The Wishing Well

by Anna Jacobs

  “Shut up!” he told it, his voice muffled and hoarse.

  A nurse came hurrying through the door and switched the beeper off. She stared down at him, eyes narrowed in professional scrutiny, then felt his forehead. “Good.”

  “What the hell’s good about this?”

  “It’s good that you’re awake. What is your name, please?”

  “They asked me that last time. Did no one write it down?”

  “Your name, please?”

  He hadn’t the energy to argue. “Mallinder, Christopher Mallinder, freelance journalist, more commonly known as Kit. What’s yours?”

  But of course she didn’t answer, just pressed a buzzer then aimed a thermometer into his ear and slipped another gadget on his fingertip.

  A doctor came to join her and when they’d finished prodding him around and confirmed that he was indeed in full possession of his senses, he demanded the right to ask them a few questions.

  The doctor glanced quickly at her wristwatch and sat down beside him. “Very well. But I can’t guarantee to answer them all.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Jamieson Blane Hospital for Foreigners.”

  It meant nothing to him. “Where?”

  “Bangkok.”

  He hadn’t even remembered that he was in Thailand, let alone why. “How the hell did I get here?”

  “You were brought in by ambulance. We were the closest emergency centre - and we had the facilities to save your life. You were very lucky, actually. If you’d been further away, given our wonderful traffic jams, you might have bled to death on the way.”

  He tried to remember what he had been doing to get into this state, but his mind was a blank. “I can’t remember anything about the accident.”

  “That isn’t surprising. You’ve been unconscious for several days.”

  He could only gape at her.

  “We found out who you were from your passport which you’d got in a money belt. Luckily your travel insurance papers were with it,” she grinned at him, “or else you’d have been transferred to a public hospital. Not nearly as comfortable.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us that?” She cocked one eyebrow at him and he shook his head. “Well, since your wallet was missing we assume you were mugged, then you fell in front of a truck. Luckily for you the truck driver swerved and managed to miss your more vital organs. Unfortunately he couldn’t avoid running over your legs.”

  In a sudden panic he tried to peer down at his body. “Have I still got everything, though?”

  “Yes. Two arms, two legs.”

  “Fingers, toes?”

  “Those as well. Ten of each. Though they’re not intact, I’m afraid. Lot of smaller bones were broken as well as one or two bigger ones. You’ll need quite a long period of rehabilitation when you get out of here, some reconstructive operations and,” she hesitated, then added, “you’ll probably always walk with a limp.”

  He stared at her in horror.

  “Don’t waste time on regrets, Mr Mallinder. What has happened cannot un-happen. You’re alive and if you hadn’t been so fit, you might not have recovered at all.” She wriggled her shoulders in a discreet stretch. “I really must go now.”

  She looked exhausted so he stopped asking questions and thank heavens, they left him in peace for a while. But the damned nurses still kept peering through the door at regular intervals and he couldn’t sleep for long because people kept coming in to take his blood pressure or temperature.

  “Is all this necessary?” he snapped the fourth time they woke him. “I’m trying to get some sleep here.”

  “I’m afraid so.” The nurse smiled. “You’re lucky to be alive, Mr Mallinder. Hang on to that and put up with our prying ways.”

  She was pretty. Normally, he’d have been chatting her up. Now he felt nothing. Surely he hadn’t lost that most essential part of him?

  He found out the next day that he was still intact when they pulled the catheter out.

  “You swear a lot,” the nurse said disapprovingly afterwards.

  “You’d swear too if they did this to you!”

  When she’d gone, he lay back and tried yet again to remember what had happened, but in vain. His mind remained obstinately blank.

  He felt angry, more than anything. During his years as a foreign correspondent he’d avoided all but the most minor of injuries and now, just as he was about to give it up, this happened.

  He was relieved when they let him fly back to England, escorted by a nurse. There he went through a hell of a lot of rehabilitation. He even sold an article on it to one of the weekend magazines. That tickled his sense of the ridiculous, at least.

  It was stubbornness that kept him going, and a determination to prove the doctors wrong. He might never run again, but he was determined to walk without such an ugly limp.

  After that he’d find something to do with the rest of his life.

  Chapter 3

  The next day Laura got up at her usual time but couldn’t settle to anything. When the post arrived she found nothing but bills and a bank statement, which she studied carefully. She usually left this side of things to Craig, not because she couldn’t read a bank statement, but because that was the way they’d split the family tasks between them. He was an accountant working in the finance section of his company, after all.

  She frowned at the totals. There didn’t seem to be as much in their joint account as she’d expected, certainly far less than last month. She’d be all right for money, though, because they’d taken out a big life insurance policy on Craig and renewed it recently. Well, they had a big one on her too. It made sense, after all.

  She’d better ring up and find out how to collect the insurance. She sighed. There were so many things to sort out when a man died and what she was dreading most was going through his remaining clothes and personal effects, she didn’t know why. The mistress could keep the stuff at her house.

