by Susan Lewis
‘If she was showing some signs of recovery,’ Emma said, gazing in through the windows of a large, sunny cafe that they hadn’t even known existed until now, ‘it would probably be a lot easier.’
‘Even so, the doctor’s going to try, so he must think we’re in with a chance.’
Taking hope from that, Emma said, ‘Did you realise it was a secure unit?’
‘Mm, yes, but you’d never know it, would you? Such pretty little gardens with those parasols and nice wooden tables. Well, I was very impressed with all of it. How could you not be?’
‘It seems like a world away from where she is now, doesn’t it?’ Emma remarked. It was heartbreaking and cruel, she was thinking, how drastically her ambitions for Lauren had changed in such a relatively short time, but she was learning to adapt, as Lauren must too, when the time came.
‘... and you’ll never guess what happened this morning,’ Emma was saying to Lauren as she sat beside her bed a week later, oblivious to the comings and goings outside the little side room. Today she was barely even noticing the monitors charting Lauren’s progress, nor the nasal specs that looped from Lauren’s nose across her cheeks, providing oxygen. Not even the gastric tube that supplied her nutrients was catching Emma’s attention. She only saw Lauren’s still, tranquil features, warmed and faintly flushed by the blood running beneath the skin, and the delicate shaping of her lips that made them seem about to smile. In every other way she was healing, returning to health; she just wasn’t waking up. Nevertheless the physio still came twice a day to flex and massage her muscles, sit her up, turn her over and praise her for how well she was doing, when in fact she was doing nothing at all.
‘I only had a phone call from Hamish Gallagher,’ Emma went on, injecting some enthusiasm into her voice. ‘You remember, the manager at the Avon Valley Manor Hotel? Apparently, they want to put on a local arts fair this summer, and he’s asked me if I’ll organise it.’
Her eyebrows rose in anticipation of a reaction, and she smiled, as though she’d received one. ‘I know you’re saying wow, or amazing, or that’s so cool, or something like that,’ she said softly, ‘but it’s a bigger challenge than I was expecting for my first project. I’m sure I can do it, though. In fact, it feels right up my street, or I like to think it is. And I’ll love meeting local artists and potters, jewellery and home-craft designers ... I thought we could invite a few self-published writers too. They’ll probably welcome some added exposure for their books. It’s all got to be worked out yet, obviously, I’m just thinking off the top of my head before I go for a meeting with Hamish. He told me to call him that, which is very friendly, isn’t it? No, don’t start getting ideas. He’s happily married to a wife who’s apparently keen to help me make new contacts around the area, if I need them, and I certainly do. I’m hoping she might have access to a few local celebrities, so we can invite them along. That should bring in the crowds.’ She paused, giving herself a moment to imagine what Lauren herself might suggest, while trying not to dwell on how much she would have enjoyed helping to organise it.
‘Of course, musicians,’ she said, realising that would have been top of Lauren’s list. ‘We must include them, and dancers. They’ll really liven things up. Actually, I wonder if a local drama club might be interested in putting on a short play, or doing some readings. There’s a lot to think about, and if I’m going to do it I shall have to start work on it straight away, which is going to be difficult now I’m part-time at the vet’s. It was a case of having to go for that job though, otherwise Granny would have ended up paying for everything, and she has to be as careful as the rest of us with prices going up all the time, and her royalty payments starting to dwindle. I’ve a feeling she’s digging into her savings already, but she won’t discuss it, so I just have to make sure that I’m paying the lion’s share of the bills.’
