by Susan Lewis
‘Maybe we can, because actually, I’m not inclined to interfere. They’re grown-ups, or they certainly like to consider themselves to be, so when they’re ready to act that way I’m sure they’ll figure out this nonsense for themselves.’
Emma sighed, ‘Under any other circumstances I’d completely agree, but Lauren’s depression is really starting to worry me.’
Sounding more sympathetic now, he said, ‘Of course, and I’m sorry, because that really does need to be addressed. Let’s give it some more thought and see what we can come up with by the next time we speak.’
To Emma’s astonishment, when she walked in the door just after seven that evening the first thing she heard was the sound of a flute coming from Lauren’s room. It was a piece they knew well, ‘Dance of the Blessed Spirits’, and it was being played so fluidly that Emma wondered if it was a recording, until a note rang false, followed by another, and then the music stopped.
‘This is a good sign?’ she whispered to her mother as Phyllis came into the hall. ‘It’s the first time she’s even attempted to play since she came home.’
‘Actually, she’s had quite a good day,’ Phyllis responded with a smile. ‘She worked with the physio and ate lunch, and this afternoon we walked around the back garden naming all the flowers.’
Emma could hardly believe it.
‘I think your little outburst last night might have done the trick,’ Phyllis told her.
Though she’d have liked to think so too, Emma couldn’t imagine it would be that easy, so she certainly wasn’t going to start congratulating herself yet. ‘What did the physio say?’ she asked.
‘That he was pleased with their first session, but he didn’t work her very hard apparently. He’s going to step up the game tomorrow, he said, and arrange for an OT to come in the next day or two to give her some extra help with her left hand. It’s why she’s finding it hard to play, the hand keeps giving out on her.’
Feeling the dreaded chill of fear creeping up her spine again, Emma said, ‘Does the physio think they can strengthen it up?’
‘They’re going to try, but if it persists he says she might have to go back for another scan.’
Her chest tightening with the horror of any more radiography on Lauren’s brain, Emma said, ‘OK. I’ll go up and see her. Are we going to Polly’s for dinner?’
‘I think it’s still on. Polly’s definitely expecting us, and Lauren hasn’t said she doesn’t want to go.’
‘Of course I wannto go,’ Lauren retorted, when Emma asked her. ‘Havenn’t seen Melissa for ages.’
Deciding not to remind her that this was her choice, not Melissa’s, Emma said, ‘Well, I’m glad to know you’re feeling up to it. I hear things went well with the physio today.’
‘Mm, he’s really nice. I liked him.’
Starting to relax a little, Emma withdrew at that point, not wanting to overload Lauren with more questions or concern in case they sent her spiralling off into a black despair again.
‘Do you think this could be the start of the mood disturbances we were warned about?’ she asked her mother when she went back downstairs.
‘It’s hard to tell, but for now I’m taking the view that it’s still all a part of adjusting to being home. And the fact that she’s had a go at playing some music today and didn’t fly into a temper when things went wrong is, in my book, definitely encouraging.’
It was in Emma’s too, and when Lauren and Melissa disappeared off to Melissa’s room later that evening, she allowed herself to take even greater heart that Lauren was emerging from her depression. A girl needed her best friend, especially when things weren’t going well with a boyfriend.
‘So what’s happening about Oliver?’ Polly asked, keeping her voice down in case Melissa’s bedroom door was open.
Rolling her eyes, Emma said, ‘Apparently he’s as full of pride as she is, so he’s trying not to think about her by throwing himself into some new project he’s got going.’
Polly glanced at Phyllis. ‘But they’re going to get back together at some point, obviously?’ she said.
‘I’d like to think so,’ Emma replied. ‘And right at this moment I’m daring to feel hopeful that a nice long chat with her best mate will help bring her to her senses and get her to call him.’
‘No, you definitely have to wait for him to call you,’ Melissa was advising sagely. ‘Men never respect you if you run after them.’
‘That’s wwhat I thought,’ Lauren agreed miserably. ‘But there again, I wwas a bit mmean, the way I said I didn’t wwant to see him any mmore.’
