Losing You (29 page)

‘I’m dreading going home without her,’ she confessed shakily.

‘Of course,’ he said gently, ‘but someone’s there to meet you, so you won’t be alone.’

She nodded. ‘Both grandmothers and my brother,’ she said, as though he didn’t already know that. ‘Polly might be there too.’

Realising how crowded the small house would probably feel, and yet empty without Lauren, she started to wonder if it was where she really wanted to go, but where else was there, apart from back to Lauren? She felt a bite of panic at the thought of what Will might be saying to her. She couldn’t bear the idea that he was even considering letting her go. If God had meant her to die, He’d have taken her at the scene of the accident, so He obviously wasn’t ready for her yet. And if He’d let her live just so they could say goodbye, why allow her to survive both operations? She wasn’t meant to leave them now. She was going to get through this, no matter how long it took. Emma knew that in her heart as surely as she knew that Lauren was hers. So why didn’t Will?

Should she tell Andrews to turn round? She oughtn’t to have left Lauren alone with her father, not while he was thinking this way. ‘I need to call Will,’ she said, taking out her mobile.

Before she could find his number the phone rang, and seeing Will’s name come up her heart turned inside out with fear. ‘What is it?’ she gasped, already shaking as she clicked on. ‘Has something happened? Is she all right?’

‘Everything’s the same,’ he told her, ‘I just wanted to say sorry about the stupid things I said before you left. You’re right, she’s definitely going to make it, we’ve just got to let her do it in her own time.’

As tears scalded her eyes Emma said, ‘I don’t think it’ll be long now, I really don’t.’

‘I hope not,’ he whispered. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to say that so you wouldn’t worry. I’d best get back there now, we’re in the middle of a story.’

‘Which one?’

‘
Pooh Goes Visiting and Pooh and Piglet Nearly Catch a Woozle
.’

Laughing through a sob, Emma said, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve memorised it.’

‘No, I went out to buy it earlier. She always loved Pooh the most when she was little, so I thought I’d start with that and later we might move on to Brer Rabbit, if I can find him, or perhaps some Aesop’s Fables.’

Knowing he’d selected the favourites from his own childhood, which indeed he’d shared with Lauren during hers, Emma said, ‘She’s still got her own copies, somewhere. I’ll look them out if you like, and bring them in.’

‘That’d be good, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

‘OK, send her my love, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

After ringing off, Emma sat holding the phone, staring down at it as though the past was captured right there, showing her younger self standing at Lauren’s bedroom door listening to Will reading her stories, and smiling proudly every time Lauren joined in with the words, or asked what something meant, or giggled at the naughtiness of one of the baddies.

Will had always been a champion reader of stories.

‘Again, again,’ Lauren would cry every time he tried to finish.

‘It’s time for you to go to sleep,’ he’d tell her.

‘But I’m not tired and Pooh really wants me to help him find some honey.’ Or, ‘Please can we have some more of
What Katy Did
?’ Or, ‘I promise I will go fast asleep the very minute you finish reading
Gulliver’s Travels
.’

How Emma had laughed to herself at that, the cunning little minx.

‘But that’ll take me all night,’ Will had protested.

‘I know,’ she’d grinned and then yelped with laughter as Will tickled her and reached for another book.

He’d never been able to say no to her; the discipline had been left to Emma, not that Lauren had ever needed much, but there had been times when she’d had to be reminded of her manners, or sent to bed early for being cheeky, or grounded for clobbering another girl with her recorder, aged nine. There had been plenty of instances over the years when Emma had had to take a firm hand, but never once had it been for lying. In fact, she couldn’t think of a single occasion when she’d doubted Lauren’s honesty, which had to be why learning of Saturday night’s deception was proving so hard to take.

Who on earth were the Osmonds, who were claiming no knowledge of Lauren? How did she know them? What kind of role were they playing in her life?

‘Here we are,’ Andrews announced, pulling up outside the house and turning off the engine.

