by Lulu Taylor
When they reached home, Mrs Pendleton had the children up and dressed and breakfasted.
‘Carrie has been most helpful,’ she said. ‘She’s a smart little thing. Now, it’s obvious you’ve had no sleep at all. I’m going to walk these young people up the hill to the house and they can have a play there. Then I’ll give them lunch and we’ll come back afterwards. You can get to bed for a while. How does that sound?’
‘Thank you,’ Emily said gratefully. ‘That sounds wonderful. Will you be good for Mrs Pendleton, children?’
She gathered them up and kissed them as they nodded and chorused, ‘Yes!’
‘I’ll see you up at the house, James,’ his mother said. ‘Come along, Carrie. Come along, Joe. We’re going to look for beetles all the way back and we’ll be there in no time.’
She marshalled the children out of the back door and the little group headed up the garden towards the gate so that they could cross the fields to the farmhouse further up.
Emily watched them go, unable to take her eyes off their stumping legs in their bright wellies and their fair heads flashing against the deep green of the grass. I’m still here. I won’t let anyone take me away from them.
She turned and found that James was staring at her in that earnest, intense way of his, the one that made her stomach burn and contract, and the blood rush to her face.
‘Emily,’ he said in a low voice, and the next minute they were in each other’s arms, kissing furiously, unable to get enough of each other. It was frantic and fervent, as they kissed, stumbling from the kitchen to the passage and up the stairs, pulling off each other’s clothes as they went. By the time they reached Emily’s bedroom, a trail of discarded jumpers, shirts, shoes and jeans showed their path there. They fell onto her bed, absorbed only in one another and in their hunger for each other’s mouth and their need for the touch of skin on skin, as their hands caressed and their bodies responded. Everything was heightened and intense, fatigue adding to the dreamlike situation.
I’m in bed with James in my underwear and he’s wearing bright blue boxers and he’s going to make love to me. And I’m loving every single second of it.
‘Oh dear,’ she said sleepily. ‘When your mother said I ought to get to bed, I don’t think this is what she meant.’
‘Maybe she did,’ James said, running his fingertip along her arm. ‘She’s a wily old girl. I think she probably guessed how much I fancy you.’ He touched his lips to her shoulder. ‘My goodness, you’re beautiful, Emily.’ He tucked her hair behind her ear and then softly kissed the scar that trailed from her forehead to her jaw. ‘Every bit of you.’ He lay back and stared at the ceiling, a huge smile on his face. ‘I think I must be the luckiest man in the world right now.’
Emily laughed. ‘What I want to know, James, is how I didn’t notice right away how incredibly sexy you are.’ She nuzzled into him, picking up the deliciousness of his scent. ‘Because you are.’ She sighed happily, thinking of how very nice it had been to make to love to him. Her body felt wonderfully languorous after being thoroughly pleasured. Pleasured, she thought with a silent laugh. But that’s what it was, top to toe. Pleasure. Mmm. She shivered lightly at the memory.
‘I’m a slow burner,’ he said with a laugh. He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘We farmers are quite well versed in the ways of nature, you know. We’ve seen the mare covered by the stallion often enough to know what to do.’
‘Yuk! Charming image.’ She made a face at him. ‘I do like that eyebrow business, though, you can do that again.’
He raised his eyebrow and waggled it playfully. ‘Sexy?’
‘It was . . . but now I’m not so sure.’
He rolled towards her and pulled her into his arms, enveloping her against his strong chest. He kissed her, then said again in the low voice she liked, ‘Sexy?’
She sighed happily. ‘Oh yes.’ A thought occurred to her and she said, ‘James, can I ask you something?’
‘What is it?’
‘What on earth is your aftershave? I’m dying to know.’
‘Aftershave?’ he echoed. ‘Don’t wear the stuff. Never have.’
‘Wow,’ she said in awe. ‘So it’s all natural. I can’t buy it in a bottle.’
‘What is?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just put it this way – I’m going to have to stay close to the real thing.’ She leaned over and kissed him again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Diana had arranged all of Will’s care. He was awake, it was true, but his functions were limited. He was bed-bound still, and could apparently recognise Diana and say some simple words. Diana, it transpired, had kept Will on her private medical insurance and she was able to get him into a facility where he was being well cared for.
‘How long he’ll be there for, I can’t say,’ Diana had said. ‘We’re going to get him back on his feet eventually. Believe me, Emily. I’ve come this far and I don’t intend to go back.’