Thinking of her mother she gave a long, gentle sigh of relief. ‘I expect you’ve been thinking about the chat Granny and I had that I told you about. I knew you’d be pleased to hear that we’d finally started making an effort to get past all the bad feelings we had between us. I guess I was so wrapped up in myself and how awful she was to me as a child that I didn’t allow myself to see the overtures she says she made over the years. Yes, I’m sure you saw them, but the thing with you, Lauren, is you always see the good in people, even when it’s so hidden from the rest of us we’d need some sort of X-ray eyes to get there. Not that I’m saying Granny has no good in her, because obviously she has, it just never seemed to be directed at me, or not in my mind it didn’t. And you, well you’ve never been able to help yourself the way you give everyone the benefit of the doubt, or insist their motives are far worthier than they appear to the rest of us. It’s true that you really don’t see the bad in people, do you? Or, if you do, you manage to look straight past it to where the shyness, or hurt, or fear, or whatever it is, is hiding. Berry’s always said it’s another way you’re like my father, because he had time for everyone, apparently, no matter who they were or where they’d come from.’
She paused, and her head bowed with unhappiness as she tried to reconcile her beautiful, tender-hearted daughter with the girl who’d seemed to gain such pleasure from an illicit relationship with a man more than twice her age. It was still hard for Emma to accept that it had really happened in spite of having read the diary, and in spite of knowing how complex a human personality could be. Everyone, without exception, was capable of hiding traits or thoughts or failings they didn’t want anyone else to know about, and it was second nature to keep secrets from those who might be hurt by them. Lauren would have known that her liaison with Philip Leesom would hurt her mother, but that really wasn’t the point. What bothered Emma most was that she had been so brazen with her newfound sexuality, so proud of it and ready to embrace anything Leesom might suggest. Never once had she seemed to consider her reputation if their relationship became known, or, more importantly, what danger she might be putting herself in.
Every mother thought they knew their child inside out, until they found out the hard way that they really didn’t.
Feeling tremors of unease coasting through her she wondered, not for the first time, what the accident and surgery might have done to Lauren’s personality, ambitions, understanding of others. Would she still be a musician when, if, she came round, or at least someone who enjoyed music? Maybe that part of her had been crushed by the impact, or removed by the scalpel. What if her character had changed completely and she woke up not as a virtual vegetable as Will obviously feared, but as another kind of person altogether? Maybe aspects of who she’d been before would remain, but would they be the tender, sunny qualities that made her so special? Or would she, Emma, have to get to know the side of her that had thrilled to Leesom’s attentions? Maybe there were other traits that even Lauren herself hadn’t yet discovered. Emma would still love her, whoever she was – she just couldn’t help fearing that fate’s crueller side might not have finished with them yet.
There was so much to worry about, so many awful scenarios ready to crowd out the pleasure of seeing Lauren return to consciousness, that sometimes she could feel herself becoming swamped by it all. What if Lauren came round and it was discovered she’d never be able to do anything but think for herself again? How terrible it would be for her, trapped inside a body that couldn’t function at all, never to be able to put her thoughts into words, or actions, or anything else that would help her to be understood, or move, or even eat unassisted. Locked-in syndrome, they called it. If that happened Will would have been proved right: she, Emma, would have condemned herself to a lifetime of caring for a daughter who might actually hate her for forcing such a miserable existence upon her. Lauren would probably consider herself better off dead.
As the days, weeks had worn on she’d found herself wondering more and more how delusional, selfish, even arrogant, she was in believing that her love for Lauren could make everything all right. Perhaps Will’s way was the kindest. If you reall
y love someone you’ll let them go. Did that mean he loved Lauren more because he was prepared to let her go? Emma couldn’t accept that, but she was starting to realise that maybe she should have tried harder to understand that all he really wanted was what he thought was the best for Lauren.
However, the decision about whether or not to let her go still hadn’t been forced on them, thank God. Whatever had caused the surges of pressure in Lauren’s brain hadn’t troubled her for over a couple of months now, and Emma had been repeatedly assured that she was in no pain. However, she might be in a place so removed from where her body was lying that the music they were playing to her was flowing into deaf ears; maybe the force of will they were all trying to connect with was a life energy that had long since fled, never to return.
