in any way exonerates you then think again. What you did, that selfish, drunken,
cruel
act of calling your own son to frighten him by suggesting you were about to end your life is now going to cost him his freedom. Think about that, Sylvie ...’

‘I cannot listen to this,’ she sobbed. ‘It was not my fault. If you had not thrown me out ...’

‘You can cast as much blame on me as you like, but you’re not getting out of your own responsibility.’

‘Stop it, just stop,’ she cried, blocking her ears. ‘You do not understand how hard this is for me ...’

Thumping the table again, he said, ‘This is no longer about
you
. It’s about our son and a young girl who might yet die from her injuries. Try to think of what her family must be going through now, and if you can’t do that surely to God you can think about Oliver.’

‘I always think about Oliver, which is more than I can say for you, because for you it is always Charlie ...’

‘For Christ’s sake, you haven’t even asked how Oliver is yet.’

‘Because you have not given me the chance ...’

‘You’ve had every chance, but it hasn’t even occurred to you how much he might be suffering after the trauma he went through. How stricken he is with fear and guilt and shame for what’s happened to the girl. You’re only thinking about yourself, and that’s not who you used to be. Our boys always came first for you ...’

‘They still do ...’

‘No,
that’s
what comes first now,’ he shouted, pointing to the wine rack. ‘Nothing matters more to you than that ...’

‘It is you who made me this way. If you had been a good husband my life would not be ruined ...’

‘Get dressed,’ he snapped, stepping back. ‘You’re coming with me.’

‘I am not going anywhere with you. You are frightening me ...’

‘I swear I’ll do a lot more than that if you don’t put yourself in the shower right now and make yourself presentable.’

‘No! You are trying to take me to a clinic, but I will not go and you cannot make me.’

‘Believe me, if I could you’d already be there and this wouldn’t have happened. No, you’re coming with me to see Oliver. You’re going to confront what you’ve done to your own son, and if that doesn’t change your mind about getting some help then I swear to God you will no longer be a part of our lives.’

Emma was sitting with Lauren, hardly noticing what was going on around them – nurses and intensivists coming and going, consultants visiting other patients, a new casualty being admitted. She wasn’t even connecting with the sounds of the ventilator or monitors. She was only seeing her daughter behind the web of life-giving tubes, her face as white as the bandages wrapped like a turban around her head, her eyes unmoving beneath their bruised lids, her lips as colourless as the hose parting them.

After the horror and panic of the surge of pressure in
her brain yesterday, Emma had lived in mortal terror of leaving her again. It was only when she’d all but collapsed over the bed in exhaustion last night that her mother had come to help Will walk her to the waiting room, refusing to listen to her pleas to let her stay. With her energy so low she’d been unable to fight them, but when she’d woken a few hours later it was with a renewed terror that Lauren had slipped away in the night because she, Emma, hadn’t been there to hold on to her.

Thank God it hadn’t happened, but Emma knew Lauren was a long way from being out of danger yet, because Yuri Nelson, the consultant in charge of her case, had spoken to her and Will about the dangers of further surgery should a similar surge in intracranial pressure occur.

‘How likely is it to happen again?’ Will had asked dully.

Speaking frankly, but gently, Nelson said, ‘At this stage it’s very hard to tell, but we’re all staying hopeful that it won’t.’

‘Is her brain – is it damaged?’ Emma faltered. ‘I mean, will it be lasting?’

‘It’s still very early days,’ Nelson replied, ‘and once again we’re all staying hopeful of a good recovery.’

Emma knew there would be one. She wasn’t even going to countenance the possibility of there not being one. Lauren was simply going to lie quietly for a while, regrouping her energy, recovering from the shock and the surgery, while her heart continued to pulse blood through her veins and send oxygen into her brain the way it always had. At the same time, she, Emma, would be transmitting all her maternal strength and love into the very fibre of Lauren’s soul, resulting in a pure, ceaseless flow of vital energy. Nothing was going to stop this; no one would even be allowed to try.

‘Emma, why don’t you get cup of tea?’ Anna said softly as she came to check Lauren’s levels.

Emma barely looked up as she shook her head. In her mind she was talking to Lauren, and didn’t want to be interrupted.

Will had left the bedside a few minutes ago, maybe to go to the bathroom, or perhaps to use the phone. His other
family would be wondering about him, and about Lauren too, of course, because the children knew her and loved her. Emma didn’t know how Jemima felt about Lauren, nor did she wish to.

Polly had taken Berry and Phyllis to Emma’s house last night so they could get some sleep, while Harry had booked into a B & B nearby and Jane had driven home to see to the children. Polly had returned just after eight this morning with coffee and pastries. Though Emma and Will had managed the coffee neither of them had found the stomach for food, and Emma had detected no return of her appetite yet.

‘You must have something, sweetie,’ Berry had insisted when she and Phyllis had arrived around ten. ‘It’s the only way you can keep up your strength.’

Her mother had looked on, seeming smaller, somehow less than her usual self, yet her hand as she’d put it on Emma’s arm had felt firm. ‘We’ll get through this,’ she’d said in a tone that seemed to brook no denial. However, when Emma had met her eyes she’d looked away, whether because she didn’t believe her own words, or because she found it too hard to connect with Emma the way Emma could with Lauren, only she knew.

They’d left again now – her mother was driving Berry back to London to pick up the insulin Berry, in her panic, had forgotten to bring with her yesterday.

‘We’ll be back by late afternoon,’ her mother had assured her.

