by Kate Hardy
‘What do you want from us?’ Mr Baxter asked.
Had he really not been clear enough? ‘I want,’ Oliver said, ‘you to see Gemma as she really is. I want you to be there when she cycles past the finish line. I want her to see you clapping.’
‘You want us to go there for the end of the race,’ Mrs Baxter said.
‘I know it won’t be easy for you,’ he said. ‘That it’ll take time to mend things properly. But, if you take this first step, she’ll come to meet you with open arms. And I’m happy to drive you there myself.’
‘I don’t know if we can. It’s too hard,’ Mr Baxter said.
Oliver wanted to bang their heads together and yell at them to stop being so selfish, but he knew it would be pointless. And now he really understood why Gemma had spent that year desperately searching for love—and why she hadn’t let people close since, not wanting to be let down again.
And he was just as bad, he realised with a flush of guilt. He’d hurt her as much as her parents had, doing exactly the same thing: pushing her away.
‘OK. Thank you for your time,’ he said. ‘If you change your mind, I think she’ll be over the line at about two o’clock.’ He took a notepad from his jacket pocket and scribbled down the address. ‘This is where the finish line is. This is my phone number, if you want to talk to me. And this—if you want to go on the internet and see her jumping out of a plane for Sarah.
‘Your brave, brilliant daughter. The one who’s still here and needs her family. The whole village is proud of her—but that’s not enough. She needs you.’ He checked his phone and copied down the link to the video of her skydive, then handed over the paper to Mrs Baxter. ‘I’ll see myself out,’ he said quietly.
He didn’t think they’d turn up today. But maybe, just maybe, they’d think about what he’d said. And maybe they’d thaw towards Gemma in the future.
He could only hope.
* * *
A mile before the end of the race, Gemma saw the cyclist in front of her wobble precariously, and then almost as if it was in slow motion the bike lurched to the side and the rider hit the ground.
Gemma stopped immediately.
The cyclist was still on the ground.
Another cyclist stopped, too.
‘Are you all right?’ Gemma asked.
‘I can’t get up,’ the woman said. ‘My arm hurts.’
Between them, Gemma and the other cyclist who’d stopped to help lifted the bike off her.
Gemma really wished Oliver was there with her; but he’d sent his brother in his stead, because he didn’t even want to be with her today.
She pushed the thought away. Right now, this wasn’t about her; it was about helping this poor woman.
They helped her get to her feet; her left shoulder looked slumped and slightly forward, sending up a red flag for Gemma.
‘I’m a nurse practitioner,’ Gemma said. ‘Can I have a look at your shoulder while we call the race medic?’
‘I don’t want the race medics. If they come, they won’t let me finish and I have to do this.’ There were tears in the woman’s eyes. ‘I lost my husband to leukaemia six months ago. I need to finish this for him. I have loads of sponsorship.’
‘OK,’ Gemma said. ‘But at least let me make you comfortable. You look in pain.’
‘It hurts,’ the woman admitted, ‘but I’m not giving in.’
‘Shall I call...?’ the other cyclist asked.
‘No. Because if I’m right and she’s broken her collarbone, we’ll walk this last mile and I’ll wheel both cycles,’ Gemma said.
‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ the woman said.
‘You’re not asking, I’m offering,’ Gemma said, ‘because it’s important to you to finish and this is the only way it’s going to happen. I’m Gemma, by the way.’
‘I’m Heather.’
They both looked at the cyclist who’d stopped.
‘I’m Paul,’ he said.
‘Paul, thank you for stopping to help,’ Gemma said. ‘Can I get you to tell the medics we’re on our way, when you’ve finished the race? But make it clear that Heather’s going nowhere in an ambulance until she’s gone over the finishing line.’
‘Of course I’ll tell them. But I’m not leaving you both to walk in on your own—you’re too vulnerable. I’ll walk behind you with my rear light flashing,’ he said, ‘to make sure nobody crashes into you. And I’ll call the race organisers to tell them what we’re doing.’
