by Susan Lewis
The last time Emma had looked at her watch it had been a quarter to six. It shocked her now to see that it was almost seven. Maybe she’d dozed off, or more likely she’d fallen into a stupor where time had no more meaning than the whispering, waking world going on outside this room.
Why was everything taking so long? Was it good or bad that they were still operating on Lauren more than two hours after they’d begun? Merely to think of her precious girl undergoing something as drastic and invasive as brain surgery made her own head reel and cower from the images that kept flashing in front of her. She must stop tormenting herself, shut it all down completely, and go on telling herself that it didn’t matter how they saved Lauren, just as long as they did.
Clive Andrews was sitting quietly in one corner, next to a pile of blankets. His arms were folded over his chest, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His eyes were staring at nothing, unless she moved, when he instantly became alert again.
He must be exhausted. She wondered when his shift might end and how she would cope when it did. She’d come to see him as her link to Lauren, so if he went there would be nothing left to hold on to – apart from Polly, who was here too, sitting quietly beside her, half dozing, but also seeming tuned in to Emma’s every move. She’d caught up with them not long after they’d arrived, and wasn’t going to leave, she’d said, until Emma did.
Emma wanted to go now, this minute, and take Lauren with her. She wanted it all to be a nightmare that she could wake up from to find Lauren safe and fast asleep in her bed; or coming sheepishly in through the front door, having forgotten to let her mother know she was staying out all night.
Will was on his way; so was Berry. She’d called them herself, about an hour ago, having delayed in the hope of being able to tell them that though it was serious Lauren was going to pull through. In the end, Clive Andrews and Polly had persuaded her that as her father Will must be told. Emma kept thinking about her mother and wondering whether she should call her, but she hadn’t yet, and wasn’t sure that she could. If only all she had to tell her about was a compound fracture, some internal bruising and scratches to Lauren’s face, but these injuries were so minor in comparison to the trauma Lauren’s brain had suffered that they weren’t even being attended to yet.
‘Would you like some more tea?’ Polly asked, as Emma suddenly got to her feet.
‘No thanks,’ Emma answered. She didn’t know where she was going, or what she wanted to do, except she’d found herself unable to stay sitting any longer.
‘Would you?’ Polly asked Clive Andrews.
He shook his head. ‘I’m good, thanks,’ he said.
Emma looked at him. Oddly, he reminded her of her brother, though she couldn’t think why when they were nothing alike. Perhaps it was his kindness – Harry was always kind. Should she have rung him? He’d be upset that she hadn’t, but what could he do? ‘Thank you for waiting,’ she said to Andrews, trying and failing to smile. ‘I expect you should have left a long time ago.’
With a gruffness she was coming to know – maybe that was how he and Harry were alike – he said, ‘I’ve called my missus, she won’t be expecting me until there’s been some news.’
Feeling his words punch at her heart, Emma looked away. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her temper rose and fell. ‘I don’t understand what she was doing on that road,’ she said for the seventh, eighth, ninth time since Andrews had told her where the accident had happened. It didn’t make any sense when Lauren had been going into Bristol for the evening, with Melissa, and as far as Emma knew coming straight home from there. The road where the accident had happened was in completely the opposite direction.
‘I’ll have another chat with Melissa when I get home,’ Polly assured her again.
Polly’s first call to Melissa had elicited only a denial of knowing anything at all about where Lauren had been, followed by cries of shock and tears for her friend when Polly had told her how serious Lauren’s injuries were. Her second call hadn’t got her much further.
‘She must be able to throw some light on it,’ Emma insisted.
‘This is the trouble with kids,’ Andrews ventured, ‘they don’t tell us everything.’
Emma wanted to say that Lauren wasn’t like that, but how could she when she was unable to offer any kind of an explanation as to how Lauren had come to be on a country road in the middle of nowhere, and out of her car in the dead of night. Why on earth would she have stopped in such a remote spot and got out of her car? Andrews had said no one else was with her, and a first inspection had shown no flat tyres, so maybe the stalling problem had recurred.
