Olivia handed her a coffee. ‘Ups and downs. The kittens help.’
‘Your idea?’
Olivia nodded. She put a milk jug and sugar bowl on the table.
‘Look,’ said Alicia, ‘I know you and I haven’t been the best of friends, but I do admire what you’re doing for Martin and the girls. And I think Ruth would be grateful to have someone looking after them.’
Was Alicia’s overture genuine or was it influenced by a perceived rise in Olivia’s stock? She did, after all, have the trust and confidence of the headmaster, and a central role within the Rutherford household. Cynicism didn’t come naturally to Olivia, though, and neither did second-guessing people’s motives. Frankly, she was too emotionally drained to care and gave Alicia the benefit of the doubt.
‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ said Olivia.
‘How long are you planning to stay?’
‘As long as Martin needs me, I suppose.’
‘How is he?’
Before Olivia could answer Martin appeared in the doorway. ‘Alicia,’ he said, ‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve just had a call from Leo Sheridan – Edward and Freddie have had another scrap, I’m afraid.’
The women looked at each other, exasperated. ‘Those boys of ours,’ said Alicia, rolling her eyes.
‘It seems Edward has been hurt. I don’t know the details, except that Leo has called an ambulance.’
Olivia’s heart punched hard against her chest. ‘An ambulance? Why? What’s happened?’
She was on her feet now, a jumble of worst-case scenarios bursting in her head. Alicia put down her cup and stood up too, taking Olivia’s arm in an attempt to calm her – I’m sure it’s nothing: a precaution – but Olivia wouldn’t be calmed.
‘Is it serious?’ she asked Martin.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know any more than—’
Olivia was out of the front door before he finished the sentence.
*
Later, when Olivia tried to piece it together, her recollection was masked by an amnesic blur that Leo said was shock. She had a vague sense of sprinting along the drive, of the school becoming bigger as she got closer, of it being spectacularly cold but not feeling cold, even though she had run out of the house without her coat.
Lisa Pearce was waiting at the main entrance and led her by the arm to the boys’ changing room. Leo was there, and Harriet, both of them kneeling over a still and silent Edward. Olivia remembered asking what had happened and crying too hard to make sense of the answer. Leo gave her a handkerchief and explained Edward had hit his head against the corner of the sink. That was when she saw the blood. Her legs seemed to liquefy but Leo grabbed her before they buckled.
Bizarrely, a picture of a fainting couch came to mind, together with threadbare flashbacks to a book-club discussion about why Victorian women were of such frail and nervous disposition they required a specially designed piece of furniture on which to pass out. None of the book-club women had ever passed out. Yet here was Olivia, dizzy, weak-legged and weeping, being guided not to a fainting couch, but to a hard wooden bench. And all she could do was look on helplessly as Harriet shone a light in Edward’s unseeing eyes.
Leo noticed Olivia was shivering and put his jacket around her shoulders. When Alicia arrived a minute or two behind Olivia, she wanted to know where Freddie was, but then looked down and saw Edward. Her audible gasp didn’t bolster Olivia’s confidence that everything would be all right, which was what Harriet and Leo kept insisting. Leo stepped in and said Freddie had been sent to Peter Havant, who was standing in for Martin. Alicia seemed unsure whether or not to stay, but then sat down next to Olivia and told her how sorry she was. Olivia distinctly remembered saying it was as if the place was cursed. I knew something bad would happen. First Freddie and now Edward.
When she kneeled down by Edward and rested her cheek on his chest, Leo gently moved her away and said Harriet needed to monitor him. ‘Why don’t you phone Geoffrey,’ Leo said, probably thinking it would be better if she had something to do. She couldn’t get a signal, so Alicia offered her phone along with a small pack of Kleenex from her bag. Olivia blew her nose and made an effort to compose herself as she dialled Geoffrey’s number. Voicemail. Edward was awfully still, his face bled of colour. So much for composure. The message she left was a sobbing plea to call her. A patch of Edward’s golden hair wasn’t golden any more.
