by Susan Lewis
‘Hang on, hang on,’ Polly interrupted. ‘Melissa’s here as far as I know. She came home about ...’
‘Is Lauren with her?’
‘I’m not sure. I didn’t actually see her come in. Shall I go and check?’
‘Yes, yes please. I’ll hold on.’
As she waited Emma tried hard to reassure herself that Lauren was even now grumbling about being woken up, then feeling terrible for forgetting to call her mother ...
Hearing the sound of a car pulling up outside, she felt hope and relief jar in her chest. It had to be Lauren. Dropping the receiver she ran to open the door, ready to collapse, shout, laugh with relief.
She stopped dead at the sight of a police car.
The terror was so blinding, so paralysing that she couldn’t make herself move. Then she heard someone choking and begging and felt herself backing away as the policeman came towards her.
‘No, no, no, no, no, no,’ she sobbed. ‘Please please, not my baby.’
‘Mrs Scott?’ he said gently. His ageing face was crumpled with sadness, his small blue eyes full of regret.
Falling back against the wall she sank to the floor, shielding herself with her hands. ‘Please tell me it’s not Lauren,’ she begged. ‘I’ll do anything, just please don’t let it be her.’
Dropping to his knees he took her hands in his as he said, ‘Is your husband here?’
‘No, he ... Oh God, she’s dead. My baby, my baby ...’
‘Mrs Scott, she isn’t dead,’ he broke in quickly, ‘but the accident was serious. You need to come with me.’
Accident, serious ...
‘I’ll take you to her.’
Suddenly she was running, grabbing her coat, searching for her keys. The landline was ringing, but she ignored it.
‘Is anyone else in the house?’ he asked, when she was ready to leave.
She shook her head. ‘No, just me. Please take me to her.’
‘Of course. Is everything turned off?’
‘Yes, no ... The fire ...’
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he said, ‘Take a nice deep breath. You’re in shock ...’
‘Please take me to her. Oh my God, where are you going?’ she cried as he turned into the sitting room.
‘The fire,’ he reminded her.
The phone was still ringing, but she had to get to Lauren as fast as she could.
‘Is this yours?’ the officer asked, coming back into the hall.
It was her mobile. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, almost snatching it.
‘I’m Clive Andrews,’ he told her. ‘You’ll probably forget that, but I won’t mind telling you again.’
‘Where is she?’ she asked, following him out of the door.
‘They’ve taken her to the Bristol Royal Infirmary.’ Using her keys, he locked up and handed them back.
‘She’s going to make it, isn’t she?’ she urged as he led her to the car.
‘Everyone’s already doing their very best to make sure of it,’ he replied.
Terrified by his failure to reassure her, she got into the car and put her head in her hands. She wanted to be sick, her heart was pounding out of her chest, she was shaking so hard it hurt. An accident, she’d been injured, her beautiful, perfect baby ... Oh God, don’t let her die, please, please ...
‘Breathe,’ Andrews said, putting a calming hand on her shoulder.
Doing as she was told, she lifted her head and stared sightlessly ahead as he started the engine. Somehow she had to pull herself together, force herself into a place where she could handle this. She had to be strong for Lauren.
‘How – what happened?’ she finally managed to ask.
Andrews indicated to pull out of the cul de sac. ‘An investigation is already under way to determine that,’ he told her, ‘but ...’
‘Was she in her car? Where did it happen?’
‘On a country road between Wells and Cheddar, about four miles from here, and she wasn’t actually in her car when the other vehicle went into her.’
Bemused, Emma turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
‘We’re not sure yet why she was in the road, but it seems she left her car and when the other driver came over the hill ... He would have had no idea she was there.’
‘But she wouldn’t have been near Wells. She was going into Bristol tonight. Oh my God, it can’t be Lauren. You’ve got the wrong person.’ Hope and relief were flaring so wildly in her chest that she almost started to laugh.
Glancing at her uneasily, he said, ‘We found a handbag in the car with her wallet ...’