‘If there was something wrong with the car,’ she said shakily, ‘I don’t understand why she didn’t call me. I’d have gone to get her.’
‘It could be that she tried and couldn’t get a signal,’ Andrews suggested.
It made sense, but it was awful to think of Lauren stranded and alone in the depths of a countryside she barely knew, and unable to make contact with anyone.
Far worse was thinking of where she was now.
‘The car that hit her,’ she said, feeling horribly lightheaded. ‘Where’s the driver? Did you see him or her? Were they injured too?’ Why hadn’t she thought of this before? It seemed odd that it was only coming to her now.
‘It was a young lad in his early twenties,’ Andrews told her. ‘He was breathalysed and taken to the station.’
Emma’s eyes turned glassy as she registered the words. ‘He’d been drinking,’ she said incredulously. ‘He was over the limit?’
Andrews nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
She was speechless, had no idea how to articulate her fury. ‘Then he shouldn’t even have been on the road,’ she cried savagely.
Andrews didn’t deny it.
Unable to bear the hatred rising up in her, she clapped her hands to her head and began sobbing with a terrible despair.
Coming to embrace her, Polly urged, ‘Don’t think about him now. Lauren’s all that matters. We have to use all our energy to will her to pull through.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Emma whispered, nodding her gratitude. ‘That’s absolutely what we have to do.’
Russ watched Jolyon Crane come out of the police station into the murky post-dawn drizzle over Knowle West. He was a tall, striking man in his mid-fifties with an air of authority about him that could be either intimidating or reassuring, depending whose side he was on, and most wanted him on theirs.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Russ said, as they shook hands. ‘How is he?’
‘Bearing up, but as scared as you’d expect. He’ll be out in a minute, he’s just collecting his things. Before he comes, though, I think there’s something you should know.’
As a grip of dread clenched Russ’s insides, he watched a sorry-looking bride limping her way out of the station to a waiting car.
‘The reason Oliver was driving last night,’ Jolyon began, ‘was because his mother rang him and what she said led him to think that she was about to commit suicide.’
Russ’s face tightened in shock; a beat later his eyes were burning with fury. ‘Are you saying he was on his way to, what? Rescue her?’
Jolyon nodded. ‘It looks that way. The point is, this could, to some degree, help in his defence.’
‘Well, that’s just great,’ Russ tried not to shout, ‘when if it weren’t for her he wouldn’t bloody well need a defence. Does she know yet what she’s done?’
Jolyon tightened the scarf at his neck. ‘I’m not sure. Oliver tells me the police went to check on her after he’d explained why he was driving, but whether they told her what had happened, I’ve no idea.’
Still fuming, Russ said, ‘So my son, thanks to his drunken mother, has put an innocent young girl in hospital and his own future ...’
‘Here he is,’ Jolyon broke in quickly. ‘Go easy on him now, this has been a huge shock.’
Turning around, Russ peered through the dull, grey li
ght. As Oliver came out from behind a police van, he felt such a fierceness to his love and despair to his anger that all he could do was clasp his son in his arms and hold him tight as Oliver tried stoically not to break down.
‘I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said shakily. ‘I know I shouldn’t have ...’
‘You’re damned right you shouldn’t,’ Russ growled, ‘but Jolyon’s explained what made you ... For Christ’s sake, why didn’t you just call me?’
‘I didn’t think. I got the call and I ... It was like I had to get to her ...’
‘But drinking and driving, son. You could have rung anyone ...’
‘I know. I wish I had. Oh God, Dad, what’s going to happen? Is she all right? Have you heard yet if she’s still alive?’
Russ turned to Jolyon.
‘All I’ve managed to find out so far,’ Jolyon answered, ‘is that they’ve transferred her to the neuro centre at Frenchay.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Russ muttered, the cold clammy hand of fear closing around his gut.
Oliver’s face was grey. He looked about to pass out. ‘I swear I didn’t see her,’ he said hoarsely. ‘One minute the road was empty, the next ...’ His breath caught, and Russ took hold of his shoulders.
