Losing You

by Susan Lewis

  Moving as though not in touch with her limbs, or even her mind, Lauren perched on the edge of a chair and didn’t take her eyes off the surgeon, even when Will came in with Clive Andrews.

  After introducing himself again, Farraday gestured for Will to join Emma, then sitting down too, he waited for a nurse to usher the others from the room before he said,

  ‘I’m sure the first thing you’ll want to know is that your daughter has survived the operation ...’

  Relief came so fast at Emma that she started to sob and couldn’t make herself stop. Will was rocking back and forth, seeming to want to shake the surgeon’s hand, put an arm round Emma, get up, do something, anything to demonstrate his own relief.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said jaggedly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ Emma echoed.

  Farraday’s expression remained grave. ‘That’s the good news,’ he said. ‘The rest is, well, I’m afraid the procedure she’s just been through has been extremely tough on her. It was necessary in order to remove a large clot which was applying pressure to the brain stem. There’s still a lot of bruising and swelling, and she remains in a very critical condition.’

  Emma was barely taking it all in, she couldn’t yet, because she didn’t know how to deal with it. ‘Where is she?’ she faltered. ‘Can we see her?’

  ‘They’ll be bringing her up soon,’ he answered, ‘and once the lines have been set you’ll ...’

  ‘Lines?’ Will interrupted.

  ‘The nurses will explain what they’re for, but basically it’s the intubation she’s going to need to make up her life-support system.’

  Emma’s eyes widened. Life support? ‘She’s going to make it though, isn’t she?’ she insisted.

  Farraday’s eyes softened as they met hers. ‘We certainly hope so,’ he told her, ‘but I’m afraid these next few days will be critical.’

  Russ was too tired and far too stressed to be able to deal with Sylvie rationally for the moment – if there was indeed anything rational about what had happened, and frankly if there was, he couldn’t see it.

  After leaving Jolyon he’d brought Oliver home, prepared them both some food which neither of them had had the stomach to eat, and had then sent Oliver off to take a bath and try to get some sleep. Meanwhile, he, Russ, decided to ignore all the messages on his machine and call Fiona to thank her for having his car delivered back.

  ‘I wish there was something I could do,’ she said, after he’d brought her up to speed with what had happened so far.

  ‘Thanks,’ he responded, ‘but seems like we’re pretty much in the lap of the gods now, and a damned good surgeon.’

  ‘At least you have Jolyon on the case. You can’t get any better.’

  ‘True, but he’s not a magician. Oliver was over the limit, the girl is critically injured, might even die, so what defence does he have? Worst-case scenario, Oliver’s on his way to prison.’

  ‘You really think it’ll come to that?’

  ‘Right now I’m failing to see how it can be avoided, and though he won’t admit it, I don’t think Jolyon can either.’

  With a tightness in her voice, she said, ‘I’m sorry, but it’s your wife who should be taking the rap for this, not your son.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he replied, ‘but sadly we can’t change the way it is. I suppose I ought to check up on her as I still haven’t heard from her since she drove off last night.’

  ‘The police went round there though, so you know she didn’t carry out the threat she made to Oliver.’

  ‘Not then, but who knows what she might have done since.’

  With a groan of sympathy she said, ‘This is so hard on you ...’

  ‘If you’re going to feel sorry for anyone, make it Oliver, or better still the girl and her family.’

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re all in my thoughts. Do you know her name yet?’

  ‘You obviously didn’t hear the eleven o’clock news. Lauren Scott. Apparently she’s out of surgery, but still fighting for her life.’

  After ringing off, he stood staring down at the answering machine knowing already who all the messages were from, because they’d come through to his mobile too while he and Oliver were on their way home. The only surprise was that it had taken this long for the press to start clamouring for statements. Any time now a gaggle of them would be gathering outside his gates, possibly even attempting to climb walls to try and get a shot of him, or Oliver. This was the real downside of a fame that had expired a dozen years ago, but was now being resurrected for the purposes of sensationalism, another dimension to the story.