Holding Lauren’s hand between both of her own, she rested her head against them as she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into a fear she’d never allowed herself to acknowledge before. If she had any courage at all, would she be facing the fact that she was clutching at a hope that was no more than thin air? Was she making Lauren the focus of her world out of desperation, even habit, or because she truly believed she was coming back? Where were the answers? How could she find them? She needed someone to guide her, to tell her the right thing to do, not for her, for Lauren, because only Lauren mattered.
Maybe she should talk to a doctor again. Neil Duncan was in charge of her case now, at least until they could get her transferred to the Brain Injury Centre, but there had been no word about that since Dr Hanworth had sent them a copy of his letter to the PCT. Emma hardly dared even think about how much she wanted Lauren to go there, because getting her hopes too high meant she’d crash that much harder if their request for funding was turned down. If it was, what would happen to Lauren then? She hadn’t asked that question of anyone yet, but knew she’d have to sooner or later, at which point she might well be faced with selling the house in order to pay for Lauren’s care.
She would do it, of course, she suspected her mother would too, but what would happen after that money ran out?
Afraid that Lauren might be picking up on her negative thoughts, she forced herself to try and suppress the gloom and reach for something more light-hearted. Her first thoughts returned to the arts fair, but then she found herself remembering the travel information for India that had come through that morning. She was about to take it out to read to Lauren when she stopped. What she ought to be doing was getting in touch with the agent to cancel the trip, not sitting here pretending it was something Lauren was still looking forward to, even stood a chance of going on. A scalding rush of tears stung her eyes as she recalled Lauren’s crazy idea that they should spend her first two weeks there together. What she wouldn’t give to make that come true. How could she even have considered not going? No job, no other commitment would ever be as important as time spent with her daughter.
Making another effort to brighten her thoughts, she put Lauren’s hand down. Lifting her head she dragged her hands over her face, as though smoothing away the tiredness. ‘Has Oliver Lomax been to see you?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to see him ...’ She stopped as her heart caught on a beat.
Lauren’s eyes were open.
‘Lauren?’ she whispered, mindful that this could happen and still mean nothing. But Lauren had never done this before, or not that she knew of, and there was something about her ... This was real, she just knew it. It had to be or she would lose her mind.
Lauren’s eyes moved, not to her mother, but to the lower sides of their sockets.
‘Oh my God,’ Emma gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. ‘Lauren, can you hear me?’
Lauren didn’t respond, but she didn’t close her eyes either.
Emma jumped up, started to go for a nurse, but some instinct pulled her back again. ‘I’m here,’ she said, grabbing Lauren’s hand. ‘Oh my darling, can you see me? Can you hear what I’m saying?’
Lauren was staring straight ahead. It wasn’t possible to know if she was seeing or hearing anything, but her eyes were still open.
‘Nurse!’ Emma called. ‘Nurse. Please someone come.’
Putting a hand to Lauren’s face, she sobbed, ‘Sweetheart. It’s Mummy. Can you see me? Oh God, you don’t know how good it is to see you.’ She wanted to scoop her up, press her whole body to hers, envelop her in a tidal wave of love. She was laughing, crying, shaking so hard she could barely control herself.
Then Lauren’s eyes closed.
‘Oh no,’ she choked, feeling an overwhelming despair well up through her joy. ‘Please, please open your eyes again,’ she begged, squeezing hard on Lauren’s hand. ‘You can do it. I know you can.’
‘Emma? Is everything all right?’
Turning to Jo, the staff nurse, Emma said, ‘She opened her eyes. Just a moment ago. She – she didn’t look at me or anything, but they were definitely open.’
Jo’s gaze went to Lauren and she started to smile. ‘And they’re open again,’ she said softly, coming to the bed.
Emma turned quickly back to Lauren, and seeing her eyes, those beautiful, amber eyes, staring at nothing, she stood with her hands bunched at her mouth as Jo said, ‘Hello, young lady. It’s lovely to see you. You have very pretty eyes.’
Emma stifled a sob, then stopped breathing as Lauren’s eyes came unsteadily towards her.
‘Are you looking for Mum?’ Jo said, taking out a small flashlight to check Lauren’s pupils.