  Picking up the phone, she dialled the insurance company and explained her situation, then sat tapping her fingers impatiently until they put her through to an older-sounding man.

  “My husband had a life insurance policy with you - has had for years - and he’s just been killed. What do I do about claiming?”

  “Do you have the policy number?”

  “No. I can’t find it, but I know he took one out because there’s a payment been made recently through our joint account.” She gave Craig’s details and waited again.

  “Your name is?”

  She could not hold back a snort of angry breath. “Laura Wells. I’m his wife.”

  “Yes. But I’m afraid - ”

  He hesitated for so long she guessed something was wrong, but not how badly wrong.

  “ - you’re not named as the beneficiary.”

  “What?”

  He repeated it.

  “I don’t understand. I’ve always been the beneficiary, just as he’s the beneficiary for my own life insurance.”

  “He - um - changed that when he renewed recently.”

  “Who is the beneficiary, then?”

  “I can’t divulge that, I’m afraid.”

  She slammed the phone down and rang their lawyer, but he wasn’t available, so she left word for him to ring her on a matter of urgency then began pacing the house. Mirror after mirror reflected back her angry face and at last she stopped in front of one and faced the possibility squarely. “Surely he can’t have named his floozy as beneficiary?”

  The mirror didn’t answer back and after a minute she moved on, not knowing what to do today, though normally she could find a dozen tasks demanding her attention.

  When their lawyer rang back half an hour later she explained the situation briefly.

  “Ah.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Silence, then, “Look, in the circumstances, I need to inform you I’m acting for the other party as of a few days ago, that is, your husband and his
- um . . . ”

  “Mistress.”

  “You know about her, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you should find yourself another lawyer, Mrs Wells. It would be more appropriate now. And I’d better warn you - your husband made a new will. He’s left everything he could to his new - er, partner, including his shares.”

  After he’d put the phone down Laura held the receiver in her hand for a long time until the buzzing sound registered then she set it back in the cradle. She went into the kitchen and couldn’t think why she’d gone there.

  How could Craig have done that to her? The shares were going to be their superannuation fund.

  * * * *

  Later that day the doorbell rang and she hurried to answer it, pleased at the thought of seeing someone.

  But a stranger stood there. A young woman.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs Wells?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, can I come in? It’s not the sort of thing we can discuss on the doorstep. It’s about Craig. I’m Caitlin Sheedy. He was living with me when he - he . . . ” Tears welled in her eyes and one rolled down her cheek.

  Laura stared at her, feeling too angry to be sympathetic. Twenty years younger than her, at a guess. Auburn hair, slender figure, pretty face - and reddened, puffy eyes. The woman must have really cared for Craig to have got herself into this state. Taking a deep breath she ordered herself to be civilised, opened the door wider and gestured to the other to come inside.

  She didn’t offer either refreshments or small talk but led the way into the formal living room, indicated a sofa and sat down opposite her visitor. Which was as civilised as she could manage.

  “I don’t know how you’re supposed to deal with this sort of thing, but I want to try to be - calm and polite,” Caitlin said as the silence grew too ominous. She gulped and fought for control, wiping her eyes quickly with a tissue. “Sorry. I was a bit nervous of coming. Craig said you had a temper.”

  Laura sighed and pulled the reins even more tightly on her anger. “Take your time. We’re neither of us at our best just now and I’m certainly not going to attack you.” She waited, watched the other woman take a deep, shaky breath.

  “He had a new will drawn up after he left you.”

  “So the lawyer said.”

  “I’ve made a copy for you. I only knew roughly what it contained until I found it among his things this morning.” Caitlin fumbled in her handbag and pulled out some papers, looking down at them and saying in a wobbly voice. “I - you see, I’m pregnant. We didn’t mean to, but well, it happened. So he decided he’d better make a new will.”

  Laura was so stunned she couldn’t speak for a moment. Pregnant!

  Caitlin stared down at her lap then across at Laura again, her expression pleading. “I came to ask you if we could sort it all out without - you know, acrimony. You see - I’m going to need money, given the circumstances.”

  Laura suddenly realised that Craig had set up his mistress at her expense. “You’ve got his life insurance money as well as part of the house and the shares. It seems to me you’ve taken nearly everything from me?”

  “Life insurance money?”

  There was no mistaking the other’s sincerity. No actress was that good. Caitlin definitely hadn’t known about the insurance. Actually, in other circumstances Laura would probably have thought she had an honest, open sort of face. At the moment, however, all she wanted was to get the other woman out of the house, and hopefully never see her again.

  “Thank you for bringing the will. I’ll have to get myself another lawyer and find out where I stand before I can comment further, Miss Sheedy. Apparently our old lawyer is acting for you now.”

  “He is?”

  “Craig could move fast when he wanted something.” Laura bit off any criticism of her late husband because if she once started she’d never stop. “If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll get back to you. I agree with you that acrimony won’t do either of us much good, but this house,” she gestured around her, “is the result of a lot of hard work on my part and the shares were meant to be my superannuation too, so I have to warn you that I don’t feel good about that.”

