The Story of Us (53 page)

‘I'm so glad you're here, Daddy,' I sniffed, slipping back into the childish name without even realising I'd done so.

‘I'm so glad to see you awake again, my love. You can't believe the fright I got when I first came in and saw you like that – all wired up and everything. It brought back so many horrible memories.' I heard the catch in his voice. Of course, he must have been unable to stop thinking back to the night of the accident.

I could only imagine the anguish he must have gone through back then, as he'd sat for days on end beside a hospital bed just like this one. It was many months before he had ever revealed to me the true terror he had lived through while I lay unconscious and unresponsive. And even though the doctors had reassured him that I just needed time; that the emergency services had got me breathing again before the threat of brain damage; that I
would
make a full recovery; he must still have been fraught with anxiety until the moment I had first opened my eyes.

That was the moment of relief from his heartache and the beginning of mine. For I hadn't allowed him to put off giving me the dreadful news; had refused to wait until I was ‘
stronger
'. And truly, who was ever going to be strong enough to hear the news that your best friend had died, while saving your life?

The accident of five years ago was obviously as much in his mind again as it had been in mine.

‘Memories of the accident,' I said softly.

‘Accident?' he sounded puzzled. ‘No, love; memories of your poor mum.'

I was confused, he so rarely spoke of her. I suppose the thought of losing me had reawakened many painful recollections. I wasn't sure how to respond but was saved from the need by the sound of the door opening and several people entering the room.

‘Hello, doctor,' greeted my dad. It sounded as though he knew the man who had just entered my room, knew him quite well, in fact. For the first time I thought to ask the question:

‘How long have I been in here?'

‘A little over thirty-six hours, young lady,' replied the doctor, in a voice that I supposed was meant to be calming. I did
not
feel calm. As though in a game played against the clock, my mind frantically tried to fit together the jigsaw pieces of what had happened to me. Like an arc of electricity between two terminals, I suddenly remembered: the cemetery; the crippling headache; my sudden virtual blindness. I remembered it all.

I lifted the arm not encumbered with hospital paraphernalia to my bandaged head.

‘Have you had to operate on me, for the headaches? The blindness?'

A deeply amused chortle came from the doctor. How could there be any humour in what I'd just asked?

‘Bless you, Rachel, you're not blind.'

‘But I can't see!' I wailed.

Again that laughter; this time even Dad joined in.

‘That's because your eyes are covered with bandages. They sustained some minor scratches – you probably got those from the gravel chippings when you fell face down. You really did take a terrible old knock on your head.'

I turned my head in the direction of the nurse's voice. What the hell was she going on about? Clearly she either didn't see, or chose to ignore, the look on my face which clearly said she was an idiot, for she continued:

‘That's what Dr Tulloch is here for now, to take off the bandages and check out your sutures.'

‘But I
didn't
hit my head,' I insisted to anyone who would listen. I felt my dad once more take hold of my hand.

‘Hush now, Rachel, don't get yourself upset. Things are bound to be a little fuzzy to begin with.'

‘I think I'd remember if I hit my head,' I responded, more sharply than I intended. ‘It was the headache, you see,' I tried to explain. ‘It was absolutely excruciating.'

‘You have a headache now?' enquired the doctor, with keen attention.

‘Well no,' I replied, realising for the first time that although my head hurt, the pain was different from the splitting agony of the headaches I'd been experiencing. ‘It just feels kind of sore…'

‘I'm sure it does. It will settle down in a day or so. As the nurse said, it really was a nasty fall.'

I would have protested further but I was aware of hands reaching behind my head and beginning to release me from the swaddling bandages. With each rotation the pressure against my head lessened and my anxiety increased. When finally relieved from my mummy-like accessories, disappointment coursed through me.

‘I still can't see anything. I'm still blind!'

The doctor's voice had a slightly more impatient edge. Clearly he now had me pigeon-holed as a major drama queen.

‘Just let me remove the gauze first before you go off and get a white stick, young lady. Nurse, if you please, the blinds.'

