Losing You

by Susan Lewis

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking as though he’d run if he weren’t trapped. ‘I didn’t ... I was just ...’

  ‘Who are you?’ Emma asked. She was sure she hadn’t seen him before, and yet there was something about him ...

  ‘They said it was OK to come in,’ he told her. ‘I don’t do anything, only talk to her.’ He was coming closer, trying to edge round her.

  ‘Are you a friend of Lauren’s?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Yes, no ... I mean ... Sorry, I should go.’

  He was almost past her when it suddenly clicked who he was, and as her heart jolted with shock she spun round. ‘Wait. Please, wait,’ she cried, not sure what she was going to say or do. Her mind was struggling to work out what was happening, what it could mean.

  His anxious eyes came back to hers. He was remarkably good-looking, she thought irrelevantly, and tall, at least six foot. And clearly very worried about being caught here. ‘You’re Oliver Lomax, aren’t you?’ she said. This was Oliver Lomax, the boy who’d been driving the car ...

  ‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ he assured her. ‘I just wanted to see her and ...’ His eyes went down as he ran out of words.

  She should have been angry, offended, calling for security to throw him out, but for some reason all she did was ask, ‘Why did you want to see her?’

  He glanced over at Lauren. Emma could see he was shaking, and thought she probably was too. ‘I just did,’ he replied. ‘I thought ...’ He shrugged awkwardly. ‘It’s going to sound stupid, I know, but I thought ... I was the one who did this to her, so maybe I was the one who could, you know, help bring her out of it.’

  Emma could only stare at him.

  He looked painfully self-conscious. ‘I told you it would sound stupid,’ he said.

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure it does,’ she murmured. Or no more than any of the things she thought to herself, anyway. ‘Is this the first time you’ve come?’

  His head went down as he shook it. ‘No, I ... I come most days, or whenever I can, just between four and five, because one of the nurses said she was usually on her own then.’

  ‘Does the nurse know who you are?’

  ‘No. I just said I was a friend.’

  Emma took a breath, and realising she didn’t know what to say, she turned to look at Lauren. She seemed so peaceful, and yet present, as if she was doing no more than sleeping. ‘Have you ever ...? Does she ever respond to you?’ she asked, not certain how she’d feel if the answer was yes.

  He shrugged. ‘Not really. I mean her fingers move sometimes, and I thought she opened her eyes once, but it turned out to be the way the sun was coming in through the window.’ His gaze came up to hers. ‘I’m really sorry if you think I’ve overstepped the mark. I swear I didn’t mean any harm.’

  She could tell that he didn’t, and as she looked more deeply into his eyes she thought she could detect something of his suffering. He had a genuine conscience that was clearly tearing him apart. ‘It’s OK, I believe you,’ she said.

  They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither of them seeming to know what to do or say next. In the end he said, ‘I guess I should go.’

  ‘No, don’t.’ She spoke before realising what she was going to say. Why did she want him to stay? She had no clear idea; she only knew that she didn’t want him to leave yet. ‘Will you have a cup of tea with me?’ she offered, thankful no one else was here, like Will, or her mother, because they’d probably think she’d lost her mind.

  He seemed uncertain.

  ‘I won’t eat you,’ she promised.

  The unease in his eyes retreated a little. ‘OK,’ he answered. ‘Why not?’

  Emma walked over to Lauren and touched a hand to her face. ‘Hello darling,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know you had a new ... friend.’ Was that how she should be describing him, or even thinking of him? It wasn’t feeling right, and yet it wasn’t jarring either.

  Lauren’s lips didn’t move, nor did her eyes open, but in her mind Emma could hear her saying, Do you know who he is?

  ‘Yes, I’ve just found out.’

  You know it wasn’t his fault, I was in the middle of the road.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Emma agreed, thinking of the boy’s mother and the panic he must have been in as he drove along that unlit road. Something that had never occurred to her before came quietly into her mind: at least he hadn’t driven on and left Lauren to die like an animal. He could have, and some would have, especially if they’d been drinking. ‘Do you mind if I go and talk to him?’ she whispered, smoothing the shorter side of Lauren’s hair. It was growing back as silky and honeyed as it had been before.

