Losing You (31 page)

We want you to be reading this very soon so you’ll know how special you are to us. Be brave, be strong. We’re playing three flute adagios in your honour in class today, Mrs Maddison
.

The inspirational music teacher who Lauren adored.

‘A damsel with a dulcimer, In a vision once I saw, It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played ... Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.’ Your mischievous recital of this had us all laughing with delight less than a week ago. We now hold that memory as preciously as we hold our hopes that you will be back amongst us very soon. Sleep lightly, be well, Philip Leesom
.

Emma had noticed that he’d sent an email to her too, as had several other teachers and the head, who’d written on Lauren’s Facebook page:

It’s always been such a delight having you at this school. Along with everyone else I’ve developed a deep and genuine fondness for you, Lauren. We’re all very proud to know you, and are very much looking forward to the day you’re able to return to us. Mr Gibbs
.

So many postings, plenty from friends she’d never heard of, perhaps strangers to Lauren too, but every one of them as tender and caring as the last. There were others that included anger towards ‘the monster who did this to you’ and a few even swore revenge. Emma felt fractured into so many pieces and each seemed to feel differently to the next – while one part of her raved with anger at the injustice of it all, another wanted to be gentle and at peace, thinking only of Lauren. There were others, huge parts of her, that struggled with a terrible fear of what the future might hold, while yet more fragments of her shattered self tried to control a consuming hatred of the boy who’d done this. Only in the last few hours had she seemed to start connecting with that, but like all the other broken pieces, after its moments of stark intensity it fell back soundlessly into the shadows.

The only mentions on Facebook about where Lauren had been on Saturday night had come from those wanting to know why she’d been in a strange place on her own when they’d thought she was clubbing with her mates in Bristol; or from others banally wondering where the actual road was. Maybe it wasn’t banal, though, because they might be wanting to travel all that way to put flowers on the spot.

Emma hoped they wouldn’t – it was a gesture she
associated with bereavement, and, thank God, they weren’t there yet.

They would never get there; she couldn’t allow it.

There wasn’t a single mention of the Osmonds, nor a message that might conceivably have been from them. Nor was there any word from Parker Jenkins. Did that mean anything? Maybe he’d sent an email instead.

‘Jackie Dennis is going to London this morning,’ Clive Andrews told her as they drove to the police station for her to give her DNA, with Berry in the back of the car. Harry and her mother had turned up at eight thirty, and were staying at the house while the police searched Lauren’s room for heaven only knew what, and took away whatever they needed. What kind of criminal activity did they think Lauren had been involved in? Emma couldn’t begin to imagine, and wouldn’t, because then she’d have to start facing the fact that her daughter wasn’t who she thought she was.

‘Jackie’s arranged to talk to both Osmonds,’ Andrews went on, ‘and the Jenkins boy, so maybe we’ll know more later.’

‘What about Donna?’ Emma asked. ‘Is she going to see her?’

‘I believe so. She’s definitely going to the school, and yours truly is going to have a chat with your friend’s daughter today, Melissa.’

Emma nodded and turned to look out of the window.

The session at the police station was over now, and Clive Andrews had just dropped Emma and Berry next to the hospital’s Accident Centre so they could walk through to the ICU.

‘I could wish this wasn’t quite such a gloomy place,’ Berry murmured as they went in through the North Entrance. A long, low-ceilinged corridor stretched out like endless arms either side of them, neon-lit and scuffed with age. Swing doors, some security-coded, some not, led to various wards and units; paintings and photographs lined the walls, and medical staff, porters, and administrators moved busily about their tasks.

‘It was used by the Americans during the war,’ Emma told her, standing aside as a mentally impaired young man loped awkwardly past them with a man who was probably a nurse.

‘Really? As some sort of barracks?’ Berry asked.

‘No, as a hospital.’ It seemed odd to be having this conversation, but it was OK too.

‘How do you know?’

‘I read it online during the night.’

‘Mm, I thought you were up. Did you manage to sleep at all?’

‘Yes, for a while.’

Berry said no more, simply linked Emma’s arm as they followed a couple of porters along the eternal walkway until they reached the waiting room outside Intensive Care.

