Losing You

by Susan Lewis

  Would she ever want to go, or was it soon to become a place, an experience she’d be eager to put behind her?

  Heaven only knew how she was feeling about Oliver, but Emma could easily imagine the clenching tightness of loss gripping her heart, while the breathless fear that she might never see him again would be making it hard even to move. Neither of them had mentioned him since Emma had gone back into the room to help her dress, and Emma wondered how he must be feeling now. Angry and upset, of course, perhaps used, certainly rejected, and most likely afraid that Lauren might not change her mind. After all he’d done to prove how he felt, a part of Emma would have liked to shake Lauren for the way she was behaving, yet how could she not understand her daughter’s fears as this next crucial stage of her recovery began?

  Phyllis must have been looking out for them, because by the time Emma pulled up her mother was at the kerb ready to help them out of the car. She’d brought most of Lauren’s belongings home in her car earlier, so there was only the wheelchair to get out of the boot, and the crutches from the back seat.

  ‘Doo yoo-ou think everryone’s watching?’ Lauren whispered hoarsely.

  Feeling certain that at least a dozen pairs of friendly but curious eyes were peering from behind blinds and net curtains, Emma lied. ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ she said lightly. ‘They’re probably all at work, or in their gardens enjoying the sun. Can you manage?’ she asked, as Lauren swung her feet to the pavement.

  Grabbing hold of her mother’s and grandmother’s arms, Lauren hauled herself up and took only one crutch from the pair Phyllis was holding to slot under her left arm. Her face was pale and her eyes seemed larger and darker than usual as they absorbed the strange familiarity of her surroundings.

  ‘The kettle’s on,’ Phyllis told her as she led the way in through the gate. ‘We’ll have a nice cup of tea, shall we?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Lauren demanded, stopping dead and glaring at the ramp that had been fitted over the step leading up to the door.

  ‘It’s for the wheelchair,’ Emma explained. ‘Remember, I told you they were putting it in.’

  Her face tighter than ever, Lauren waved away the arm Phyllis was offering, and in a few short, hobbled steps she was inside the house.

  After exchanging uneasy glances with her mother, Emma went to get the wheelchair from the boot. Bringing it into the hall, she was dismayed to see Lauren in floods of tears, with Phyllis trying to comfort her.

  ‘I’mm not getting on that,’ Lauren cried. ‘I’mm not an in ... invalid or an ollld person.’

  Since she clearly meant the stairlift, Emma said, ‘OK, let’s just go and sit down for a while, shall we? We don’t have to deal with it now.’

  ‘I want to go to my room,’ Lauren told her.

  Emma looked at her mother again.

  Moving forward, Phyllis plonked herself down on the stairlift, fastened the belt and pressed green for go. As she started to rise Lauren turned and buried her face in Emma’s shoulder.

  ‘You have to watch her,’ Emma whispered. ‘She looks hilarious.’

  Reluctantly, Lauren turned back again, and parting her hair she watched her grandmother’s painfully slow ascent to the landing. As a sob of laughter escaped her Emma thought her mother’s little performance had worked, but then she dropped her head and started to cry again. ‘Don wan tooo do it,’ she choked.

  ‘Well I’m afraid I can’t carry you,’ Emma told her.

  ‘Going up on my bummm.’

  ‘Hang on then,’ Phyllis said, ‘I’ll come back down and give you a race.’

  To Emma’s relief Lauren seemed up for that, and as they prepared to go, Emma instructed, ‘No stopping and starting, Mum. It’s got to be a proper race and whoever wins ... What shall we have as a prize?’

  ‘A new brain?’ Lauren suggested.

  Emma slanted her a look. ‘Not funny,’ she commented. ‘I know! Whoever wins gets tea at the hotel tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re suppose to beee taking usss anyway.’

  ‘Well, then you might get double scones and Earl Grey,’ Emma suggested. ‘Are you ready? Get set. Go!’

  To her amazement Lauren was at the top in not much more time than it would have taken her to walk up, while Phyllis was still motoring along like a snail on her special silvery tracks.