‘You were upset and scared about leaving the centre. He should understand that, and if he doesn’t then he’s just not right for you.’
Lauren looked unhappier than ever. ‘He was there every day though, and we got really close, so I think he must care a bit.’
‘Oh, I’m not saying he doesn’t care, because he definitely does, but you said yourself he hasn’t tried to ring you, or come over and see you.’
Lauren’s head went down as she wondered again if Oliver was secretly happy to have been given a way out. ‘I think Mum might have told him I’ve been tired and need to rest,’ she said, seizing an excuse even though she had no idea if it was true.
‘If she did you’ll have to get her to tell him it’s all right to come now, then see what he does.’
Lauren’s eyes showed how lost she was feeling as she gazed at Melissa. ‘You definitely don’t think I should call him?’ she said.
Melissa shook her head. ‘No. Definitely not.’
It was the week leading up to the festival and Emma’s feet were barely touching the ground as she flew about balancing everything from budgets, to schedules, to flaring artistic egos. She was almost constantly on the phone, either at her desk inside the hotel, or in the gardens where the stalls and tents were being erected, or heading into some last-minute meeting with the local council, or a major contributor, or someone from the press. There was no doubt that without the backup she’d received from Hamish and his wife, and most of the hotel staff, she’d never have been able to pull this off. She simply hadn’t had the right level of experience before, or anywhere near enough contacts, which meant her stress levels had soared off the scale more times than she cared to remember, never helped by how worried she constantly was about Lauren.
At this moment she was outside inspecting the easels for an art stall. Her mobile rang and seeing Russ’s name come up she quickly clicked on. ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked busily.
There was the unmistakable ring of irony in his voice as he said, ‘OK. My son’s finally lost his head, he’s about to storm the Bastille and I don’t think there’s much I can do to stop him.’
Laughing with relief as she switched the phone to her other ear, Emma said, ‘Let him go, please! I’ll call my mother to give her some warning. When should they expect him?’
‘Well, he’s at Sylvie’s apartment right now, so I’d say twenty minutes, half an hour tops.’
‘OK, the trusty Phyllis will be there to open the door. What happens after that will be down to them.’
With more irony in his tone, Russ said, ‘I’m not sure whether I wish I was going to be there to see it or not. Anyway, if it does go to plan, perhaps I could invite you all for a barbecue at Craig Court this weekend. That includes your mother, of course, and Berry, if she’s still coming over from Italy.’
‘Sadly, she’s had to cancel, Adolfo’s back in hospital. Not serious, but he doesn’t want her to leave him. And I sincerely hope you haven’t forgotten that it’s the grand opening of my summer arts festival on Saturday. I was hoping you’d be here.’
‘Indeed I shall. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m talking about Sunday evening, if it’s not raining. If it is, we can always eat inside.’
Waving frantically to a carpenter as he appeared from behind a handmade puppet stall, Emma replied, ‘Either way sounds perfect, and speaking for myself and Phyllis, we’d love to come
. Is there anything we can do, or bring?’
‘Just yourselves. I’ll take care of everything else.’
Signalling to the carpenter that she’d be just a minute, Emma turned aside as she asked Russ, ‘Before you go, what news on Sylvie?’
His voice was pained as he said, ‘Some good, some bad. She’s back at the clinic now, following a weekend break with her friend Johann for one of their jolly little binges, though I suspect it was anything but jolly. I’m not naive enough to think this is going to be over any time soon, but I can’t help wishing for it anyway.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Emma murmured.
‘Thank you, but it’s the boys I’m concerned about. It’s not good the way they seem to feel so cold towards their mother. Sure, it’s a form of self-protection, but it’s sad, and whatever they say, it’ll be having an effect on them internally that will no doubt have to be dealt with somewhere down the road. Still, I can’t go on fighting their battles for them, or spending so much time sorting out their flipping love lives, and I’m not only talking about Oliver. Apparently Charlie’s just been dumped, and is feeling very sorry for himself.’
‘Oh no, poor Charlie,’ Emma sympathised. ‘Lucky that he has you to turn to.’