‘I’ll just check to see if Will’s in here first,’ Emma said, pushing open the door.

To her surprise the room was crowded with strangers, some of them children – except she realised after a moment that they weren’t strangers, because the woman who was standing up awkwardly to greet her was Will’s wife, Jemima. The children must be Will’s other family.

‘Emma, I’m so sorry about what’s happened,’ Jemima said, seeming genuinely to mean it, which of course she would. She was even taller than Emma remembered, too tall, and as blonde as her Scandinavian origins could make her. Her sloe eyes looked tired, but no less arresting for that and even without make-up she could only be described as a beauty.

‘I didn’t know you were going to be here,’ Emma said, feeling uncomfortable and angry and wishing she was able to send them away.

Colouring slightly, Jemima said, ‘We came to ... Well, to see Lauren, obviously, and to lend Will some moral support. He’s taken this very hard. Of course, I’m sure you have too.’

Emma wondered what she was supposed to say to that. She knew what she’d like to say, but even if she had the nerve she never would in front of the children. They were watching her, all four of them with wide, worried eyes,
apparently picking up on the tension and not knowing what to do. The little boy was breathtaking, and the little girl was so similar to Lauren at that age, with her golden curls and brilliant golden eyes, that it made Emma’s heart ache. She could imagine three-year-old Chloe having a big crush on her glamorous stepsister. The twelve-year-old-twins were the image of each other, and must resemble their father since they were dark-haired and sallow-skinned, quite unlike their mother. One of them said, ‘Hello, I’m Cecile.’

‘Hello,’ Emma replied, impressed by her good manners. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ It wasn’t, but it was hardly the child’s fault this was happening.

‘And I’m Robin,’ the boy told her.

Emma gave him a smile.

‘Are you Lauren’s mum?’ Cecile asked.

‘Yes, I am. I’ve come to see her. Is Will in with her?’ she asked Jemima.

‘Yes, he’s been going in and out all night. I think they’re saying that we’ll have to start keeping to regular visiting hours from now on.’

Flinching at the ‘we’, and hating being told by Jemima that the rules were soon to be imposed, Emma turned to Berry. ‘I should go in now,’ she said. ‘Will you be all right out here?’

‘Actually, I’ll go and give Harry and your mother a call, find out what time they expect to get here.’

Saying no more to Jemima, Emma followed Berry out of the room, and after exchanging a wordless but eloquent look, they parted company. As Emma went to buzz for entry into the ward Will came out, so catching the door she made to move past him.

‘Emma,’ he said, stopping her.

‘I want to see Lauren,’ she told him.

‘The doctors are with her.’

Emma let the door go and lifted her eyes to his; tears were stinging them even as her blood boiled. ‘You could have told me Jemima was going to be here,’ she said tightly.

‘I’m sorry. I guess ...’

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit much for Lauren, having so many visitors during the night?’

‘The kids only went in once, and very quietly. Jem’s been in a couple of times, but just to say hello and tell her to get well. No one hassled her, or did anything to wear her out.’

Finding her throat too tight to say more, Emma put a hand to her mouth, pretending to stifle a cough. It was absurd, she knew, and she already hated herself for it, but for a brief moment she’d felt unable to bear the thought of Lauren coming round and seeing Jemima, and not her. All that mattered was that Lauren should wake up; it really didn’t matter who was there.

‘Apparently the orthopaedic surgeon’s doing his nut about not being able to operate on the leg yet,’ Will told her. ‘They’re going to pin it this morning.’

Emma tried to take it in. ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘If they’re doing that, they must think ... They must have decided it’s worth doing.’ No matter the kind of straw, small, strong, weak or even broken, just please keep giving her something to cling to.

‘That’s what I told myself,’ Will agreed.

Emma stood aside as a nurse came out of the ward.

‘You need to clear the way,’ the nurse told them. ‘We’re about to bring a patient through.’

‘Sorry,’ they apologised in unison, and because there was nowhere else to go, Emma found herself following Will back into the waiting room.

‘Are you OK?’ Jemima asked softly as soon as she saw Will. Little Dirk was on her lap now, while Chloe snuggled up against her. The big bad lady, Lauren’s mummy, must have scared them, Emma thought, because it looked as though they’d been crying.