‘Someone must have stolen it.’
‘The car was a Peugeot 206 – it’s registered to your daughter.’
‘Then someone must have stolen the car too.’ Realising that didn’t answer where Lauren was now, she dropped her head in her hands. ‘The girl you found ... The one we’re going to see ... Does she have long, honey-coloured hair?’
Glancing at her again, he replied, ‘Yes, she does.’
‘Oh my God,’ Emma choked as horror severed her brief cling to hope. ‘I don’t understand what she was doing there. Didn’t you ask her? She must have told you why she was ...’ Her voice was starting to shred. ‘She couldn’t, could she? Oh please God don’t let this be happening, please tell me it isn’t. She means everything to me, everything.’
Reaching over to squeeze her hand, Andrews said, ‘We’ll soon be there,’ and terrifying Emma even further he turned on the flashing blue lights and siren as he put his foot down.
Starting as her mobile rang, she looked at it, stupidly expecting it to be Lauren.
‘Polly,’ she gasped into the phone.
‘What’s happening?’ Polly cried. ‘I rang you back, but you didn’t answer. What’s all that noise?’
‘Lauren’s been in an accident ...’
‘Oh my God! What happened? Where are you?’
‘In a police car on my way to the BRI.’
‘Oh, Emma, Emma, what can I do? I’m right behind you, OK? I’m getting in my car right now. And Emma?’
‘Yes?’
‘Everything’s going to be all right. Do you hear me? Everything is going to be all right.’
Chapter Eleven
ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY was overflowing with casualties, most of them drunk it seemed, though Emma barely noticed. She simply followed Clive Andrews to the desk and felt herself breaking apart inside as he said to the receptionist, ‘This is Lauren Scott’s mother. I think you’re ...’
‘Mrs Scott,’ the receptionist said, her eyes so full of pity that Emma wanted to hit her. ‘Please come round.’
Horrified by what seemed to be special treatment, Emma followed Andrews through a door marked Staff Only, and into a corridor behind reception where a nurse was already waiting.
‘Hello, I’m Jenny ...’
‘Where is she?’ Emma choked out. ‘Can I see her?’
Sounding reassuring, the nurse said, ‘The doctor’s going to speak to you, so if you’d like to come with me ...’
Emma felt herself shrinking away. ‘Please don’t let him tell me she’s dead. I can’t ...’
‘Ssh, ssh,’ the nurse soothed.
‘Come on,’ Andrews said, taking her hand gently, ‘it’s going to be all right.’
‘How do you know?’ Emma cried. ‘You don’t know any more than I do.’
It was true, he didn’t, because he’d deliberately stayed out of contact on the way here, not wanting her to learn anything via his radio.
‘The doctor won’t be long,’ the nurse promised. ‘We’ve got a special room for family ...’
‘It’s OK, Jenny.’
Emma looked up to find a young man dressed in loose green scrubs coming towards her. He appeared tired and worried, but was attempting to smile. ‘I’m Lester Grayling,’ he told her, ‘and you’re Mrs Scott?’
Emma nodded dumbly.
‘Would Mr Scott be on his way?’
&
nbsp; With her heart in her mouth Emma shook her head. If they needed Will to be here it could only be because ... No, no, please God no.
‘OK,’ Grayling said, ‘let’s go and sit down,’ and gently taking her arm he led her towards a side room.
Andrews came too, and went to stand next to a sink and kettle, while the nurse closed the door and the doctor drew Emma on to a chair beside him.
‘Please,’ Emma begged, starting to cry again. ‘I don’t ...’
‘It’s OK,’ the doctor said gently. ‘Just tell me what you know so far.’
Emma’s frightened eyes darted to Andrews. ‘I know she’s been in an accident,’ she said, ‘and that ... I ... That’s all I know.’
Grayling nodded. ‘Well, we’ve carried out a full assessment of her injuries and she is in a critical condition.’
Emma’s heart stopped beating. ‘But she isn’t dead?’ she whispered.