‘God spare me,’ Russ retorted with a shudder. ‘All these bleeding hearts, it’s just not manly.’
With a splutter of laughter, Emma said, ‘They must get their tenderness from somewhere, and from the little I know my guess is ...’
‘Definitely not me,’ he interrupted. ‘Heart of stone, that’s me. Mr Can’t-Be-Doing-With-It-All.’
Still grinning, Emma said, ‘Yeah, right.’ Then, ‘Actually, I’m afraid I have to go, but I’ll call you back as soon as there’s any news from the Bastille.’
After ringing off she spoke briefly to the carpenter about one of the puppet-maker’s last-minute requirements, then waving to Hamish who’d just turned up with a local news crew to let him know she’d be right there, she made a rapid call to her mother.
‘Where’s Lauren?’ she asked, before Phyllis even had a chance to say hello.
‘Upstairs having a lie-down. She did well with her physio this morning.’
‘Great. Next bit of good news, Romeo’s on his way.’
Phyllis gave a gasp of delight. ‘And not before time. Shall I go and tell her?’
‘No, wait till he’s there so she doesn’t have a chance to start fussing or saying she doesn’t want to see him, and then do your best to eavesdrop so you can tell us all about it later. Call immediately if anything goes wrong,’ and ringing off she headed towards Hamish and the crew, while making a mental note to bring Russ up to date with the compensation claim the next time she spoke to him. Another of the strange ironies between their two families was that Jolyon Crane, at Russ’s suggestion, was now acting for Lauren to get as much as he could out of the insurance company. Emma reminded herself that she needed to email Jolyon back to say that if he thought he could double the fifty thousand already on the table, then she was happy to follow his advice. Quickly making another mental note to reposition the event map closer to the entrance, and another to put a pile of hotel brochures inside the champagne tent, and another to call Portaloo to direct them in through the back gates, she joined Hamish and a bossy little producer to start going through the timetable of music and theatre acts for Saturday afternoon.
Phyllis was at the window as Oliver drove into the street. By the time he pulled up outside she’d already opened the front door and had a finger over her lips, warning him to be quiet.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he declared urgently, clearly in no fit state to fully comprehend anything other than his mission. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I want to speak to her, and I’m going to do it right now. Where is she?’
Thrilled, Phyllis whispered, ‘Top of the stairs, middle door, but maybe I ought to check first to make sure she’s decent.’
Since he hadn’t considered that, he hesitated. ‘I don’t care if she’s not,’ he decided rashly. His handsome young face was flushed with defiance, his eyes feverish with an almost Byronesque passion.
‘No, but I expect she will, and you want it to start off well, I’m sure.’
Conceding the point, he allowed Phyllis to mount the stairs ahead of him, following close behind, casting an interested glance at the Stannah lift as he passed. At the top he paused as Phyllis knocked on Lauren’s door.
‘OK to come in, sweetheart?’ she called out.
‘Yeah, I’m awake,’ Lauren called back.
As Phyllis opened the door to find Lauren lying forlornly on the bed, Oliver crowded against her shoulder and the look of disbelief, followed by pure joy, that came into Lauren’s eyes turned Phyllis’s heart inside out.
‘What ... I didn’t knnow ...’ Lauren stammered as he burst past Phyllis.
‘For God’s sake,’ Oliver growled as he tripped over a bag in his haste, almost landing on top of her.
Giggling and sobbing, Lauren wrapped her arms around him, seeming to yield her entire self to his awkwardly positioned, but nonetheless passionate kiss.
At the door Phyllis gave a sigh of blissful satisfaction.
‘I’m not going to let you do this any more,’ Oliver suddenly exploded. ‘I love you, Lauren Scott, and nothing’s ever going to change that, not even you and the stupid things you tell yourself. We made plans, remember, and I want to stick to them, even if you don’t, but I know that you do and so don’t try saying you don’t, because I’m not going to let you ...’ He broke off as Lauren put her fingers over his lips.
‘I’m not arguing,’ she whispered.