Two paramedics arrived, both of them worryingly young. Leo held Olivia back so she wouldn’t get in the way. Edward was strapped on to a stretcher, an oxygen mask placed over his mouth. Alicia led her to the ambulance because she was blinded by a sluice of tears. The shrill scream of sirens confirmed it was urgent, an emergency, a matter of life and death. They could ignore speed limits and red lights. Olivia held on as they bumped and swerved, imploring her beautiful boy not to die.
*
The family room consisted of functional Ikea-style furniture, framed botanical prints, a window on to the corridor, a slatted wooden blind. In the far corner a water cooler gurgled. Lifestyle magazines lay in small piles on a low table.
This was where people waited to be told if the people they loved would live, die, or linger somewhere between the two. ‘Life-changing injuries’ was an expression newsreaders had begun to use. It conjured up terrible scenarios – tapped into the most fundamental of fears: blindness, paralysis, amputation, scarring. You would give anything for your loved one to be spared – make all sorts of bargains with God. Olivia now understood why people prayed. Not because they believed they had a direct line to the Almighty, or that they could telepathically commune with an omniscient being. They prayed because it was meditative, repetitive, an antidote to the horror film exploding in your head. And it felt as though you were at least doing something.
The woman said her name was Trish and she was the family liaison person. Is there anyone you’d like me to call? Right on cue Geoffrey rushed in, breathless and panic-stricken. He threw his arms round Olivia, their marital problems overshadowed and irrelevant. She needed him and he was there. When she pressed her face against his shoulder, she didn’t understand why he smelled of cigarettes.
Trish explained what had happened in the manner of an adult speaking to a child. Edward was being assessed by the medical staff and a doctor would be along shortly to let them know what was happening. The only question they asked was the one she couldn’t answer: will he be OK? She left them alone, promising she would be back as soon as she had news.
It was an hour and eleven minutes before she came back. Olivia watched the hands of the wall clock move. A doctor was with her, still in his scrubs. The blow to Edward’s head had caused a deep cut, a hairline fracture of the skull and some swelling to the brain. An operation to relieve the pressure caused by that swelling had gone well. The cut needed eight stiches. He was in intensive care but they could sit with him. Don’t be alarmed by the tubes and machines. He was sedated and being monitored – standard procedure with an injury of this kind. All being well they would wake him tomorrow.
‘And then?’ said Geoffrey.
‘And then we’ll know more,’ said the doctor.
The intensive care unit was brightly lit and eerily quiet except for the steady bleep of machines. Edward had a bandage on his head, a breathing tube in his mouth, a drip in his arm, a little clamp on the index finger of his right hand. Olivia held his left hand and talked to him in a soft, soothing tone. ‘Mummy and Daddy are here. There’s nothing to be frightened about. You’re going to be fine. Get some rest now, darling.’
Rowena arrived and was moved to tears by the sight of Edward hooked up to all the medical paraphernalia. It was her hospital visiting day and she had been in another wing when Geoffrey called her. The nurse told them she was sorry but only two visitors were allowed. Olivia needed to pee so said Geoffrey and Rowena could sit with him while she took a quick break. Her head was throbbing and she scooped up Geoffrey’s Barbour in case she stepped outside for some air.
The toilets were reassuringly spotless. You heard such dreadful stories about hygiene in hospitals. She was walking through the maze of corridors when she saw Alicia coming towards her.
‘I brought these for you,’ she said, holding Olivia’s full-length shearling and shoulder bag. ‘How is he?’ Alicia had screwed up her face as though it was a question she was almost too frightened to ask.
‘He’s had surgery. The doctor said it went well.’
Alicia made a ‘phew’ sound and said again how sorry she was; how sorry Freddie was. He assured her he had never meant to hurt Edward like that. It was a push, nothing more, and he was horrified when Edward hit his head. Olivia nodded. She couldn’t imagine that Freddie had deliberately put Edward in hospital.
‘I don’t really want to lug that around,’ she said, nodding towards the heavy coat Alicia was still holding. ‘I’ll dump it in the car. Why don’t you walk with me?’
‘Thank you for understanding,’ said Alicia as they walked. ‘And when Edward’s better, I suggest we sit our sons down and have a serious talk. This animosity between them has to stop.’
