The Sweetest Thing (43 page)

‘Give me two minutes,’ Guy decides. ‘I’ll let these ladies out and then we’ll go and find Adam.’

‘What about the other cows?’ I say.

‘They’ll keep. Their milk won’t go off.’ Guy smiles briefly, and I realise he’s concerned about Adam too. ‘We’ll start with your property. Have you checked that barn of yours?’

‘No,’ I say.

‘You three go ahead. I’ll catch you up.’

Guy is as good as his word. He joins us as we’re finished in the barn and rechecking the house in case Adam and Lucky should have strolled back in while we were out. They haven’t.

‘Why don’t you wait indoors with the girls, Jennie, in case Adam rings on the land line?’ Guy places his lantern on the ground while he pulls on his coat over his overalls. His breath is misty grey as it hits the air.

‘I can’t.’ I won’t rest until I find my son. I look up towards the stars, cold and metallic in the sky, and the jagged black limbs of the trees. My chest hurts. My throat is raw. I don’t know which way to go, where to start, but Guy heads straight through the paddock and into the copse.

‘Adam often talks about the den he and Josh built when he stayed that time.’

‘He’s never mentioned it to me.’

‘He does a lot of talking when he’s working with me … when he used to work with me,’ Guy says, and I envy him his closeness to my son.

‘Adam! Lucky!’ I yell as Guy moves away, beating a path through the undergrowth while the girls and I remain on the narrow track that divides the copse in two.

Suddenly, I’m answered by a bark close by and my heart lifts slightly.

‘Lucky?’

The dog comes flying up into the beam of my torch, then darts back into the darkness.

‘Lucky, come back! Here, boy,’ I say desperately, and he trots back, panting and whining, before spinning away once more.

‘Guy,’ I call. ‘This way.’

‘We’ve found Lucky,’ Georgia shouts, and within a heartbeat Guy is back by my side.

‘Which way?’

I point my torch towards the pond.

‘Adam! Adam!’ I strain to listen, but there is no answering cry.

‘Adam!’ the girls join in.

Guy forges ahead, first to reach the pond, a glistening expanse of sheet ice, black and silver under the crescent moon. I see his figure in silhouette.

‘Where’s the dog?’ Guy calls out.

‘Over there, on the other side.’ I can just make out something moving back and forth, and as I step forward to get a better look, I see the cracks in the silvered surface of the pond, the dark defect in its centre and the shape slumped alongside it. My heart lurches. Adam … ‘Stay there!’ I tell the girls. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’ Sophie’s voice is faint behind me as I break through the lines of withered rushes at the edge, and take a step – crack – on to the ice at the same time as Guy grabs my arm and pulls me back, swearing.

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, Jennie. Get your phone out and dial 999. Now!’

‘I’m doing it,’ Georgia cuts in sharply. Then, ‘Ambulance, please.’

I make to take the mobile from her, but she steps clear and keeps talking, and I’m keeping half an eye on Georgia and half on Guy who skirts the edge of the pond, then throws his coat over the ice before lying across it, gingerly testing his weight. There’s an ominous crack as he stretches out one arm until his fingertips are centimetres away from the shape on the ice.

Is he … is he alive?

Guy edges closer. His fingers touch the body, take a grip on his jacket, then very slowly he wriggles back on his belly, dragging Adam towards the bank where Lucky is whining.

There’s another crack, like a gunshot.

‘Oh, Guy. Please be careful,’ I murmur, aware that both of them – my beloved son and darling Guy – are a hair’s breadth from falling through into the freezing black water.

‘Mum, Mum!’ Georgia is tugging at my coat. ‘We’ve got to go and put the lights on in the yard for the ambulance.’

I hesitate, unable to bear the thought of walking away.

‘Mum, me and Sophie will go,’ says Georgia.

‘The torch,’ I say, thrusting it towards her.

‘You can keep it – I’ve got the light on my mobile.’

I keep my eyes fixed on Guy. He’s almost back at the bank. There’s another crack, but this time they’ve made it. Taking off my coat, I scramble round to join them.