  No, it’s cool. I’ll stay here and get some sleep.

  ‘It’s time you woke up,’ Emma chided, loud enough for Oliver to hear.

  When she turned round he was watching Lauren, not her, then their eyes met, and the way he blushed touched her with its seeming innocence and simplicity.

  Moments later, as they were walking out of the ward, he said, ‘I think she will.’

  Emma glanced at him. He looked, she realised, a lot like his father.

  ‘I mean wake up,’ he explained. ‘I think she will.’

  Emma found herself warming inside. She had no idea why him saying it seemed to mean so much, it just did. ‘It’s good to know that I’m not alone in believing it.’

  He seemed surprised. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  She sighed. ‘In fairness my mother does, and my friend Polly, but her father’s not convinced.’

  ‘That’s because he’s afraid.’

  Emma nodded, impressed by his insight. ‘You’re right,’ she said, and stepping ahead of him out of the door, into the crisp spring evening air, she found herself swamped by birdsong and felt the joy of it trying to lift her.

  The cafe was only a short walk through a maze of stone alleyways and there was no one else in when they arrived, apart from two volunteers serving and a couple on their way out. Emma was recalling the last time she’d been in here, with Berry, when Will had come in, carrying his son, while his wife had waited outside. She still resented him for putting his other family first, even though she didn’t want his negativity anywhere near Lauren.

  Never would she have dreamt, she was thinking, as she paid for a tea and a 7 Up, that the next time she’d come into this cafe would be with Oliver Lomax. She’d never envisaged meeting him at all, unless it was to inflict some grotesque revenge on him, or to see him across a courtroom being sentenced to a good long spell in prison for what he’d done to her daughter. His parents would have been buckling under the horror, receiving a taste of what it was like to lose a child.

  Looking at him now, as he sat down at a corner table with her, she realised that all she was feeling towards him was relief, maybe gratitude to know that he cared about what had happened to Lauren, and admiration too for the way he’d found the courage to come and see her. She also felt a stirring of pity for what Philip Leesom’s plans for that Saturday night had brought upon him, as innocent a victim as Lauren herself.

  ‘I thought you’d hate me,’ he said, staring down at his can of drink. ‘I guess you do. I don’t blame you.’

  Being truthful, Emma said, ‘I thought I would too, but I’m finding that I don’t.’

  His eyes flicked up to hers, then went down again. ‘Why not, I hate myself.’

  She wanted to put a hand on his, but was afraid it would be inappropriate, or unwelcome, so she held back. ‘How’s your mother?’ she asked.

  He stiffened and she sensed a barrier going up around him.

  ‘I know she called you that night,’ she explained, ‘and it’s why you were in the car. The police told me.’

  His eyes stayed down. She could see pools of colour burning his cheeks. ‘She’s ... She’s an alcoholic,’ he said, his voice catching on a breath.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meaning it for him. For his mother who, in her eyes, was as culpable as Philip Leesom, she had little pity to spare.
‘Is she getting help?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, kind of. She’s in Cape Town with her sister, my aunt. Well, not with her exactly, because Olivia’s managed to get her into rehab.’

  What a pity it hadn’t happened sooner, Emma couldn’t help thinking.

  ‘My dad’s over there at the moment,’ he went on. ‘She checked herself out and wouldn’t go back unless he came to see her.’ His breath shuddered again as he tried to continue. ‘It’s all been pretty tough on him, her drinking, and I don’t think I’ve, you know ... He keeps trying to help me and like be there for me, but then something happens with Mum ... Anyway, what’s the point bothering about me? I’ve got to pay for what I’ve done, and all that really matters is ...’ He shrugged and kept his eyes on his hands.

  It was a moment before Emma realised that it was Lauren’s name he’d stopped short of saying, as though afraid he might not have the right to speak it.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said hoarsely.