Instead of answering directly he said, ‘Our findings showed that she has an extensive bleed in her brain and because the specialist centre for head injuries of this severity is at Frenchay Hospital we have urgently transferred her there.’
Emma felt stunned, confused, afraid. ‘So, so she isn’t here?’ she said.
Grayling shook his head. ‘She’ll be in expert hands over there,’ he assured her, ‘and Jenny here has already been in touch with the nurse in charge at the neuro centre who will meet you when you get there.’
Emma didn’t know what to say. Everything was crashing, echoing inside her head, her voice was being choked back by fear.
‘Is there anything you’d like to ask me?’ Grayling said.
She could only look at him, then at Andrews as Andrews said, ‘Will she be there yet?’
Grayling checked his watch. ‘I imagine so.’
‘Will they be able to save her?’ Emma managed.
‘They’ll certainly be doing their best.’
She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t dead. It was a lifeline that seemed to be fraying by the second, but at least it was there and she was going to hold on to it with all her might. ‘Are they going to operate?’ she asked.
‘That’ll be for the doctors there to decide.’
She looked up as Andrews came to take her hand. ‘Come on, we should get you over there,’ he said.
As she stood Emma told the doctor, ‘She’s going to make it, you know.’
Meeting her eyes, he smiled reassuringly.
She nodded her gratitude and turned to go with Andrews. Of course this doctor didn’t know what was going to happen really, nor did she, but now she knew that Lauren was still holding on, albeit by a thread, there was absolutely no way in the world she was going to let her go.
Oliver had never been inside a police station in his life, much less locked up in a cell. He was so afraid and bemused that he could hardly take it in. It had all seemed to happen so fast, one minute he’d been driving home, the next he was on the side of the road with a strange girl dying beside him, and the next the police were bringing him here. They’d made him take another breath test when he’d arrived, which he’d failed again, then they’d wanted some blood and DNA and after that the custody sergeant had charged him with the offence of driving while under the influence, except he hadn’t put it quite like that. He’d said something about driving a motor vehicle while in excess of some kind of limit, and that he didn’t have to say anything, but if he did it could be used against him.
He couldn’t remember it all now – it was making his head hurt and knotting up his insides so tightly that he could barely breathe.
They hadn’t mentioned the girl or the fact that he’d driven into her. He didn’t understand why, when that surely must have been the more serious offence.
Perhaps it was all a nightmare and he was going to wake up any minute.
Where was she now?
Please God, please, please, please, let her be all right.
He wanted to ask Bob Tillman, but Tillman had disappeared a while ago and even if he banged on his cell door for attention, the sound would probably be lost amongst all the other banging and swearing, threats, jeering and pleading clanging about the cells around him. Some of the people in here sounded like animals. It was horrible, sickening to hear.
Before he’d left, Tillman had told him that his mother was fine. Relief had come at him so fast that for a moment he’d seemed to lose his balance. Had his mother been drunk when the police turned up? What were they thinking now, like mother, like son?
But he wasn’t like her. He never never got into a car after he’d had a drink. His father had pushed the seriousness of it home to him so hard that Oliver had become a joke amongst his friends, because he’d never let them drink and drive either. His father had even made it a condition of paying his and Charlie’s uni fees, and of buying their cars. If either of them ever contravened the agreement they would have to pay back every penny their father had shelled out for their education – no matter how long it took – and whether they were charged or not their cars would be taken away.
Oliver never wanted to see a car again in his life.
All he wanted was to know that the girl was all right, that none of this was as terrible as it felt and that somehow, in some way they would both survive it.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how that was going to be possible.
He wanted to cry like a baby, but his hands were clamped tightly to his head as though to hold it all in. It stank in here, the mattress was stained with other people’s filth, the toilet had no seat, the window was too high and too thick to provide any sort of view. They’d taken his shoes and belt, his phone, money, everything he’d had in his pockets. He was a prisoner, a criminal, a pathetic no-hoper whose future was ruined before it had even begun.