  Caitlin’s face crumpled. “I didn’t mean this to happen. I promise you I didn’t. It’s - the being pregnant and - ”

  “Mm.” Laura stood up, not wanting to discuss anything else.

  “Um - there’s one more thing.”

  Laura sat down again, keeping her lips pressed firmly together. She was going to stay polite if it killed her.

  “The funeral.”

  She’d been avoiding thoughts of that all day. “What about it?”

  “I’d like to - arrange things. But I need to know: do you want to come? If so, we can discuss how we organise it.”

  Laura stared at her in horror. The thought of being on public view at a ceremony where Craig’s mistress was playing the central role made her feel sick. “No. I definitely shan’t be coming.” This time when she stood up, her visitor did too.

  Caitlin pulled out a piece of paper and put it on the table. “My address and phone number.”

  Laura nodded and moved towards the door as quickly as she could, avoiding the temptation to look at the other woman’s stomach and estimate how far on the pregnancy was. All she could do was concentrate on being civilised. She was giving no one a chance to say she’d lost control and made a scene.

  She closed the door quickly, not waiting for Caitlin to drive away, then picked up an ornament she’d always hated, one which Craig’s mother had given them just before she died. Carrying it outside into the back garden, she smashed it down as hard as she could on the paved area, then stood there breathing deeply, staring down at the fragments.

  That helped.

  A little, not as much as she’d hoped.

  * * * *

  Ryan drew up just as Caitlin was getting into her car. As she waved to him and drove away, he gaped after her then went to ring the doorbell. After a short delay his mother opened it.

  “Did Caitlin come and see you, Mum?”

  “Yes.”

  He let out a long, soft whistle. “She’s the last person I’d have expected to find here. I didn’t think you even knew who Dad’s - um - friend was.”

  “I didn’t until Deb told me her name yesterday, though I’ve known for a while there was someone else. How do you know her?”

  He flushed. “Oh. Well. I’ve seen Dad with her a couple of times. He introduced us. I’ve only said hello to her, though, not spent any time with her.”

  “Well, maybe you can go round and comfort her after you’ve finished here. She is, after all, about to present you with a new brother or sister.” She turned away from his open-mouthed astonishment and went inside, leaving him to follow or not as he chose.

  He shut the front door and followed her into the kitchen, clipping her up in a big hug, though she struggled against it for a moment. Then she gave in and clung to him, glad of his support, surprised at how strong he felt. A tall young man, her son, not exactly good-looking with that large nose, but very attractive. Everyone said so, not just her. He had a smile that could melt butter and - much more important to her - a kind, generous nature. Actually, he was rather like her father in many ways, not like his own father, thank goodness. She didn’t want to be reminded of Craig every time she looked at him.

  “Cup of tea?” she asked, knowing what his answer would be.

  “Don’t you have any coffee?”

  “You and your coffee,” she teased.

  But he didn’t smile back and insist that coffee was the better drink, as he would usually have done. Instead he walked round the kitchen, fiddling with things while she put the kettle on and made two mugs of instant.

  “We’ll have it in here, shall we?”

  Ryan nodded and sat down at the table in the family meals area. He studied his mother and sighed. She looked as if the slightest thing would make her burst into tears and
who could really blame her after an encounter with her husband’s pregnant mistress? “Mum, I was thinking - what are we going to do about the funeral?” He watched her cradle her mug in hands and saw how they were shaking.

  “She is arranging the funeral. She asked me if I wanted to attend.”

  He reached out to lay his hand on hers wishing he knew how to comfort her. “Oh, Mum, how rotten for you! But you will go, won’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t face it, not with her there as well. If he’d been gone a year no one would expect me to attend and I don’t see why it should make any difference that it’s only just over a week.”

  He sipped his coffee, wondering what to say.

  “I shan’t mind if you and Deb go.”

  “You will, but I think we should go anyway.”

  “Caitlin left her address and phone number. I’ll let you have them before you leave.”

  “Thanks.” He took a deep breath, wondering how to give her his other news, but of course she guessed something was wrong.

  “Just tell me straight out, whatever it is,” she said quietly.

  “I’m being transferred to the Melbourne office. They want me to move over there next month.” Two thousand miles away, a three-hour plane flight. It wouldn’t be easy for them to see one another or for him to keep an eye on her, though she’d be all right financially, what with this house and Dad’s insurance money. His father had always boasted about how well he’d provided for his family - in case the worst happened.

  He waited, giving her time, saw her take an uneven breath then clamp her mouth shut. “I’m sorry, Mum. It’s rotten timing, I know.”

  “Is it a promotion?”

  “Sort of. It’s part of the management training programme.”

  “Then congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” He saw how wobbly her smile was and guilt made him say quickly, “Look, I’ll help you with whatever I can before I leave, only I can’t refuse to go. It’s a brilliant opportunity to extend my skills.”