Seeming only just to realise it, he gave a wry grin.
Her eyes were gazing deeply, adoringly, into his, as she said, ‘I’ve mmissed you so mmuch.’
‘Then why didn’t you ring me?’ he cried.
‘Why didn’t you ring me?’
‘Because you said you didn’t want to see me any more.’
‘But you should have knnown I didn’t mmean it. I was just in a strange mmood that day, and then, whenn I didn’t hear from you, I was afraid you were angry with mme.’
‘Angry? I was furious, and still am. How could you possibly think I wouldn’t want you once you got home? I’ve never heard such bollocks in my life.’
She gave a girlish laugh as she coloured, and as she touched her fingers to the two letters she was wearing round her neck, he covered them with his. ‘Do yooou really love me?’ she asked shyly.
Phyllis sorely wished she could see his face as he lifted his head to look into Lauren’s eyes, then she gave a choke of laughter as he said, in a very romantic voice, ‘No, I’m just pretending. I storm every girl’s bedroom like this, and ...’
‘Granny!’ Lauren exclaimed indignantly.
Phyllis straightened up, all innocence.
‘Yooou can go nnow,’ Lauren told her.
Phyllis feigned dejection. ‘Must I?’
‘Yes, you must,’ Lauren insisted.
Oliver turned to look at Phyllis, his eyes simmering with laughter. ‘Got yourself a ringside seat there,’ he remarked.
‘Oh, and it’s a marvellous performance,’ she told him earnestly.
‘Excuse mme,’ Lauren said, turning him back to face her. ‘Granny, why donn’t you go and play with yourr stairlift?’
‘Oh, I so want to have a go on that,’ Oliver cried.
‘I so knnew you wwould,’ Lauren responded with a roll of her eyes.
‘Yeah, but not right now,’ he assured her.
Smiling delightedly as she closed the bedroom door, Phyllis went to take her seat on the Stannah lift and motored gently down to the hall where she picked up the phone to call Emma, letting her know that the sun was shining and the forecast for the foreseeable future looked very good indeed.
The following Saturday, due in part to the glorious weather, but also to her exceptional organisational skills, Emma remarked immodestly to Polly and Keith McIntyre when they arrived, the turnout for th
e festival’s opening day was already exceeding all expectations. By noon the gardens were teeming with visitors, and the champagne tent had taken over a thousand pounds. As for the contributors, it would have been hard to make most of them any happier, even if they weren’t all generating an equal amount of interest. Unfortunately, not everyone had good taste, or the cultural intelligence to appreciate ‘irony in flight’, as one woefully neglected ceramicist was heard to comment. If his work had resembled anything remotely discernible, it might have helped, but as it didn’t all Emma could do was sympathise and try her best to steer people in his direction. Alas, his odd little pieces might have been reverse magnets for the way those who approached suddenly veered off at the last minute.
Griselda the tarot reader was doing excellent business in her self-imported tent next to the crystal stall, while Poppy, a local landscape artist, was starting to run out of prints already and taking orders for more. She’d even sold three originals, one to the hotel, another to an established fan from Farrington Gurney, and the third to Russ, who’d snapped it up after learning, from Lauren, that it was Emma’s birthday in a couple of weeks, and that her mother absolutely loved the aerial perspective of the Clifton suspension bridge and Avon Gorge.
At Oliver’s insistence, Lauren was being pushed through the crowds in her wheelchair as he didn’t want anyone knocking her off her crutches, especially not when he’d entered them both for a five-mile walk at the end of September. It was to help raise funds for Headway, the brain-injury charity that was now playing its own crucial role in her recovery. This, happily, seemed to be back on track now that Oliver was in charge again, though the problem with her left hand still hadn’t been completely resolved.
However, Emma wasn’t going to allow herself to worry about more CT scans today, or the duraplasty Lauren still had to endure to repair her skull, or any of the countless neurological problems that could crop up in the future. Like it or not, this was how life was going to be for a long time to come, always wondering if any little slip, or memory loss, temper or misunderstanding was a result of her injury, or something that could happen to anyone at any time.