  Since Charlie clearly hadn’t heard the news, or he’d have been in touch by now, he pressed his elder son’s number into his mobile and went to pour himself a coffee while waiting for the connection. Finding himself diverted to voicemail, he swore under his breath, and left a message for Charlie to call the instant he could.

  He wondered if anyone from the press had contacted Sylvie yet. If they had she’d surely have rung him, probably in a panic, so it seemed likely that she wasn’t answering the phone to them either. It would only be a matter of time though, and if she didn’t already know about the accident he probably shouldn’t let her learn about it from a reporter. Not that he felt he owed her any favours, but if she was drunk when she found out there was no telling how she might react.

  Coming reluctantly to the conclusion that he had to break things to her in person, he was about to go and check on Oliver before driving back into town when his mobile rang, and seeing it was Charlie he immediately clicked on.

  ‘Dad, Oliver just told me,’ Charlie cried in a rush. ‘This is terrible. We have to do something. I’m coming home ...’

  ‘Charlie! Stop!’ Russell barked. ‘There’s nothing you can do, at least not for the moment, so please stay where you are. You can’t miss these exams ...’

  ‘But Dad ...’

  ‘No buts, son. You heard what I said, now please, I’ve got enough to be dealing with without worrying about you too.’

  ‘OK, I get that, but what about Mum? Does she know? Have you spoken to her?’

  ‘I’m about to go over there. Has she rung you today?’

  ‘She left a message earlier saying ... I don’t know, she was rambling on about finding you with her friend Fiona ...’

  ‘What time did she call?’

  ‘Uh – I guess it must have been after eight o’clock, because Freddy, one of my flatmates, left a message then asking if I was in because he’d lost his keys. And her message was later than that. I haven’t rung her back, I’m afraid. Do you think I should?’

  ‘No. I’ll deal with it from here. Just be there for Oliver if he wants to talk again, but most importantly, stay focused on getting through those exams. Everything else you can leave to me.’

  It hardly looked like Lauren. For a moment, when she’d first seen her, Emma had dared to hope they had the wrong person. It was her hands that had crushed the doubt: the polish on her nails was the colour Lauren had painted on last night. Her head was swathed in so many bandages it was almost twice its size, the tender skin around her eyes was bruised black and swollen, her cheeks and lips were badly cut and grazed. Sutures stood out against her deathly pale skin like tiny wings. So many tubes were running into her nose, mouth, neck and arms that it was impossible to remember what they were all for. The doctor had told them, when they’d finally been allowed to see her. Nigel Farraday himself had explained in as simple language as he could what was happening to her.

  Though he hadn’t actually put it this way, it was clear she was being kept alive by these tubes and the battery of machines that were making her breathe, or monitoring her heart, or keeping a check on her intracranial pressure. Drugs and fluids were flowing into her, a sats probe, which Emma thought had something to do with measuring oxygen, was attached to her finger, and a number of catheters were providing drains and infusions and possibly something else Emma might have forgotten for now. />
  Her leg was in a temporary splint. Nothing more would be done about it until Nigel Farraday gave the go-ahead to the orthopaedic surgeon. The brain always comes first, Emma had been told, but when the time was right Lauren would have to undergo more surgery to repair her leg.

  Emma knew she could ask Mr Farraday to go through things with her again, if necessary, and maybe in the coming hours or days she would need him to, but right now all she wanted was to sit with her angel and will her with all her heart not to let go.

  ‘Keep talking to her,’ Nigel Farraday had said. ‘I can’t promise that she’s able to hear you, but if she can I’m sure it’ll be a great comfort to her.’

  So between them Emma and Will were keeping up a flow of soothing words, never taking their eyes from Lauren’s face in case there was the tiniest flicker of an eyelid or a murmur of response. Many hours had passed now and the only sounds they’d heard were the heavy sucking and puffing of the ventilator and bleeping of the monitors; the only movements came from the wave forms on the screens and the attendant nurse who was never more than a few feet away.