‘That’s so kind,’ Heather said, tears filming her eyes.
‘You’re one in a million,’ Gemma said. ‘Let’s have a look at you, Heather.’ She gently lowered the neck of Heather’s cycling top and examined her clavicle, noting that swelling had already started. ‘Is it tender here?’
‘Yes,’ Heather said through gritted teeth.
‘I’ve got a bandage and some painkillers in my bag,’ Gemma said. ‘I think you’ve broken your collarbone. It’s going to get more painful—and you definitely need to go to hospital for an X-ray to check how bad the break is and whether you’re going to need pins—but for now I can make you a sling to support your arm and give you some painkillers. Are you on any medication, or is there any reason why you can’t have paracetamol?’
‘No and no,’ Heather said.
‘Good. Paul, can you let them know we’ll need an ambulance? Tell them it’s a fractured left clavicle and she’ll need an X-ray,’ Gemma said.
Paul quickly phoned the race organisers to let them know what was happening, and Gemma took the medicine kit from her bike, gave Heather painkillers and strapped up Heather’s arm to stabilise it. ‘Now, you need to move that arm as little as possible or you could risk doing serious damage,’ she warned. ‘The deal is, you walk beside me and I’ll wheel our bikes. It’s only about another mile. Fifteen to twenty minutes and we’ll be there.’
‘Thank you both so much,’ Heather said.
The three of them started to walk along the road, with other cyclists sailing past them.
‘So why are you doing the cycle ride, Gemma?’ Heather asked.
‘For my little sister. She needed a heart transplant but a suitable heart couldn’t be found in time,’ Gemma said.
‘That’s hard,’ Heather said. ‘Was she very young?’
‘Thirteen, and I was seventeen,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m nearly thirty now; but I still miss her.’ She swallowed hard. ‘It was her birthday yesterday.’
‘She’ll know. Just as Mike knows I’m doing this. I’m such a klutz. Trust me to fall off and break my collarbone. If anyone had said I would be able to even stay upright on a bike, let alone ride one for sixty miles...’ Heather gave a rueful smile. ‘Mike was the one for sport, not me.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I turned him down so many times when he asked me out. I didn’t think it could work between us because we’re so different.’
Like Gemma and Oliver.
‘But I’m glad I gave in,’ Heather continued. ‘Because those three years we had together were the best of my life. Even the bad bits, when we got the diagnosis and when he had chemo—at least we had each other. And I know he’s up there right now, looking down, proud of me doing this.’ She looked at Gemma. ‘What about your partner? Is he here?’
‘No. He was meant to be the race medic, but his brother’s doing it instead.’ She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway. He’s going back to London.’
‘You sound like me,’ Heather said. ‘Don’t make the same mistakes I did. I’m glad of the time Mike and I had together—but it could’ve been so much more if I hadn’t been so stubborn. We might’ve had time to have kids.’
‘I have no idea if Oliver wants kids,’ Gemma admitted. And she found herself telling Heather the whole story, how she’d accidentally fallen in love with her new colleague but she was pretty sure he was going
to leave her and go back to London. She wasn’t good at letting people close; she was so terrified she was going to be needy and clingy and stupid again, like she’d been after her little sister’s death, that she went too far the other way and backed off when they were getting too close. ‘And then he went distant on me, too—and it just escalated. I didn’t want to be the one who was left behind, so I suggested being just colleagues. And he didn’t try to argue me out of it.’
‘Do you know for definite he’s going back to London?’
‘What is there to make him stay here?’
‘You?’ Heather suggested. ‘Talk to him. Be honest about how you really feel.’
‘He’s not even here today,’ Gemma said. ‘He sent his brother.’
‘But he didn’t have to send anyone at all,’ Heather pointed out. ‘Maybe he thought you didn’t want him there—but he hasn’t let you down, has he? He sent someone else to take his place.’