‘Agreed,’ said Olivia, remembering the shock of being told the Burtons had reported Edward to the police. ‘Did you know I met with your ex-husband?’
Alicia nodded. ‘The police were his idea, not mine.’
Olivia believed her.
‘Can I tell you something?’ said Alicia. They passed through a set of automatic doors that led into the car park, the sudden drop in temperature prompting Olivia to drape Geoffrey’s Barbour around her shoulders. Alicia carried on talking without waiting for an answer to her question. ‘My ex-husband used to bang on about fancying you. It amused him to make me jealous. He actually called you a MILF right in front of me.’
So Geoffrey had been right all along. It sickened Olivia to think how Toby Burton had leered at her. ‘I assure you it wasn’t reciprocated.’
Alicia smiled. ‘Good to know. Fresh start?’
Olivia spotted Geoffrey’s Mercedes and fished his keys out of the pocket of his Barbour. ‘Fresh start.’
Before Alicia walked off to her own car, she reached out and hugged Olivia. The gesture was unexpected but welcome. Something to work on when this latest crisis was behind her.
It was as Olivia laid her coat across the back seat that she noticed a rucksack in the footwell – a tatty old thing Geoffrey used for his sports kit. What was that doing there? Curious, she undid the zip to find a packet of cigarettes and some clothes: boxer shorts, shirts and a hoodie, jeans. More puzzled now than curious, she unzipped the front pocket and found Geoffrey’s passport and a ticket to Toulouse. She stared at the ticket, read it and reread it, stared at it some more. The flight was at five thirty this evening, one way, Geoffrey the only passenger. It made no sense whatsoever. Why on earth would Geoffrey have a ticket to Toulouse? The explanation was both obvious and impossible. She thought her heart might burst.
A fierce gust of glacial wind slapped her in the face. She shut her eyes and took a quick sharp breath, determined not to cry. One catastrophe at a time – another of Olivia’s mum’s overused expressions. Whatever the hell was going on with Geoffrey would have to wait. Edward needed her full and undivided attention. Once he was out of danger she would deal with Geoffrey and in the meantime, he wasn’t going anywhere. She put the ticket and passport in her shoulder bag, zipped up the rucksack and locked the car.
*
Rowena and Geoffrey sat in silence on either side of Edward’s bed. The nurse saw Olivia walking towards them and mouthed ‘two visitors’. Olivia gave a quick nod that said, yes, I know, and stared at the back of Geoffrey’s head. Despite her resolve, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to be around him. Part of her was too shocked to take it in. Another part – the crushed, betrayed, deceived part – despised him with a vengeance.
He saw her and stood up, offering his seat, but then Rowena stood up too and said they should be with Edward; she would come back in the morning. Did Rowena know what Geoffrey planned to do? There was no sign that she did. Olivia put his Barbour over the back of the chair and sat down, avoiding eye contact. Best he didn’t suspect what she was feeling at that moment. One catastrophe at a time.
Nurses came and went with quiet efficiency, checked Edward’s vital signs, made notes on his chart, smiled in a sympathetic, ‘I know how worried you must be’ way. Olivia and Geoffrey watched and waited, hoping for the slightest sign that Edward would be all right: a twitching finger, an attempt to speak or open his eyes.
Their vigil lasted through the night, neither of them daring to sleep. Geoffrey made periodic trips to the drinks machine for coffee but Olivia declined and sipped a bottle of water. He brought back a cellophane-wrapped cheese and tomato sandwich, offering half to Olivia. She shook her head, unable to stomach food even though she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast with Alice and Maisie. When Geoffrey tried to engage her in conversation she pretended to doze until he lost interest. It was a long night.
The doctor’s arrival at eight the following morning filled Olivia with equal measures of hope and dread. She was desperate for good news, but suppose the news was bad? She wasn’t sure she could cope with more bad news. The doctor spoke quietly to the nurse and read Edward’s chart before reporting that since he was stable, they would reduce his sedation and wake him up.
‘What if he doesn’t wake up?’ said Geoffrey.
‘Well, let’s see, shall we?’ said the doctor, with only the merest hint of impatience.