‘He’s still in shock,’ Jolyon murmured. ‘Come on, let’s get him somewhere warm,’ and taking Oliver by the arm he started to steer him across the road. ‘Where’s your car?’ he asked Russ.
‘I came by taxi,’ Russ replied. ‘Can you fit us all in yours?’
‘Sure. It’s right over there,’ and using the remote to unlock a large BMW, Jolyon went to open the rear door for Oliver to get in.
‘I take it he’s on police bail,’ Russ said, as Jolyon started the engine.
Jolyon nodded. ‘Once they’ve had the results of the blood test we’ll get a date for the magistrates’ hearing.’
‘What happens in the meantime?’
Jolyon glanced in the mirror as he steered the car away from the kerb. Catching a glimpse of Oliver’s frightened eyes, he tempered his response by saying, ‘To all intents and purposes life goes on as normal.’
Already aware it could probably never be that again, Russ said, ‘Presumably there’ll be some kind of investigation ...’
‘It’s already under way,’ Jolyon confirmed.
Turning to look at his son, Russ decided not to press any more questions on him for now. The boy was drooping with exhaustion and clearly terrified enough without having to deal with the full horror of what he could be facing in the weeks, months to come.
Twenty minutes later they were at Jolyon’s office in the centre of town, and since Oliver had gone to one of the bathrooms to freshen up Russ braced himself for the bottom line. ‘What’s the worst we could be looking at?’ he asked, taking the piping hot coffee Jolyon was passing him.
Going to pour another for himself, Jolyon said, ‘I think we need to take this one step at a time. So far he’s been charged with driving under the influence ...’
‘That’s a given, but whatever happens to the girl, it’s going to impact in a big way.’
Unable to deny it, Jolyon went to sit at his desk.
‘I know you’re hedging,’ Russ said, ‘but I need you to give this to me straight.’
Jolyon’s shrewd eyes came to his. ‘If she doesn’t pull through,’ he replied, ‘they’ll charge him with causing death by dangerous driving.’
Though not surprised, Russ felt the horror of it starting to crush him. ‘And the maximum penalty for that?’
As Jolyon was about to answer Oliver appeared in the doorway, so he merely took a sip of his coffee.
‘I heard the question,’ Oliver said raggedly.
Jolyon’s eyes went to Russ, seeking guidance, while Russ regarded his son, trying to weigh up just how much more he could take. In the end he said, ‘He needs to hear it too.’
‘It would be a custodial sentence of up to five, maybe more years,’ Jolyon said, looking at Oliver, ‘but I ...’
‘Oh God,’ Oliver gasped, dropping his head in his hands.
Going to him, Russ held him up as Jolyon went on, ‘There’s a long way to go before we have to start facing anything like that, and we’re going to do everything we can to make sure we don’t. So now, why don’t you go home and at least try to get some sleep. It’s been a rough night all round. As soon as there’s any news the police will know, and if it changes anything we can be sure they’ll be in touch.’
Chapter Twelve
EMMA WAS PACING, wringing her hands and wanting to scream in frustration. ‘Can we go and ask someone what’s happening?’ she pleaded. ‘They must have some news by now?’
‘I’ll go,’ Andrews said, getting to his feet.
As the door closed behind him, Emma sank back into her chair and bent over her knees. ‘She’s going to be all right,’ she said determinedly. ‘I can feel it. She’ll get through this, I know she will.’ Her eyes went desperately to Polly. ‘She’s young and strong and has so much to live for. It just wouldn’t be right for her to go now.’
Sitting down beside her, Polly said, ‘Of course it wouldn’t, and she won’t.’
They both looked up as the door opened, and Emma’s heart contracted to see that Andrews wasn’t alone. Then, recognising the man behind him, tall, fair-haired and haggard with shock, she felt so overwhelmed by the reason he’d driven full speed from London to be here that she could say nothing to greet him.
‘Hello, Will,’ Polly said softly.
His eyes seemed angry and dazed. ‘Why are they still operating?’ he demanded, as though Emma should know. ‘They told me she’s still under.’