Emma couldn’t move, could barely even catch her breath as she sat staring at all the flowers, cards, soft toys, attached to the railings either side of her gate. She hadn’t been prepared for this, it hadn’t even occurred to her that it might happen and she could feel herself starting to panic. This was a scene from TV or the newspapers, something that happened to other people, not to them. They’d become the targets of publicity, curiosity, pity, victims of a crime, a family in the grip of a tragedy. She thought fleetingly of how much worse it must be for the parents whose children had been stolen or murdered, but Lauren was so close to death that at any moment she could become one of them.

It wasn’t going to happen. She simply wouldn’t let it.

Getting out of the car, Andrews came round to open the passenger door and gave her a hand to step out.

‘Is it awful to wish someone would take it all away?’ Emma whispered.

‘No, of course not.’

‘It would hurt people’s feelings though, and Lauren would never want that.’

‘Emma,’ Harry said, coming out of the door to greet her.

Seeing her brother heightened her emotions, but she was glad he was there. The strength of his arms enfolding her and the love she knew he had for Lauren were what she needed right now. What she needed most of all, however, was a call from Will telling her that Lauren had come round. That wasn’t going to happen, though, while they still had her sedated.

The next big fear would be when they withdrew the sedation. Would she wake up, or would she ...?’

She couldn’t think about it now.

‘Thanks for bringing her,’ Harry was saying to Andrews. ‘Will you come in?’

‘No, it’s OK,’ Andrews replied. ‘I just need to remind you,’ he said to Emma, ‘to drop into the station on the way to the hospital tomorrow so they can take a sample of your DNA.’

Emma nodded. ‘Which station?’ she asked.

‘I’ll write it down. Actually, better still, I’ll pick you up at nine and take you there myself.’

As he returned to his car, Emma told Harry, ‘He’s being so kind. I don’t know what we’d do without him, but at the same time I wish we’d never met him.’

‘Come on, my sweetheart,’ Berry said, appearing at the door. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. Mum’s putting the kettle on and it’s nice and warm inside.’

Emma had been home for almost an hour now, drinking tea, trying to make conversation, but her mind couldn’t settle on what anyone was saying, or even on what she was thinking. Everything was feeling wrong about being here, from the affection and attentiveness of her family, who might as well have been strangers, to what seemed a curious, cold-hearted lack of change in the fabric of the place. Yet what did she expect, that the windows would be smashed, the furniture ripped and doors torn off? A physical manifestation of the grief and dread it was now harbouring in its shell? How could it, or anyone, or anything remain impervious to what was happening? What kind of world just carried on turning as though it had done nothing to shatter dreams or lives, to break
hearts and devastate the brilliance of a young girl’s future?

That wouldn’t happen. Somehow Lauren would get back on track and everything would be the same again. They just needed to have faith.

Time had lost all meaning. Her efforts to try and stay positive had begun faltering the moment she’d come through the door; now they seemed to have vanished altogether. She knew that fatigue was blackening her thoughts and stealing her strength, but knowing it did nothing to fight it. A week, a month, even a year could have passed since Clive Andrews had first come here; now nothing would go back together the way it should, and probably never would again.

Everyone – Berry, her mother, Harry – was talking in whispers and moving carefully around her, as though the normal tone of a voice or unexpected touch of an arm might startle her and make her take flight. She was torn between resentment and gratitude, wanting them here, but wishing they would go, as if their absence could somehow undo what had been done. She could feel her mother’s eyes watching her, and Berry’s kindness softening the tension between them that might not even be there. Harry was mostly silent, unable to express his feelings, but showing them in the shadows around his eyes and taut paleness of his skin. These three people, whom she loved in different, and – in her mother’s case – problematic, ways, were the core of her family. They were who she’d have left if Lauren didn’t come home.

Getting abruptly up from her chair, she said, ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

‘Let me run it for you,’ Berry said, getting up too.

‘No, really there’s no need.’

‘You should try to eat something,’ her mother said, turning from the window where she’d been staring out at the night, watching planes going over, or perhaps sending silent messages to Lauren via the stars.

Emma didn’t bother to say she wasn’t hungry, her mother would know without being told.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Harry offered.

‘It’s OK, I can manage,’ she replied.