‘Here,’ I say, but Guy has already wrapped Adam’s inert body in his coat. He has his face close to Adam’s and his fingers against Adam’s neck. My son’s skin is taut across his cheekbones, pale and blotchy, his teenage spots a purplish-blue in the moonlight.

‘Is he …?’ I sink down to my knees and reach for his hand. It’s cold and limp. ‘Adam?’

‘He’s breathing, and I can find a pulse, but it’s slow,’ Guy says.

‘Adam, can you hear me?’ I say, frantically squeezing his hand.

‘I’m not sure that he can,’ Guy says softly. ‘Come on, Adam,’ he goes on, ‘let’s get you back to the house.’

I’m wondering exactly how we’re going to manage that when Guy slides his arms underneath Adam’s, hoists him up and carries him over one shoulder, marching steadily a couple of paces ahead of me. Lucky follows at Guy’s heels, unwilling to let his
master out of his sight. I feel as if I’m trudging through a nightmare over which I have no control.

There are so many questions. What was Adam doing on the ice? How many times have I told him of the dangers? But all I can concentrate on now is willing my son to survive, to hang on in there, because I have to explain to him that, no matter how bad it seems, life is always worth living.

My stomach churns. Sick and scared, I jog to keep up with Guy’s long strides until we reach the paddock where Georgia has left the gate open and head towards the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle waiting in the yard.

Within half a minute Adam is on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance, and I’m standing with my arms around the girls, and Guy’s arms around me, watching and waiting and hoping, and maybe in Sophie’s case praying.

‘All right, Mum, you’re coming with us,’ says one of the paramedics.

I glance towards Guy.

‘Go on,’ he says. ‘I’ll look after the girls. Keep in touch.’

‘Thank you,’ I say through a veil of tears, but how can I ever properly thank Guy for what he’s done, risking his life for my son? ‘Will you call David for me?’ I show him the number still on my phone – one of the many links that I wanted to delete, but couldn’t because of the children.

In the ambulance the paramedics, a man and a woman, strip off Adam’s wet clothes, peeling them away from his stiffly held arms and legs, before they wrap him in blankets then cover him in aluminium foil. One constantly checks his temperature; the other
sets up a drip into a vein in his hand and an oxygen mask over his face, hiding the blue tinge on his lips. They stick electrodes to his chest and attach him to a heart monitor. All the time they’re talking to Adam, to me and to each other, and I can only register half of what they’re saying.

Adam is no longer shivering. His core temperature is 33 degrees, four degrees below normal. He’s unconscious and his pulse is weak and irregular, not a good sign. His breathing is shallow, his condition critical.

‘Oh, Adam …’ I murmur. ‘Please hold on …’

‘All right, Jennie,’ the female paramedic says, ‘we’re going to get your boy to hospital now.’

I realise on the journey that I’ve been trying to do too much. I’ve neglected him. I did listen to him, but I didn’t act on what I heard. Now my son hovers between life and death, and it’s my fault. I’m not fit to be a mother. I’ve been selfish, living out my dream. I wanted to prove myself after the divorce, but all I’ve proved is that I’m completely useless.

I gaze at my son’s form, half hidden under the silvery foil.

Hang on in there, Adam. I stifle a sob. Stay with us. Please, don’t die …

A few hours later – I’ve lost track of time – I’m still at Adam’s side. He’s been lucky. He’s out of danger although he’s confused, drifting in and out of sleep.

‘Mum,’ he says, reaching out wildly with his hand. ‘Mum …’

‘It’s all right.’ I take his hand, but he wrenches it away. ‘I’m here, love.’

What was he doing at the pond? How many times have I warned him about walking on ice? I wonder if David would have got through to him – if I’d given him a chance. Did he imagine he could skate on it, like he used to skate at the local rink a bus ride away from our old house? Did he do it out of curiosity? Or for the thrill? I try not to think of the other option, but it keeps popping up in my mind. Have I really made his life so miserable that he felt he had to end it? Or didn’t he mean it to go as far as it did? Was it a cry for help?