  ‘Well, looks like you’ve got two modes of transport,’ Emma informed Lauren, going to join her. ‘The pensioner’s buggy here, or your bum.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lauren said as Emma handed her the crutch. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down now,’ and taking two clumsy paces to her room she closed the door behind her.

  Sighing, Emma turned to her mother who was still only halfway up the stairs. ‘Bring it to the top,’ she said, ‘just in case she decides she wants to come down on it, and then please let’s get that cup of tea.’

  Ten minutes later they were in the sitting room discussing everything that was due to happen over the coming days – visits from the community physio, speech therapist and psychologist; an appointment with the local GP, with whom Emma had only registered a fortnight ago; a potential full house at the weekend with Berry, Harry and Jane due to arrive – when an almighty thump from upstairs silenced them. It was followed by another, and another, and afraid of what was happening, Emma raced upstairs, reaching the landing as Lauren yelled, ‘Muuuum! Muuum!’

  ‘I’m here,’ Emma told her, throwing open the door. She stopped dead in shock. ‘Dear God, Lauren, what have you done?’ she gasped. The room was in chaos, with drawers upended, the contents of the wardrobe strewn about all over the place, and the sheets torn from the bed.

  ‘Where is it?’ Lauren demanded savagely. ‘What have ... have you donnne with it?’

  ‘With what?’ Emma cried.

  ‘You know what. Mmy journal.’

  Emma froze. She really hadn’t expected Lauren to be looking for it as soon as she came in the door; in truth, she’d been hoping Lauren would have no memory of it at all.

  ‘Where is it?’ Lauren repeated furiously. ‘I wannnt it.’

  Trying desperately to come up with the best way to handle this, Emma said crisply, ‘It isn’t here.’

  ‘What do ... do you mean? Why isnn’t it here? It’s mine. It’s pri ... private.’

  ‘Indeed it is, but I’m afraid it’s gone.’

  ‘I don unnnderstand. Who took it? Was it yooo-ou? You don have annny right ...’

  Going to her, Emma took her firmly by the shoulders and forced her to sit down on the bed. Unprepared as she was to have this showdown now, she said, since there was clearly no escaping it, ‘After the accident, the police found it in your car. Do you remember that you had it with you?’

  As Lauren’s face turned white, her eyes reflected the horror she was feeling. If she had forgotten, it seemed to be coming back to her now.

  Emma said, ‘Lauren, I want you to tell me how much you remember about that night. And I don’t mean the accident, I mean where you were before and ... Actually, I think you know what I mean.’

  Lauren turned her head away, but not before Emma saw the awful rush of colour to her cheeks. ‘It’s my journal,’ she retorted through her teeth. ‘No one hasss any right to reeead it.’

  ‘Well, they did.’

  Lauren sat stiffly where she was, staring at nothing.

  ‘That includes me,’ Emma added.

  Lauren drew breath to speak, but then her head dropped forward and she started to cry.

  Unwilling to show any compassion yet, Emma said, ‘You remember what’s in that journal, don’t you? You recall everything you did leading up to the accident, and now ... What now? What are you trying to do? Why is it so important that you find it?’

  ‘It’s not ... not important,’ Lauren wept. ‘I don want to doo anything.’

  Dear God, please don’t let her still have a crush on that man. If he turns out to be the reason she doesn’t want to see Oliver again I’ll never forgive her. ‘I don’t want any more
lies,’ Emma said sharply. ‘Nothing you say or do is ever going to make me stop loving you, but I need to trust you and so I need to know if you still have feelings for that man.’

  Lauren was crying so hard she could barely speak.

  ‘Tell me, is that why you wouldn’t see Oliver today ...’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ Lauren cried, banging her fists on her knees. ‘I would nevvver do that. I hate you for saying it. I love Oliver more thannn anything ...’

  ‘Then why are you so keen to find the journal?’

  ‘Because I don want it any more. I don want Oll-ver ever to find it, or annnyone else, like you. But now you’re saying yooo-ou read it, and the police ... Whooo else knooows?’