They were treating her like an invalid and she didn’t blame them, because she felt like one, but she didn’t want it to become about her when the only one who mattered was Lauren.

Understanding that taking care of her was the only way they had of taking care of Lauren, she told herself to accept their concern, and allow them to help her, just not tonight. She needed to be alone now to try to lose herself in the oblivion of sleep, with a phone next to her pillow in case Will rang.

Half an hour later, after showering and washing her hair, she was standing in the doorway of Lauren’s room staring at all the things that made it Lauren’s: the guitar in its case; the electronic keyboard, piles of sheet music, jeans and belt abandoned across the back of a chair; trainers askew and unlaced in the middle of a rug; the muddle of make-up, hair clips and brushes on the dressing table; the wardrobe with clothes hanging from the doors; the boxes of books and posters yet to be unpacked; the bag she’d brought home with her on Saturday when she’d seemed so full of excitement and ready to conquer the world.

What had she been hiding in her mind then? What kind of secrets had made her eyes glow so brightly and her laughter bubble up as pure as a spring? How did she know the Osmonds? What promises or temptations had they put her way to make her so joyous and dress the way she had to go out?

Why were they saying they didn’t know her when they surely must?

Why had she taken her flute?

Hearing someone coming up the stairs, she dragged her hands through her wet hair and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

‘I wasn’t sure whether to tidy it up or leave it as it is,’ her mother said, coming into the room.

Staring absently at the small desk where Lauren’s laptop and schoolbooks were piled, Emma replied, ‘You made the
right decision.’ This way it was ready for Lauren to step back into, just as she would have on Saturday had the Osmonds not tempted her to Glastonbury, and the Lomax boy hadn’t got drunk and with the arrogance of young men of his age and background thought he could get away with driving his car.

Will was right, Oliver Lomax had to pay for what he’d done.

‘There’s obviously not enough room for us all to stay here tonight,’ her mother said, ‘so Harry has booked a couple of rooms at the pub. We thought you should decide who you wanted to stay with you.’

Feeling a wave of resentment creeping over her, Emma buried her face in her hands. Why should she have to choose between them, decide whose feelings she was going to hurt, when they were perfectly capable of sorting it out themselves?

‘I’ll understand if you want it to be Berry or Harry,’ her mother said.

Emma’s head came up. ‘Just as long as it’s not you? Is that what you’re saying?’

Phyllis’s face paled.

‘It would be far too awkward for you to deal with me on your own while I’m in an emotional state, wouldn’t it?’ Emma accused, getting to her feet. ‘Well, don’t worry, I’m not asking you to.’

‘Emma, you misunderstood,’ Phyllis began as Emma brushed past her.

‘No I didn’t. I know how you feel about me, I’ve always known, so please don’t let’s start pretending now.’ As she opened her bedroom door she turned back. ‘I don’t mind who stays, Harry or Berry, tell them they can decide between them,’ and closing the door behind her she fell back against it, letting herself sink helplessly to the floor. Never before in her life had she felt this wretched, and being horrible to her mother had just made it a hundred times worse, in spite of the fact that Phyllis probably couldn’t give a damn anyway. She was only here out of duty; it had nothing to do with love or support or sympathy,
at least not for her own daughter. Where her granddaughter was concerned it was a different story, because there had never been any doubt about how much Phyllis loved Lauren.

Chapter Sixteen

IT WAS BARELY
six thirty in the morning, but Oliver was already awake when his mobile rang and seeing it was Charlie he decided to click on. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have bothered.

‘Were you asleep?’ Charlie asked.

‘No. What are you doing up so early?’

‘I’ve got my exams today, remember? I thought I’d do some last-minute revising.’

‘You won’t have a problem. You never do.’

‘Says you. Anyway, are you OK?’

‘Sure, why wouldn’t I be?’ Oliver replied, getting out of bed. He was wearing plaid boxers and an old T-shirt that stretched across his chest showing, if he’d cared to look in a mirror, how muscular he was. Mirrors had no interest for him now; all he saw when he looked in one was the ugly face of guilt, a no-hoper staring back at him.