Olivia and Geoffrey were asked to leave the room. They waited on the other side of the paper-thin wall and Olivia paced backwards and forwards so Geoffrey wouldn’t try to hold her. He probably thought her refusal to be comforted was a reaction to all the stress, but then she didn’t really care what he thought.
It seemed an age before the nurse beckoned for them to come back. Olivia braced herself, reluctant to face what she might have to see or hear. Her characteristic optimism had taken such a battering of late it was becoming impossible to sustain.
‘Olivia?’ said Geoffrey.
She took a deep breath and swept past him, her gaze fixed on the nurse, whose expression gave nothing away.
The sight of a groggy Edward, eyelids heavy, a weak but beatific smile on his face, brought on a hot surge of mother love. Did Geoffrey not feel that same immutable love? Olivia had never doubted it, but if he did love Edward as much as she did, how could he even think of leaving?
The doctor said he expected Edward to make a complete recovery, that he needed to stay in hospital for a few days but then they could take him home. Geoffrey made a long ‘phew’ sound and reached for her hand, but Olivia brushed him off and went to Edward. He was what mattered. He was all that mattered.
She longed to call her mum but couldn’t trust herself to hold it together. If her mum had the slightest inkling of what Olivia was going through, she would be straight on a plane back home. Instead, Olivia sent a short text: Edward’s fine. I’ll call you later x
‘Why don’t you get us some coffee?’ said Geoffrey, now sitting in the chair by Edward’s bed.
Edward was doing his best to keep his eyes open, reminding Olivia of those endless nights when he was a baby, worn out from crying but still stubbornly refusing to sleep. She tried now what she used to try then, and gently blew on his face. ‘So it does work,’ she whispered, smiling, as he finally gave in and slept.
With her bag slung over her shoulder, Olivia headed towards the coffee machine but stopped when she saw a sign for the chapel. Ronald had often spoken of the power of prayer and how it could bring comfort in even the most testing of times. Olivia could really do with some comfort.
The chapel was small, quiet and simply adorned with half a dozen rows of wooden seats and a plain gold cross on the altar. Olivia closed her eyes and tried to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but the words held no meaning for her. She might as well have been reciting a nursery rhyme. Perhaps it was expecting too much to find solace
without first finding answers.
If it hadn’t been for Edward, Geoffrey would be in France now. Passport, ticket, bag: pretty conclusive evidence. What she didn’t know was why. True, their marriage wasn’t in great shape but you talk about it, try to work things out. If you can’t work things out you might separate, see how it goes for a while; maybe further down the line you divorce. What you don’t do is buy a one-way ticket to another country and disappear without a word. How did she know he wouldn’t book another flight once Edward was on the mend? And even if he didn’t abandon them, Olivia knew he had intended to, a realisation that ignited the slow burn of resentment that had simmered for months.
*
Olivia kept up the charade of blissful ignorance until Rowena arrived, at which point she suggested they take a quick break.
‘You two go,’ said Rowena, shooing them and taking up vigil beside her dozing grandson.
For what Olivia had in mind they needed privacy so she led the way to the family room, ignoring Geoffrey’s complaints about being hungry and wanting to go to Costa Coffee for breakfast. ‘This won’t take long,’ she said, trying to shut him up.
The family room was empty, just as she had hoped, but a horrible reminder that only twenty-four hours before she had sat sobbing and shaking and not knowing if Edward would live or die.
‘Thank God he’s on the mend,’ said Geoffrey, filling a paper cup with water.
So casually deceitful. Olivia began to tremble with the effort of not screaming at him.
‘Hey,’ he said, reaching for her. ‘It’s OK. He’s going to be fine.’
She pulled her arm away. ‘Are you leaving me?’
It took a moment for him to arrange his features in a way that conveyed the appropriate amount of confusion. You would think she had asked him to recite the capital cities of every country beginning with the letter ‘A’.
‘What?’
‘It’s a simple, “yes–no” question. Are you leaving me?’
‘What are you talking about?’ His attempt to smile, suggesting this was some kind of joke, was ill-advised. It produced a rictus grin that served only to further stoke her simmering rage.
An Unsuitable Marriage Page 24