  The lights were low; the other bed in this small section of the ward was empty. Somewhere at a distance, perhaps in another world, the wail of sirens came and went. It was warm, so warm that Emma could feel sweat trickling between her breasts and down her back. She found herself wondering what had happened to Lauren’s clothes, that beautiful gold dress that had been so exquisitely shocking. Had they been forced to cut it from her? Had they shaved off her hair to get to her skull? They must have.

  ‘... And when we get you out of here,’ Will was saying, ‘we’re going to throw you a great big party and invite all your friends. They’re all ringing up to find out how you are. Donna, Selina, Melissa, Lucy ... and they send their love. They’ll be coming to see you when you’re strong enough to have visitors. For now it’ll be just me and Mum ...’

  ‘And Granny,’ Emma came in. ‘She was here earlier, I expect you heard her, didn’t you. She’s in the waiting room now with Polly and Berry. Uncle Harry and Aunt Jane have popped out to find a coffee shop to pick up some drinks for us all. They’re very worried about you too and came as soon as they heard. Dad and I are going to spend the night here, so we’ll be close at hand if you want to speak to us. They won’t let us stay by the bed all that time, in case we wear you out.’

  ‘I know you’re listening,’ Will resumed, his voice starting to falter, ‘and I expect you want to tell us to shut up, but until you actually say it, I’m afraid it’s not going to happen. We’re just going to keep on going ...’

  Emma wished he’d go away. She wanted Lauren all to herself, to do what only a mother could, reconnect to her child in a way that didn’t need tubes or syringes or anything tangible. As Lauren’s mother she could reach her through the unbreakable bond they shared, the bond that would never allow them to be anything but a part of one another. Through it she could transfer all her energy and willpower, her love, her courage and every ounce of determination she possessed for Lauren to use as her own. These things would need no words or even touch to be transmitted, but would simply flow straight from her into Lauren, as vitally and as restoratively as any medicine, or air, or surgeon’s skill.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Scott?’ someone said softly behind them.

  It was Anna, the large, sweet-faced Polish nurse who’d been assigned to Lauren.

  ‘I think you both need to take little break now,’ she said kindly. ‘I will stay with her. Doctor will be coming back shortly.’

  Though Emma found it almost impossible to tear herself away, she was willing to do whatever she was told if she thought it would help Lauren, so pressing a kiss to her fingers and touching them gently to Lauren’s bloodied cheek, she started to step away. It was a moment before she realised what was happening, but as Anna’s strong arms caught her, she swiftly came to again.

  ‘You are exhausted,’ Anna told her. ‘And I expect you have not eaten for all of the day.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Emma whispered. ‘Sorry, I ... I ...’

  ‘Come on,’ Will said, putting an arm around her. ‘Lean on me.’

  Emma moved away. She didn’t want to get close to him, or depend on him in any way, because she knew from experience how unreliable he was. All that had ever been constant about him was his love for Lauren, and belief that he was destined to become the father of a truly great musician, but even that hadn’t been enough to persuade him to keep their family together – or to make him offer his beloved daughter a weekday home in London.

  He was here now though, which was what really mattered, certainly as far as Lauren was concerned, and Emma guessed it mattered to her too, because she simply wouldn’t have been able to bear it if he’d allowed anything to prevent him from coming.

  Outside the waiting-room door Will took Emma’s arm and held her back. ‘We need to talk,’ he said in a growl. ‘I need some answers.’

  Deciding not to get into whatever he was talking about, she pulled her arm away and continued on through the door.

  ‘Something’s not right about this,’ he hissed from behind her.

  Emma stiffened. Had he actually just said that? Had those words really passed his lips? What the hell was supposed to be right about it?

  Realising all she could do was ignore him, she walked on into the room and allowed Berry’s ready embrace to enfold her in wave after wave of trust, loyalty and years of just being there when she was needed. Over Berry’s shoulder she saw her mother watching, embarrassed, anxious, seeming lost, even afraid.