  He was so young, Emma was thinking, so afraid and so shattered by what had happened that she couldn’t help feeling for him. ‘What music were you playing to her when I came in?’ she asked, realising it would be easier for him, perhaps for them both, if she steered them in another direction for a while.

  He pulled out his iPod to show her. ‘I made up this play-list,’ he explained. ‘It’s got all these flute numbers, ones I heard her playing on YouTube, and some jazz-rap stuff, because I get that she likes that, and then I put on some Radiohead, which is mainly what I like, just in case she might be interested to know what I ... I don’t expect she is. Actually I don’t know why I did that.’

  ‘You’ve been watching her on YouTube?’ Emma said.

  He nodded, then alarm darkened his eyes. ‘That sounds really creepy, doesn’t it? I never thought of it like that.’

  Emma couldn’t help but smile. With anyone else it might have seemed creepy; with him, well, somehow it didn’t. ‘I think she’d like it,’ she told him.

  He looked pleased, then doubtful, as though suspecting she was just being polite.

  ‘No, really,’ she said, in spite of having no idea what Lauren might be making of it, were she able to make anything at all. The point was, she didn’t feel it to be sinister, only thoughtful and in a way tragic for what it was doing to him. Had anyone noticed how deeply he was suffering, she wondered. From what little she knew of alcoholics they soaked up all the attention; they broke families apart with an implosion that seemed to suck out all that was good about them. The young, the vulnerable were left damaged in the wings, wondering what went wrong, if it was something they’d done to cause this destruction of their world.

  Was that what was happening to Oliver Lomax?

  ‘How long’s your dad going to be away?’ she asked.

  ‘He went last week, but he’s coming home tomorrow.’

  ‘And is your mother coming with him?’

  ‘No, she’s gone back into rehab now.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s a good thing.’

  He nodded. ‘It’ll give Dad a chance to focus on his business a bit more when he gets home. He’s felt bad about neglecting it and things haven’t been going too well lately.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a freelance exec producer, which means he represents independent producers to the broadcasters. Everyone’s cutting back on their programme budgets, so it’s not easy getting anything off the ground. He’s worried about having to let his staff go.’

  ‘How many staff does he have?’

  ‘Permanently, only three, but once the commissions we’re doing now are complete, we haven’t got anything to go on to.’

  ‘You work with him, do you?’

  ‘Kind of. I’ve been helping out one of the producers with a series about stately homes. He doesn’t really need me, but he pretends to to keep Dad happy, and I reckon it’s Dad who’s actually paying me. It won’t be coming out of the budget, because it’s not big enough.’

  Emma smiled. ‘It’s not an easy time for anyone,’ she commented.

  He was staring at nothing as he muttered, ‘Tell me about it.’ Then, collecting himself, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean ... Obviously, it’s a lot worse for ...’

  ‘Lauren?’

  He nodded. ‘And you, I guess. I wish I could change things, make it all right. I would if I could.’

  ‘You’re doing what you can, which is a lot more than most would in your shoes.’

  He swallowed hard and bowed his head again. ‘Yeah, well, she’s kind of, you know, special, isn’t she?’ he said haltingly.

  Touched that he would think so, Emma watched him, waiting for him to look up again, but he didn’t.

  ‘When I saw all the stuff on Facebook,’ he said, ‘and on YouTube, it was like ...’ He shrugged, seeming stuck for the right words. ‘Everyone really hates me for what I did and I don’t blame them. She had so much going for her and I came along and ruined it all.’

  ‘Not purposely,’ Emma reminded him, quietly surprised to find herself defending him.

  ‘No, definitely not purposely, but it was my fault. I’d been drinking, so I shouldn’t have been driving, and I wouldn’t have been if Mum hadn’t ...’ He gave an odd sort of gasp. ‘I should have stopped to think before I got in the car, but I didn’t and now ... Now ...’

  Reaching for his can of soda, she popped open the tab and handed it back again. ‘What’s happening in regard to the drink-driving charges?’ she asked.

  He shrugged again and continued to stare down at his can. ‘I went in front of the magistrates the week before last,’ he replied. ‘They’ve referred my case on to the Crown Court. The preliminary hearing’s on the seventh of next month.’