Deciding I didn't like the man, however much my father might disagree, I nevertheless turned my face towards his voice and allowed him to lift first one then the other circular coverings from my eyelids. I blinked for the first time, enjoying the unfettered freedom of the movement. The room had been darkened by the lowering of the blinds but enough daylight fell through the half-shut venetians for me to make out the vague shapes of four people around my bed: the doctor, a white-coated young man standing beside him, the nurse and, on the other side of the bed, my dad.

‘I can see shapes,' I declared, my voice a strange mixture of joy and disbelief. ‘It's cloudy but—'

‘Give it a moment. Nurse, a little more light now, I believe.'

She obliged by a further twist on the corded blinds. Suddenly things began to clear and I saw the white-haired senior doctor, the young bespectacled intern, the middle-aged nurse. I began to smile broadly, a reaction they all mirrored.

I turned to my dad, my grin wide, and then froze, the look on my face unreadable.

‘Rachel, what's wrong? Doctor! Doctor what's the matter?'

The consultant was beside me in an instant, flashing a small torch in my eyes, checking my reactions, but I fought against him to look again at my dad.

‘Rachel, can you tell me what's wrong?' urged the doctor. ‘Are you in pain, is your vision disturbed in any way?'

Disturbed? Well yes, I should say. But not in any way that he meant.

‘No, I can see all right. Everything's clear now.'

‘Then what's wrong?'

‘It's my dad.'

‘Me?' My father sounded totally confused. Well, join the club. I forced myself to look at him slowly and with greater concentration then. But what I saw made no sense. The doctor's voice had adopted a tone I guessed he usually reserved for those with mental illnesses.

‘What about your father?'

I couldn't find my voice.

‘Rachel honey, you're scaring me. Can't you just tell us what's the matter?'

‘Is there something wrong with your father, Rachel?'

I turned to the doctor to reply to his question and then back at my only parent. My newly empowered eyesight took in his plump cheeks, his bright eyes – albeit clouded now in concern – the small paunch he was always planning on joining a gym to lose. There was no sign of the haggard, prematurely aged, cancer-raddled man I had last seen three weeks ago.

‘No! That's what's the matter. There's nothing wrong with him at all!'

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The novel opens with Emma stating that she believed she was in love with two men at the same time. Do you feel that was true? Is it even possible?

Whose act of betrayal is worse, Richard's or Amy's?

If the accident had never happened, do you think Emma would or should have been able to forgive Richard and become his wife?

Was there any one act of Richard's throughout the novel that changed your perception of him?

Emma and Jack have both been badly betrayed by people they loved. How much do you feel this contributes to the intensity and strength of their relationship?

What do Jack and Richard represent in terms of Emma's future? Did you find yourself rooting for one man more than the other? If so, why?

I have come to realise there is a lot you can learn about writing acknowledgments for a book by watching awards acceptance speeches. What you don't want to do is to forget someone important. And what you really don't want to do is to ramble on thanking every single person who has ever crossed your path since you left school. And crying, like an emotional idiot. You don't want to do that either (so embarrassing). So with dry eyes but an enormous smile of gratitude I would like to thank the following people:

My wonderful agent Kate Burke from Diane Banks Associates, who is my ambassador, travel guide, passport and visa in this strange new country I am visiting.

For my brilliant editor Laura Palmer and the astounding team at Head of Zeus for the hundreds of things that are done behind the scenes, which allow me to claim all the glory (so unfair!)

For all my amazing friends who stood by and proudly applauded and have shared the excitement with me over the last twelve months, with a special nod to Debbie, Kim, Sheila, Janet, Gillian, Christine and Hazel.

Thank you and a sad farewell to two old and trusted friends. You were there when I wrote this, heard me practise the dialogue out loud, and never once laughed at the plot, criticised, or stopped purring. Minty and Chip, I miss you both.

When I look down and see how far I have come, I know I wouldn't be here at all without the love and support of three amazing people: Ralph, Kimberley and Luke. You are my story, and I wouldn't re-write a single word.

Emma Marshall can't wait to marry her childhood sweetheart, Richard. But then a tragic accident changes everything – and introduces a stranger, Jack, into her life.

Gorgeous and mysterious, Jack is like no-one Emma has met before.

But Richard is the man she loves…

Two different men.

Two different destinies.

How will Emma end her story?

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