  Not knowing what to say to anyone, Emma turned to her brother whose strong arms were already opening to hold her, but as she moved towards him an alarm suddenly sounded outside.

  With terror slicing her very soul, Emma barged past Will to the doors of the ICU. Through the windows she could see nurses and intensivists running in Lauren’s direction. ‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘What’s happening? What’s happening?’

  ‘Clear the way,’ someone shouted, as the doors flew open.

  Seconds later Lauren was rushed past.

  ‘Oh my God, no! Nooooo!’ Emma screamed, going after them.

  ‘Please wait there,’ someone said sharply.

  Anna the nurse put an arm around her.

  ‘What is it? Where are they taking her?’ Emma demanded, wild-eyed with fear.

  ‘For another CT scan,’ Anna answered. ‘She has experienced a surge in intracranial pressure.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Anna’s pale blue eyes were full of compassion as she said, ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to wait and see.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  RUSS HAD NO idea how Jolyon had got hold of the information about the girl last night; all he knew was that at the time Jolyon had called he’d wished he hadn’t. Being told that she’d been rushed back into surgery had been almost as bad as hearing that it had happened to one of his own – in some ways he couldn’t help wondering if that might have been easier. Less guilt, blame, shame – a full due of sympathy for Oliver that he would never get now, even though in some small way he deserved it. At least to Russ’s mind he did, from the rest of the world – and the judicial system – he was hardly likely to get it.

  According to the news this morning the girl, Lauren, had come through the night, but the twenty-four-hour watch continued, and if she’d made any contact with anyone at all since the surgery it hadn’t yet been reported. But the fact that the drunk driver who’d struck down this beautiful, gifted girl with a dazzling future ahead of her belonged to the family behind the golden angels was now widely known. One local headline had already labelled Oliver the ‘demon son of an angel’, and Russ could only imagine that worse was to come.

  When he’d turned up at Sylvie’s apartment last evening he’d been in such a rage that perhaps it was no bad thing that she’d refused to let him in. He needed to break this to her in a way that was going to leave her in no doubt of the part she had played in this tragedy, an
d he couldn’t do that if they were shouting and she was drunk.

  Before leaving he’d rung Connie Wilkes, one of Sylvie’s old secretaries who lived close by, to ask her to come and stay the night at the flat to make sure Sylvie didn’t overdo the booze, or turn on the news before he returned today. The latter wouldn’t be a difficult task, since Sylvie had little interest in the world beyond herself these days. The former, however, was likely to have proved much more of a challenge.

  One look at his wife as the redoubtable Connie let him into the apartment was enough to suggest that Connie might have had some success. Dishevelled and red-eyed though Sylvie was, and not yet dressed, he’d seen her looking a great deal worse at ten in the morning – and in spite of the way she bristled when she saw him, she didn’t seem entirely surprised that he was there.

  ‘I told you,’ she said to Connie, ‘that if it was my husband you must not let him in. He has no right to be here when all he does is shout at me, and I do not want to see him now he is sleeping with another woman.’

  As she reached for a tissue to blot more tears from her eyes, Russ turned to Connie.

  ‘Thanks very much for staying,’ he said warmly. ‘I’m sorry to have called on you at such short notice ...’

  ‘It wasn’t a problem,’ Connie assured him, picking up her purse. After giving Sylvie a hug and promising to drop in again later, she followed Russ to the door, where he unhooked her coat.

  Keeping her voice low as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she said, ‘How’s Oliver?’

  Tensing at the question, but reminding himself that she wasn’t only genuinely kind, but discreet, he said, ‘Frankly, not great.’

  Looking deeply sorry, she squeezed his hand as she said, ‘You know where I am. If there’s anything I can do you only have to pick up the phone.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, touched by the offer. ‘I’ll call you later and settle up for last night.’

  Her eyes widened in protest. ‘I don’t need paying,’ she told him. ‘You’ve always been good to me, you and Sylvie, so I’m more than happy to be there for you in any way I can.’