Hearing keys going into the door he tensed even tighter. He had no idea what was going to happen now, who might be coming in – maybe it would be a rank, mouthy drunk who wouldn’t be able to see straight to piss, or lie down without throwing up.
He was a drunk too. It was why he was here.
‘OK, young man,’ the custody sergeant barked, ‘we’ve got a bit of a lull so you can make your call.’
A lull? Behind the stable of locked doors, trapped, human animals were yelling, spitting, hissing, vomiting, maybe shitting themselves or even dying.
He followed the sergeant into the corridor. The strip lights were blinding and harsh, making the walls gleam like mirrors and the air feel putrid and hot.
He was put in front of a wall phone and told how to contact the duty lawyer. The number was there, chiselled into a plaque.
‘Does it have to be a lawyer I call?’ he asked.
‘Up to you, but just one call,’ the sergeant told him and walked back behind his desk.
Oliver stared at the number, then the keypad. He was thinking of his father and how angry and disgusted he would be, disappointed and ashamed. His mother’s shock, panic and drunkenness would make everything even worse than it already was. Charlie would try to help, but what could he do?
He started to dial, and kept on dialling until it was time to wait for a ringtone. When it began it stopped almost immediately. ‘Oliver?’
His father’s voice, sharp and surprised, was so comforting and yet so terrifying that Oliver almost hung up. He bowed his head as though it would prevent him having to confront his shame. ‘Dad, I ... Something’s happened ...’
‘What is it? Where are you?’
Squeezing his eyes tightly closed, Oliver forced himself to go on. ‘I’ve ... I’ve been arrested and ... I’m really, really sorry ... I didn’t mean ... It wasn’t ... Oh God, Dad ...’ He was suddenly sobbing so hard that no more words would come.
‘It’s OK, son, it’s OK,’ his father said firmly. ‘Pull yourself together now and start by telling me where you are.’
After taking several breaths Oliver finally managed to say, ‘I’m at a police station. They’ve arrested me for drinking and driving and I’m ...’
/> In a terrible voice his father said, ‘Oliver, please tell me you didn’t just say that.’
Clutching an arm round his head Oliver said, ‘Dad, I’m sorry. It wasn’t ... I swear, I wouldn’t have ...’
‘I’m not bailing you out of this, you know that don’t you?’
Trying to brace himself, Oliver stammered out, ‘Dad, I ran someone over ... I think I might have ...’
There was an awful silence before his father said, ‘You need to tell me where you are, right now.’
Oliver looked around. ‘I’m in a police station. I don’t know which one ...’
‘Put someone on who does.’
Looking at the custody sergeant, Oliver was about to ask when the sergeant came towards him and took the phone. After giving the address of the station – Knowle West, one of the most dangerous areas in Bristol – the sergeant passed the phone back to Oliver and walked away.
‘Are you there?’ his father barked.
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘OK, I’m going to call Jolyon Crane now. You remember Jolyon, don’t you?’
Oliver’s heart was thudding with dread. ‘Yes,’ he said. Jolyon Crane wasn’t only his father’s friend, he was a really big lawyer. If he needed someone that important then this was as bad as he feared.
‘If Jolyon can’t come himself, he’ll send someone who can,’ his father was saying. ‘You’ll need to tell them everything that happened, and I mean everything, do you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ Oliver replied.
‘Do you have any idea how badly injured the person is?’
‘No, but I think it’s serious. It was a girl ... She ... she was unconscious ... Oh Dad, I’m sorry,’ he choked, breaking down again. ‘I didn’t see her ...’
‘All right, son, all right,’ his father said briskly. ‘I’m on my way.’
*
By the time Emma and Andrews had arrived at Frenchay Hospital Lauren had already been taken into surgery. They’d been given little information then, because there had been almost none to give, apart from the surgeon’s decision, following a CT scan, to operate right away. After that they’d been brought here, to this waiting room, with its dull but comfy chairs, twin casement windows with tight, opaque nets and notices advertising the services of nurses, charities and God.