‘Oh,’ he groans, ‘I’ve got such a headache.’ He looks exhausted, his eyes large and luminous in his face. The
colour of his skin looks healthier though, compared with the stark white sheets.

‘I’ll find the nurse to see if you can have some painkillers.’

‘Don’t fuss,’ he mutters. ‘I’m so tired … and cold …’

‘Shhh,’ I say. ‘Don’t wear yourself out talking.’ There’ll be plenty of time for talking later. I can smell alcohol on his breath and my relief that he’s going to be all right is tinged with shame.

‘I knew something like this would happen.’ David’s eyes are dark with anxiety. I’ve been dreading his arrival. He stands at Adam’s bedside, having pushed me aside, and gazes at our son.

‘He’s sleeping,’ I say, my body taut, awaiting the avalanche of anger and blame. ‘He’s been talking, and he’s going to be all right. No lasting damage.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’

I turn at the sound of a voice that is only vaguely familiar to me.

‘Hello, Alice,’ I say. I’ve met her a few times now – she’s as I expected she would be, tall, blonde and not so much glamorous as so very young. Her pregnancy doesn’t show yet under her pink angora sweater.

‘It’s no thanks to you, Jennie,’ David says, turning to me.

‘David!’ Alice’s hand flies to his arm. ‘This isn’t the place, is it, darling?’

He leans over Adam, cupping his cheek. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, son,’ he murmurs, and tears spring to my eyes.

‘You can talk outside,’ Alice says. ‘There’s a room back along the corridor. I’ll stay with Adam. Go on. Go and get a coffee or something.’

David buys two coffees at the machine and hands one to me.

‘What about Alice?’

‘She’s off coffee – she’ll choose what she fancies later.’ David leans back against the wall. ‘Now tell me what happened.’

‘Adam’s being treated for hypothermia. I don’t know how, but he ended up on the pond. Guy dragged him off the ice.’

‘I should have known he’d be around,’ David says. ‘Your hanger-on.’

‘Guy saved Adam’s life – at great risk to himself,’ I point out, angry with David for making ridiculous assumptions about my relationship with Guy. My nonexistent relationship, I realise. Yet when I called him for help, he came without question.

David swears. ‘What was he doing there anyway, Jennie? Where were you that you didn’t stop him?’

‘Adam wasn’t in a great mood this morning when I went out with the girls and the pony. When I came back, he was missing. David, you can’t blame me for this. How many times have I told him not to walk on ice or mess around near water? I can’t be a full-time babysitter to him. He hates me anyway.’

‘It’s the kind of thing I’d have done at his age,’ David says. ‘It would have been a dare, a test of nerve.’

‘No one dared him to do anything. He was on his own.’ I pause, debating whether or not to mention the theory that has been plaguing me ever since we found Adam at the pond. ‘I’m not sure it was an accident, David. When we found him, he’d been drinking.’

‘You mean he was trying to—’

‘No, not that,’ I cut in. ‘I think he was feeling down in the dumps …’

‘It sounds like it was a bit more than that,’ David interrupts.

‘He was feeling depressed then, I don’t know. He doesn’t let me in, doesn’t allow me access to his innermost thoughts. I think he had a bit to drink and decided to take Lucky for a walk. He ended up at the pond and hung around there for a while. And then, whatever dark thought crossed his mind, it made him decide to walk across the ice. It was a fatalistic impulse. In that instant, he didn’t care whether he lived or …’ I can’t say it.

‘He’s never given me the impression that things were that bad,’ David begins thoughtfully.

‘I should have known. I’m his mum. He lives with me. I should have picked up on it.’

But I was so busy sorting out the new house, baking cakes and mooning over Guy, that, although I realised how miserable Adam was, I didn’t take it as seriously as I should have done.

David surprises me.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Jennie. It’s as much my fault as yours … probably more so. I let him down, breaking my promise that he could come and live with me and Alice.’

‘It’s done now though,’ I point out.