‘They’re doing everything they can,’ Emma replied, keeping her voice as steady as she could.
‘But why is it taking so long?’
‘I don’t know. It just is.’
‘Neurosurgery is extremely complex,’ Andrews said quietly.
Will turned to glare at him. ‘We need some answers,’ he barked.
‘We’ll get them,’ Emma broke in angrily. Then, forcing herself to be calm, ‘Will, please don’t make this any worse ...’
‘Me, don’t make it any worse,’ he cried heatedly. ‘It was you she was staying with. You who should have been taking care of her. What the hell was she doing out at that time of night?’
‘She’s eighteen ...’
‘Will, this is pointless,’ Polly interrupted, ‘and you’re really not ...’
‘This has nothing to do with you,’ he snapped. ‘I want to know why she was out at that hour, and ...’
‘What difference does it make now, why she was out,’ Emma shouted. ‘She’s fighting for her life, and us fighting in here isn’t helping one bit.’
Seeming to realise the sense of that, he put his face in his hands and tried to calm down. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in the end. ‘I just ... Christ, I can’t even think straight.’
‘None of us can,’ Emma told him, ‘but we have to try to for Lauren’s sake, if not for our own.’
Nodding acceptance of that, he dragged a hand through his hair and turned to Andrews. ‘Sorry,’ he said roughly.
Andrews merely nodded.
‘Can I get you some tea?’ Polly offered.
He looked as though he had no idea what tea was. Then, shaking his head, he insisted, ‘I want to know how it happened. Where she was, who hit her, what’s being done about it ...’
Andrews said, ‘Instead of putting Lauren’s mother through it all again, why don’t you come with me and I’ll tell you what I know.’
Will’s eyes went to Emma, accusingly, desperately, then saying no more he turned to follow Andrews out of the room.
Only minutes after they’d gone Emma heard voices outside, and a terrible pounding started in her chest as she waited for a doctor to come into the room, but it was a nurse who opened the door to show Berry in.
‘Oh my dear,’ Berry murmured, wrapping Emma in a crushing embrace. She was neither tall, n
or fat, simply ample and in her own ageing way quite enchanting. This morning, however, with not a scrap of make-up to cover the lines on her face, nor the hint of a hairbrush having gone through her bright silvery mop, she looked tired and lacklustre. ‘The nurse told me they’re still operating,’ she said. ‘That’s good, it means she’s fighting.’
Emma nodded as she fought back more tears. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said, resting her head on her grandmother’s shoulder.
‘Oh Emma, of course I would come. Our girl means more to me than my own life, you know that.’ She glanced at Polly and managed a smile. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. At least Emma hasn’t been alone.’
‘Will’s arrived,’ Emma told her.
‘Yes, I saw him with the policeman. They said I could go and join them ... Oh my goodness,’ she slurred, putting a hand to her head.
‘Oh Berry, sit down,’ Emma cried, taking her to a chair. ‘The shock, the drive ... Will should have brought you.’
‘He offered,’ Berry said breathlessly, ‘but I thought I might need my car. I’m sorry, I’ll be fine in a minute, just a little dizzy spell.’
‘I’ll get you some water,’ Polly said.
Taking Emma’s hands, Berry said, ‘I stopped on the way to call your mother. I realised you might not have and she’d want to know.’
Emma’s face was more strained than ever.
‘She’s on her way,’ Berry told her gently.
Emma seemed surprised.
‘You didn’t imagine she wouldn’t come?’ Berry sounded genuinely amazed.
Before Emma could respond the door opened and a tall, lean man with sunken cheeks and birdlike eyes came into the room. His scrubs left no doubt about who he was. ‘Mrs Scott?’ he said, looking at Emma.
Emma was no longer breathing.
‘I’m Nigel Farraday,’ he told her, shaking her hand, ‘the surgeon in charge of your daughter’s case. I’m sorry I haven’t been in to speak to you before, but I’m afraid there hasn’t been an opportunity until now. The nurse has gone to fetch your husband – Lauren’s father. Shall we sit down?’