‘I’m fine, just tired,’ he sighed. ‘How are you two?’ he asked the twins.

‘We’re OK,’ Cecile answered. ‘How’s Lauren? Can we see her again?’

‘Not now. The doctors are with her.’

‘Are they going to make her better?’ Chloe asked.

‘They’re trying to.’

‘I want her to wake up,’ she said, her chin starting to wobble.

‘I know, sweetheart,’ Jemima soothed. ‘We all do, but we have to be patient.’

Unable to be a part of this ‘other family’ scene, Emma said to Will, ‘Don’t forget the police want a sample of your DNA,’ and without saying goodbye to Jemima or the children she left the room.

She found Berry a few minutes later, in an open concourse between two red-brick wards. Taking her arm, she said, ‘The doctors are with Lauren, so let’s go and find a cup of tea.’

‘Did she have a good night?’ Berry asked, as they followed signs to a WRVS coffee shop.

‘I don’t know, with all that coming and going.’

Berry clucked her disapproval. ‘It was a very poor show, inviting Jemima and the children here without telling you,’ she commented. ‘What was he thinking?’

‘About himself, as usual, and them, I guess. They consider Lauren family, which of course she is, so the children were bound to be worried. Who knows, maybe hearing them has helped her in some way.’

‘Well that would certainly be welcome. I know Lauren’s very fond of them.’

Emma’s insides ached as she almost smiled. ‘She is of everyone,’ she reminded Berry, ‘but you’re right, they matter a lot to her. Will says they’re setting her leg this morning. And it seems we’re going to be told at some point that we have to start keeping to visiting hours.’

‘Which are?’

‘I don’t know yet. We’ll find out. What did Mum and Harry have to say?’

‘Apparently the police have taken Lauren’s computer, as we expected.’

Wishing she’d thought to go through it herself first, Emma asked, ‘Did they take anything else?’

‘Not that Harry mentioned. They were just leaving when I spoke to them, so they should be here in about an hour.’ Pushing open the coffee-shop door, Berry said, ‘Am I allowed to ask what happened between you and Mum last night?’

Feeling a pang of guilt flare up from her conscience,
Emma replied, ‘I was probably a bit shorter with her than I should have been.’

‘About?’

‘She said she wouldn’t mind if I’d rather have you or Harry stay with me than her. In other words, the last thing either of us wants is to be left on our own together, especially at such an emotional time.’

Joining the end of a short queue, Berry said, ‘I think you misread her at times, you know.’

Emma couldn’t stop herself bristling. ‘I think I read her far more clearly than she’d like, which is half the problem. Anyway, let’s please not talk about her. The day is off to a bad enough start as it is, thanks to Will, and the police, and having to be in this place. I haven’t even seen Lauren yet, which is making me feel awful.’

‘I know, but look at it this way, there could be some good news waiting for us when we get back to the ward.’

Emma caught the thread of optimism, dared to hold it for a moment, and smiled. ‘What will you have?’ she offered as they approached the counter.

A few minutes later, with a stainless-steel teapot and two white china mugs between them, they sat staring at the biscuits they’d chosen, seeming to have run out of words.

In the end, Emma said, ‘Am I imagining things, or did you say before we left the house that there’s something you want to tell me?’

Berry waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh that, it’s nothing,’ she answered, picking up her mug.

‘Come on, what is it?’ Emma coaxed.

‘No, really, it’s not relevant any more.’ She glanced out of the window and as her face seemed to fall, Emma turned to find out what was wrong.

‘Oh God,’ she murmured, her insides churning with all kinds of emotions as she saw Will walking by carrying his handsome little son with one arm, and the other arm around Jemima who was holding cute little Chloe. The twins were straggling on behind, and when the girl caught Emma’s eye she blushed to the roots of her hair. She must have called out to her mother, because the next instant Will and
Jemima were turning round. Spotting Emma and Berry, Will said something to his wife and came into the cafe, still carrying his son.

‘Hello Berry,’ he said, when he reached the table.

‘Hello Will,’ she replied.

‘How are you?’

‘Oh, you know. How are you?’