‘I guess.’
‘What have you got to lose? If you let him go without telling him how you feel, he might be being just as stubborn as you and you’re both missing out.’
‘And if he doesn’t want me?’
‘Then at least you’ll know the truth. You won’t spend your time full of regrets and wondering if things would’ve been different if you’d been brave enough to talk to him.’
* * *
Ollie brooded all the way to village where the race was due to finish. He was pretty sure Gemma’s parents wouldn’t turn up; he just hoped he hadn’t made things worse for her. Maybe Claire and Rob had been right and he shouldn’t have interfered.
He went over to the marshals’ tent to see his brother.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
‘Fine—I’ve treated two cases of dehydration, one of saddle sores and one poor guy who skidded across some tarmac and made a bit of a mess of his arm. Apparently we’ve got someone coming in shortly with a broken collarbone.’ Rob looked at him. ‘How did it go?’
‘Awful.’ Ollie grimaced. ‘Have you seen Gemma?’
‘Yes, and you’re in trouble. She knew I wasn’t you before I even opened my mouth.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She didn’t give me a chance to explain. She said she had a race to ride.’
‘I’ll face the music later,’ Ollie said. ‘Thanks for helping. I’ll take over from you now.’
‘I’m fine. Actually, I’m enjoying having something to do. Go and wait for Gemma by the finish line. And make sure you’ve got a seriously, seriously good apology ready, because you’re going to need it,’ Rob warned.
Oliver made his way through to the finish line, knowing he’d messed things up. He felt as if the world was sitting on his shoulders. He had no idea where to start fixing this.
Why hadn’t he just left things alone?
And then his phone rang.
It was a number he didn’t recognise. He thought about ignoring it; but right now he had nothing better to do and it would waste some time while he waited.
‘Dr Langley?’ a voice he didn’t recognise said on the other end.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Stephanie Baxter. Um, we thought about what you said. We’ve been talking. We...um...wondered if we could wait with you.’
Hope bloomed in his heart. Gemma’s parents were coming to watch her finish the race? ‘Of course you can.’ He told her exactly where he was. ‘See you soon. And thank you.’
‘No. Thank you,’ she said. ‘Because you’ve just given us a second chance with our daughter.’
Ollie really, really hoped she was right.
* * *
People were lining the streets of the village where the race ended, cheering and clapping.
Gemma forced herself to smile, even though she felt like crying. Everything had gone so wrong with Oliver. Was Heather right? Should she be brave and tell him how she felt? But what if he still went back to London without her? She didn’t want to face rejection yet again.
She plodded on, one foot in front of the other, and kept Heather going with words of encouragement that weirdly kept her going, too.
‘I think,’ Paul said, ‘Heather needs to ride over that finish line.’
‘She can’t ride with a broken clavicle,’ Gemma said.
‘She won’t be holding the handlebars,’ Paul said. ‘If I lift her onto the bike, we can be either side of her to keep the bike stable and we’ll steady it while she pedals for the last ten metres.’
So Heather would get to fulfil her dream. ‘You’re on,’ Gemma said.
Between them, they got Heather onto the bike. They co-opted a couple of people lining the route to hold their bikes for them while they helped Heather, who was smiling and crying at the same time as they supported her over the finish line.
The medics were there, waiting to help Heather to the ambulance; for a moment, Gemma thought Oliver was standing there, but her heart didn’t have that funny little skip and she realised that it was Rob.
Stupid.
Of course Oliver wouldn’t be there.
‘Well done,’ Rob said, clapping her shoulder. ‘That was an amazing thing to do.’
‘It wasn’t my time that mattered,’ she said. ‘It was Heather finishing that was important.’ She couldn’t bring herself to ask where Oliver was. ‘I’d better collect my bike and finish officially.’
Paul was waiting for her, and they rode over the finish line together, with people cheering and clapping all around them.