‘Can you see me, darling?’ Emma whispered raggedly. ‘I’m right here. Oh Lauren, can you see me?’
‘I think you can, can’t you?’ Jo replied, her voice full of affection. ‘I expect it’s good to see your mum, isn’t it? I know she’s very happy to see you.’
Emma was crying and shaking so hard she could barely speak. ‘What shall I do?’ she asked Jo as she picked up Lauren’s hand. ‘Shall I carry on talking to her?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll send someone for the doctor.’
It seemed an eternity, yet it was probably no more than minutes before a doctor Emma hadn’t seen before was there, checking Lauren’s vital signs and smiling widely as he said, ‘Well, you’ve taken your time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty, but I do believe you’re back with us now. Can you tell me who this is, standing next to me?’
Lauren’s eyes went slowly to Emma.
Simply seeing her respond that way caused more joy to flood Emma’s heart than she could possibly contain. Not only could she hear, she’d understood the question. ‘I’m still here, darling,’ she whispered, keeping a tight hold on Lauren’s hand.
‘Can you say Mum?’ the doctor asked.
When Lauren said nothing, Emma felt herself faltering.
Going to the other side of the bed, the doctor picked up Lauren’s other hand and said, ‘We’re going to do a little test, OK? It’s very easy. All you have to do is squeeze once for yes, and twice for no. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Lauren’s eyes were on his, so it gave Emma a start when she felt a movement in the hand she was holding.
‘I think she said yes,’ she said huskily. ‘Can you do it again, my darling?’
The movement of Lauren’s head as she turned to Emma was laboured, but the pressure of her hand was more definite this time.
Emma broke into sobs of laughter. ‘She said yes. She definitely said yes,’ she cried.
‘Excellent,’ the doctor declared, his voice ringing with praise. ‘Can you do the same with this hand?’
Again it seemed to take some effort for Lauren to turn her head, but she managed it and looked at the doctor.
They waited.
Emma’s eyes darted between Lauren’s face and left hand.
Still nothing happened.
‘It’s OK,’ the doctor said kindly, ‘it would be very unusual if we had everything happening straight away. What’s important is that you’re moving your right hand. Is she right-handed?’ he asked Emma.
Emma nodded.
Returning his attent
ion to Lauren, he said, ‘Do you know your name?’
Emma looked down at Lauren’s slender young hand as it flexed once under hers.
‘Is it Lauren?’ he asked.
Again a single flex.
Emma could never have imagined such a slight contraction of Lauren’s fingers would bring her so much relief and joy.
‘And is this your mum?’ the doctor prompted.
There was a longer pause as Lauren turned her head again to look at Emma. Then she squeezed her hand.
Emma gave a choke of pride.
‘And am I your daddy?’ the doctor asked.
Lauren continued to look at Emma as she squeezed twice.
Still gazing into her eyes, Emma leaned forward to smooth a hand over her forehead. The hand responses were vital, but it was the way Lauren was gazing back at her that was filling up her heart. Her baby was awake, alive, and though possibly damaged in ways they had yet to discover, all that mattered right now was that she was back with them, and Emma had no doubt it was to stay.
When the doctor finally left the room he was able to reassure Emma that Lauren truly was only sleeping now, tired out by her first brave attempts to communicate in a way that was already feeling like a miracle. She wasn’t speaking, or making any sounds at all, but Emma didn’t care how long it might be before her throat muscles strengthened (she was determined to believe that was all it would take), or before she could show them anything else she could do. All that mattered for now was the fact that when she was no longer tired she would wake up again. Not only that, she could definitely see and hear, and the tiny pinpricks the doctor had applied to numerous places around her body had all met with a response. She still didn’t seem able to move her left hand, but the doctor had said that he wasn’t unduly worried about that, as it too had responded to his pin test.
‘We need to give the brain and body time to wake up completely,’ he’d explained, ‘and that might well take a little longer than you’d like.’
‘But she will be all right?’ Emma had insisted.