  ‘Not Oliver,’ Emma assured her. Now was definitely not the time to admit she’d confided in Russ, in fact there probably never would be a time for that. As for her mother, Emma felt sure Phyllis had already erased what she knew from her memory banks, and should any residue be left, she’d find the appropriate scouring pad to finish off the job. Polly would never let on that she’d seen some of the journal, nor would Mr Gibbs, and thank God she’d never shown anything to Will, though of course he knew of its existence.

  ‘What about Daddy?’

  ‘He hasn’t read any of it, but he knows what happened. I think I should tell you now that the man in question,’ she didn’t want to poison the air with his name, ‘has already left the school.’

  Lauren drooped even lower as she registered the news. ‘So everybody knowws,’ she wailed, covering her head with her hands.

  ‘That’s not true. Mr Gibbs and Mrs Barker do, because they had to be told. And Donna ... You remember Donna, don’t you?’

  Lauren nodded wretchedly.

  ‘Donna’s been grounded since it came to light, and hopefully she’s had no more to do with him. I can’t imagine she has, but I haven’t been in touch with her mother for a while so I’m not sure what’s going on with her.’

  ‘She’s been mmy friend forevver,’ Lauren sobbed.

  ‘I know, and there’s no reason why she can’t be again, but you understand, don’t you, that you won’t be living in London any more? You’ll be based here from now on, with me and Granny, and when it comes time to resume your studies we’ll send you to a local college.’

  ‘Tooo stupid for A levels,’ Lauren growled in frustration.

  ‘That’s ridiculous and you know it.’

  ‘Cann’t learn anything new.’

  ‘Maybe not at the moment, but I’m sure that’ll change.’

  ‘Don’t wan to dooo music.’

  Stifling a sigh, Emma said, ‘We can discuss that when the time comes. Our focus now is to get you well enough to study anything at all.’

  Lauren’s head remained down as she registered everything that had been said, and placing a comforting hand on her back Emma started to rub. The best part of the last few minutes was what she’d said about Oliver, but Emma wasn’t going to push that any further for now – heaven knew she’d already dealt with enough for one day.

  ‘Are – are you angry?’ Lauren hiccuped after a while.

  Though Emma’s first instinct was to deny it, what she said was, ‘Actually, I passed that some time ago. After that came the shame, and the disappointment, and then the sheer bloody fury of knowing that if you hadn’t been involved with him you’d never have been on that road that night and Oliver would never have hit you.’

  Lauren’s face was ravaged by tears as she finally looked at her mother. ‘You understand, donnn’t you, that it wass my fault too, not just Oliver’s?’

  ‘Yes, I understand that,’ Emma replied, and pulling her into a tender embrace she decided to leave it to Oliver to tell her about his mother. ‘What were you going to do with the journal if you found it?’ she asked.

  ‘Des-estroy it,’ Lauren stammered over a sob.

  Emma’s expression turned wry. ‘Then you don’t have to,’ she told her, ‘because I’ve already done it for you.’

  Lauren drew back to look into her eyes. Emma held the gaze and lifted a hand to stroke her hair. ‘I’mm, I’m sorry, Mumm,’ Lauren whispered.

  Emma shook her head in fond despair. ‘Yes, I’m sure you are,’ she said, ‘we all are, but the only thing we can do now is try to put it behind us and concentrate on the future.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  OVER THE NEXT few days Lauren seemed to sink deeper and deeper inside herself, not wanting to talk to anyone, or go out, or even engage with the new therapists who came to see her. All the sheet music piled in her room, along with her guitar, flute and keyboard, remained untouched, and as far as Emma and Phyllis knew she wasn’t using her computer either. Occasionally she switched on the TV, but Emma feared that it was more to drown out the sound of her crying than to keep up to date with Hollyoaks or EastEnders.

  Being so involved in the festival now, Emma had no choice but to leave her with Phyllis for most of the day, though Phyllis was willingly shouldering the responsibility. She was naturally as concerned as Emma, but she was also being pragmatic, as the community psychologist had advised – Lauren was undoubtedly going through an adjustment period, he’d said after his first visit following her return home, and this wasn’t at all unusual. However, if she was still so low in a couple of weeks, he’d get in touch with his colleague back at the centre to discuss how best to tackle the problem.