  Realising how much bigger this was for him than he was making it sound, she said, ‘I heard about your blood sample being lost, but I believe it turned up again?’

  He nodded. ‘We still haven’t had the results from it, though. Charlie, that’s my brother, reckons they’re screwing up all over the place because of the cutbacks.’

  ‘So do you think they’ve lost it again?’

  ‘No, apparently they’ve just got this enormous backlog. It’ll be positive, anyway, I know that.’ He took a breath, then another. ‘It’s doing my dad’s head in thinking about me going to prison.’

  Imagining it was, Emma asked, ‘And what about you? Is it scaring you too?’

  He swallowed. ‘I try not to think about it too much. Jolyon, my lawyer, keeps saying it might not come to that, but I reckon he’s just trying to make me feel better.’ At last his eyes came fleetingly to hers. ‘They’re going to try to get me off by citing special reasons, but that won’t get Lauren off, will it? And I don’t see why she should be left to suffer while I walk away scot-free, especially when none of it was her fault.’

  Amazed by the apparent depth of his feelings, Emma said, ‘No, it wasn’t her fault, but actually, I can’t see how you going to prison will help her either.’

  He didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and because she was slightly thrown by the fact that she’d even said it, she let the silence run for a while. What did she want to happen to him, she was asking herself. Would it be right for him simply to get away with it? Of course not, but what was sending him to prison going to prove, or change?

  Dreading to think of what Will might say if he had any inkling of the way her mind was working, she finished her tea and said, ‘I should go back and see her. What are you going to do now?’

  He seemed at a loss. ‘Go home, I guess.’

  ‘Is anyone there, with your parents away?’

  ‘Not today, but Charlie’s been around for a while. He’s gone back to London now though. He’s just passed his bar exams and he’s about to start his pupillage at some major chambers next Monday. Dad’s really proud of him.’

  Detecting a note of disappointment in himself, she swallowed the urge to reassure him in a way that would probably sound patronising, even fatuous, considering
the circumstances, and got to her feet.

  ‘Will you come to see Lauren again?’ she asked.

  He stood up too. She could see both amazement and misgiving in his eyes. ‘I’d like to, if it’s all right with you,’ he replied tentatively.

  Her mother, Polly, Will, and almost everyone else would probably think she’d gone totally mad. Nevertheless she said, ‘It’s fine with me. It’s nice to know she’s not on her own during the times the rest of us can’t be here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he murmured, trying to hold her eyes.

  She held out a hand to shake. ‘It was good meeting you,’ she told him, realising it was true.

  ‘It was good meeting you too,’ he replied, taking her hand.

  ‘If anything happens when you’re with her, if she shows any sign at all of waking up, will you let me know? I’ll give you my number.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, taking out his mobile. ‘I’ll put it straight in my phone.’

  After double-checking he’d got it right, she led the way outside.

  ‘Thanks for saying it’s OK to come,’ he said, holding back to show he wasn’t going to follow her.

  She looked up at him and gave a small nod, before turning to walk back to the ward.

  Thanks to a two-hour delay taking off from Cape Town, it was close to ten in the morning by the time Russ cleared customs at Heathrow and was able to collect his car from the long-term parking. The weather, he decided as he headed out to the motorway, was doing a better job of brightening the day than his mood. However, it was good to be on his way home after a seemingly endless eleven-and-a-half-hour flight, not to mention the gruelling week that had gone before it.

  Still, at least Sylvie was back in the clinic now, and promising to stay put until she’d kicked her dependency, which would be making him feel a whole lot better if he believed her. However, he wasn’t going to trouble himself with it now – God knew he’d had enough of it over the past seven days, finding Sylvie more difficult than ever, even with Olivia’s support. Hans, Olivia’s husband, had seemed to deal best with her, showing considerable sensitivity and understanding for her condition, largely because he’d been through the same nightmare a few years back with his oldest brother. The brother, tragically, had ended up choking to death on his own vomit while slumped on the doorstep of his twenty-nine-year-old daughter’s Constantia home.