Emma couldn’t remember now if she’d responded. It hadn’t occurred to her until long after they’d gone that the hospital would probably have provided Berry with some insulin. It didn’t matter though, they’d be back soon enough, and meanwhile Emma could sit here with Lauren wondering if her mother would sit with her if she was fighting for her life. She felt a pang of loneliness and resentment as she found it hard to imagine.

‘What were you doing on that road?’ she whispered to Lauren. ‘I don’t understand why you were there, all alone.’

‘Clive Andrews is here,’ Will said, breaking into her quiet
communication with Lauren. ‘He’s come to update us on the investigation.’

It took a moment for Emma to register the words, then sitting back she pushed her hands through her hair, feeling every muscle in her body protest at their first movement in more than an hour. Did it matter now, she wondered, how the accident had happened, why Lauren had been on that road when she had? It wouldn’t change anything. Lauren would still be lying here, lost in a world between this one and the next. Knowing why wasn’t going to bring her back. And yet she needed to know what had taken Lauren out on to that country road when she’d told Emma she was going into town.

Sending a silent message to her letting her know she wouldn’t be far away, she rose awkwardly to her feet and followed Will back to the waiting room. This morning, during the early hours, another family whose son had suffered a brain haemorrhage had joined them, but there was no sign of them now. She thought maybe the boy had already been moved to another ward, but she couldn’t be sure. She hoped he hadn’t died. Please God let him still be alive.

‘Hello Clive,’ she said, attempting a smile as she shook Andrews’s hand. They’d agreed on first-name terms before he’d left last night, and she felt vaguely surprised now by how easily it had come.

‘You look exhausted,’ he told her. ‘You really have to get some sleep.’

‘I’ve had a few hours,’ she assured him. ‘I hope you did too. Yesterday was a very long day for you.’

The raise of his eyebrows told her that his own hardship was the least of his concerns. ‘How’s Lauren today?’ he asked.

‘I told you,’ Will said, ‘there’s been no change.’

Annoyed that Will hadn’t realised Andrews was showing her his consideration by asking again, Emma said, ‘She’s still sedated and they don’t have any plans to try waking her up today.’ How was she able to speak those words so calmly when they were breaking her apart inside?

‘I see,’ Andrews murmured. ‘Well, I have no doubt that on some level she knows you’re here.’

‘I like to think so. Shall we sit down? Have you seen my brother? I thought he was in here.’

‘He went outside to make some phone calls,’ Will informed her.

Relieved that Harry hadn’t gone far, Emma settled down on one of the softly cushioned chairs and felt her head swim as a wave of tiredness came over her.

‘Are you all right?’ Will asked.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ and patting the nearby chair for him to sit down too, she fixed Clive Andrews with her sore, red-rimmed eyes.

Taking an adjacent seat, Andrews said, ‘Most of the work at the scene has been completed now, and both cars have been removed to a garage in South Bristol for analysis.’ He stopped, his eyes on Emma.

She was staring through the nets at the window, speckled with rain on the outside, but what she was seeing was a remote country road where traffic was once again flowing as though nothing had happened there to change anyone’s life. One minute total devastation, the next nothing at all to show that lives had been ruined.

‘Emma?’

She turned to Andrews. ‘Sorry,’ she said, realising he was waiting for her attention. ‘Why was she there?’

He shook his head regretfully.

‘Did you find her flute?’ she asked, and felt vaguely surprised because this was the first time she’d thought of it.

He nodded.

‘The cars are being analysed,’ Will said, bringing them back on track. ‘What do you expect to find? I thought we knew how it happened. A drunk driver came speeding out of nowhere and slammed right into her.’

Flinching, Emma turned her head away. She couldn’t allow herself to imagine the violence of that impact, or feel it, and yet she never stopped seeing and feeling it.

Still watching her, Andrews said, ‘What we didn’t know straight away was why your daughter was parked at the side of the road and out of her car.’

Emma’s eyes came back to his.

‘When one of the investigation team tried to start the engine it didn’t respond,’ he informed her, ‘so the early indications are that she had broken down.’

‘Well, I think we’d managed to work that much out,’ Will said tightly. ‘Why the hell else would she be in the middle of nowhere and not in the car?’

‘Will, for heaven’s sake,’ Emma growled.

‘It’s all right,’ Andrews told her. ‘I know that seemed the obvious answer, but it had to be looked into. So, in the event that this case comes to trial ...’

Will’s eyes bulged with shock. ‘Well of course it’s going to bloody trial,’ he cried. ‘How can it not?’

‘If the driver pleads guilty ...’

‘It makes no difference what he pleads. He’s going to prison and the Lomax family are going to pay with every red cent they possess.’

‘The who?’ Emma asked, confused.

‘You haven’t seen the news,’ Will told her. ‘The kid who did this is Russell Lomax’s son. You’ll remember him from ...’

‘Yes, I know who he is,’ she interrupted, trying to think why she’d heard Russell Lomax’s name recently. It didn’t come to her, and it didn’t feel as though it mattered anyway.

‘If anyone thinks they’re going to get that kid out of what’s coming to him by insinuating my girl was at fault for being in the road ...’

‘I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ Andrews interrupted. ‘I can’t imagine anyone would try to blame Lauren for what happened.’

‘How could they when that kid was
drunk
, which means he had no goddamned business being on the road anyway. He was already committing an offence, while my girl was probably scared out of her wits ...’

‘Why didn’t she call?’ Emma mumbled, her heart breaking at the thought of Lauren stranded on an unlit road in the dead of night with a car she couldn’t make start.
And what had she been doing there?