  Though Emma was certain that this silly rift with Oliver was at the heart of Lauren’s unhappiness, every time she tried to broach the subject Lauren would simply turn her face to the wall and tell her mother to leave it, or to go away and leave her alone.

  ‘Won’t you at least speak to him on the phone?’ Emma persisted.

  ‘No,’ Lauren snapped.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘He doesnn’t call mme, does he, so he obviously doesn’t wannt to speeak to me.’

  ‘But you’re the one who told him you didn’t want to see him any more. He’s hurt, Lauren, and angry and confused.’

  ‘Not mmy fault I’mm no good and cann’t do annything.’

  ‘But you can do practically everything ...’

  ‘Not new mmusic, or dance, or speaking properly ...’

  ‘It’ll come, and I’m afraid lying here feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help matters at all.’

  This was about as far as she ever got in trying to persuade Lauren out of her gloom, and the situation was only made more difficult by the way Lauren’s left hand, or arm, had started to show signs of a weakness that they’d thought had disappeared during the early stages of her physiotherapy. Emma first noticed it at a mealtime, about a week after Lauren came home, when they’d managed to coax her downstairs to join them for dinner, and the fork slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. A few minutes later the same thing happened, and when Emma regarded her curiously Lauren shouted, ‘Don’t blamme mme. I can’t help it if mmy stupid hannd doesnn’t work, can I?’

  ‘This is precisely why you have to start seeing the physio again,’ Emma informed her more sharply than she’d intended, but she was angry and alarmed by the new development, and afraid that Lauren seemed to be losing interest in her own recovery. ‘I’ve had enough of all this, Lauren,’ she cried, slapping her napkin down on the table as her eyes filled with tears. ‘Everybody’s going out of their way to help you, me, your grandmother ...’

  ‘Stop having a go at mme.’

  ‘You’ll start co-operating again, young lady, and even if you won’t do it for yourself, you’ll do it for those of us who love you.’

  ‘It’s mmy life nnot yours.’

  ‘Don’t you dare throw that at me. I gave you life once, and I’ve done everything in my power to bring you back to it a second time, so you’ll do this, Lauren, or I’m telling you now, I’ll wash my hands of you and let you become the very thing you fear, someone who’s useless, has no friends, no life, no reason to get up in the morning,’ and before Lauren could muster any more arguments she stormed out
of the room, took herself upstairs to bed and didn’t even bother going in to say goodnight to Lauren after Phyllis had left to go to Mrs Dempster’s.

  The following day the physio turned up just as Emma, looking tired, unhappy and extremely stressed, was about to go out. ‘Good luck,’ she said tightly as she left him with her mother. ‘If she doesn’t co-operate I wouldn’t bother wasting your time any more.’

  ‘Emma,’ her mother protested.

  ‘No, I mean it,’ Emma told her, still angry enough to hope Lauren could hear, and not prepared to discuss it any further she went to get in her car, tucked her Bluetooth behind one ear and called Russ, who was having his own struggle with Oliver’s temper and pride. ‘How’s your little ray of sunshine today?’ she asked when Russ answered.

  ‘I still haven’t had the pleasure,’ Russ responded, ‘because he hasn’t ventured out of his room yet, but I’m guessing he’ll be much the same as yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that, ready to storm your house and force her to see him one minute, then damned if he’ll ever have anything to do with her again the next. One good thing seems to be coming out of it though, apparently they started up some kind of Internet project together while she was at the centre, and he’s working off most of his frustrations by focusing on that.’

  Interested to know more, Emma said, ‘What kind of project?’

  ‘Apparently I’m not allowed to know the details yet, but he claims to have come up with an innovative way of marketing on the Net. I can’t imagine it’s something no one else has thought of yet, but you never know, and please don’t ever repeat that, because he’d never forgive me if he thought I doubted him.’

  With a crooked sort of smile Emma said, ‘So what are we going to do about the two of them? We can’t just leave things the way they are – or can we?’