She dismounted and hugged him. ‘Thank you. What you did...’
‘The same as you did,’ he said, ‘for a complete stranger. Because we’re all in this together. And we want to make a difference.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll look after Heather’s bike,’ Paul said, ‘because I think you’ve got some people wanting to see you.’
Gemma looked up and saw Oliver standing there. But what really shocked her was that her parents were next to him. Her mum and dad had tears running down their faces, and they held out their arms to her.
She couldn’t quite process this.
Why were her parents here? She hadn’t even told them where the race was, just that she was doing it.
Oliver took her bike. ‘Go to them,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be waiting when you’ve talked.’
She stared at him—‘But...’ She couldn’t even begin to frame the questions buzzing through her head.
‘I interfered,’ he said. ‘I’ll apologise later, but I think you and your parents need to talk. Don’t worry about your bike. I’ll go and put it in my car. Give me your race number and I’ll sort out any paperwork for you.’
‘I...’
‘Swap you the paperwork for a recovery drink and a recovery bar,’ he said, pushing them into her hands. ‘I’ll feed you properly later, but you need to replenish your glycogen stores.’
‘Spoken like a doctor,’ she said wryly, and handed over her race number.
‘And like the brother of someone who does this sort of thing himself, so I kind of know the drill. Go with your parents,’ he said. ‘When you’re ready, I’ll be in the marshals’ tent, where I was supposed to be.’
* * *
‘Mum. Dad.’
‘Our girl. Sixty miles you cycled. And you helped that lass who’d fallen off her bike—you didn’t just leave it to the medics to sort her out,’ her dad said.
‘Well—you are a medic. Nurse practitioner,’ her mum said.
‘How...? Why...?’ Gemma cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘Your young man came to see us,’ her mum explained.
Gemma frowned. Oliver wasn’t hers any more.
‘He told us about his brother. How he nearly died.’ There was a catch in her dad’s voice. ‘And he said
how much you missed our Sarah. How much you missed us.’
‘We haven’t been proper parents to you,’ her mum said. ‘Not since Sarah died. We just couldn’t get past losing her. And then, when it wasn’t quite so raw any more, you...’
Gemma looked at them. She could let them off lightly, brush it under the carpet. Or she could be honest: and that might be a better way. Because at least then any relationship they managed to build would be on a solid foundation, with no areas where they were scared to tread. ‘I was difficult to handle,’ she said. ‘I went off the rails. Because I couldn’t cope with losing my little sister and losing my parents. Sleeping with all those boys—it made me feel loved again, just for a little while.’
Her dad flinched. ‘It wouldn’t have happened if we’d been there for you.’
‘I’m not blaming you—either of you,’ Gemma said. ‘What happened, happened. I’m acknowledging it and I’ve moved past it.’
‘Yvonne was the one who saved you. She was the mum I should’ve been to you. And I was grateful to her for stepping in, because I couldn’t do it.’ Colour flooded Stephanie’s cheeks. ‘At the same time, I was so jealous of her. You moved in with her and it felt as if you preferred someone else’s family to your own. As if I’d lost both my girls.’
‘You never lost me, Mum,’ Gemma said. ‘I needed to live with Claire’s family to get through my exams. You weren’t in a place where you could help me—and I couldn’t deal with all that extra travelling to get to school. Things were hard enough. And I never gave up on you. I come and see you every month—even though you never come to see me, and getting either of you to talk to me is like pulling teeth. But I promised Sarah I’d never give up, and I’ve always hoped that one day I’d get some of my family back.’
‘He’s right about you, your young man,’ her dad said. ‘He said you’d never give up on us. And you’re a daughter we can be proud of. All that money you raise for charity.’
‘For the ward where Sarah died. Where they’re doing research into permanent artificial hearts,’ Gemma said. ‘So maybe one day soon no other family will have to wait for a donor heart and risk losing their Sarah.’