Emily knew that Diana would devote whatever time and resources it took to get Will better. It would be her life’s work now. Emily was glad her mother-in-law was able to do what she never could. Her fears seemed strange and rather ridiculous now that she knew Will was unable to walk or speak. Getting out of bed unaided would be beyond him, let alone threatening her, and she felt in her heart that this would be his life now. He would never be that man he was again.
I wanted him dead, and all along he was dead. That Will, who hurt and threatened me and tried to kill me, is gone forever. I don’t have to be afraid any more.
She could afford to be generous to the shell of Will that remained. He had punished himself more than she ever could. He should see the children again, and they should see him. They would be a part of one another’s lives now, and although he would be a different sort of father from the one they remembered, she knew that they would soon accept him and the Will who’d existed before the accident would vanish entirely.
‘We’re going to go down to London,’ she told James one evening. They were sitting eating their dinner on the paved area outside the morning room, watching the sun sinking down behind the hills. It was not quite warm enough for eating al fresco, but Emily was cosy in one of James’s huge jumpers.
He looked at her seriously. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Thank you, but I should face him alone.’ She shrugged and took a sip of wine from her glass. ‘It’s odd but my fear of him dominated my life for months after the accident. My worst nightmare was that he would wake up. And now he has, and my fear has completely vanished.’
‘The reality has replaced the nightmare,’ James replied. ‘And you can handle the reality.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’ve never shied away from that, have you?’
She smiled back. ‘Maybe not. I suppose I’ve realised that you can’t run away from danger; it can come and find you wherever you are. I never would have imagined that Tom could hurt me, but he very nearly did.’
‘How is he?’ James asked gently.
‘Doing well. He’s on medication and he’s responding well. He’s having sessions with a psychiatrist.’ She bit her lip. ‘They still don’t think he should see me. Not yet. He’s having trouble adjusting to the knowledge of what happened, and to the challenge to his view of the universe. That’s what they told me anyway.’
James reached over and took her hand. ‘He’ll get better, Emily, I’m sure of it. Once those awful drugs are out of his system.’
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I just want him back. The old Tom. He’s all the family I’ve got, you see.’ She heard the laptop on the table inside chirrup, and sat up, putting her glass down. ‘Oh, it must be Cameron. I’ve not heard from him for days. I’d better go and talk to him.’
Inside at the table, she called up Cameron’s smiling face. ‘Hey, Emily!’ he said cheerfully. ‘How’s life in sleepy old England?’
She thought back over what had happened recently, and said, ‘Oh, much the same. All very dull. How are you
?’
‘Just call me Sherlock Baxter!’ Cameron said with a grin. ‘I’ve found the Kemps!’
‘You have?’ Excitement bubbled up inside her. ‘Excellent work, Cameron. What have you found out?’
James came through from the garden and stood beside her, looking down over her shoulder at the screen.
Cameron said, ‘Hello, you’ve got a friend there, have you? Oh, it’s your mate, James!’
‘Hi, Cameron,’ James said, in a much friendlier tone than he’d used previously. ‘How are things?’
‘Yeah, good. So listen, Emily, it took a while because ladies have an unfortunate habit of marrying and changing their bloody names, but I tracked down that Kemp woman. She had got married, so it wasn’t easy at all. But eventually I found the records we wanted. She got married in sixty-six to a bloke called Rogers. Once I’d made that link, we were laughing.’
‘So, who is she?’
‘Kemp,’ James put in, suddenly. ‘That rings a bell. My mother was talking just the other day, after she saw your picture, Emily, the one of Cressida. She said that there was a woman who used to look after this place called Ursula Kemp.’
Cameron’s mouth fell open. ‘Yeah, that’s her. Ursula!’ He frowned and pursed his lips. ‘Have I just been working my arse off and all along you knew who Ursula Kemp was?’
Emily looked up at James. ‘You knew her?’
‘Knew of her,’ James said, looking apologetic. ‘Sorry. I wouldn’t have said—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Emily said quickly. ‘Cameron’s only kidding, aren’t you, Cameron?’ Thoughts began buzzing through her brain. ‘Hold on . . . What are we saying here? Ursula Kemp lived around here and then turned up in Australia.’
‘Yeah,’ Cameron broke in. ‘But that’s the weird thing. There’s no record of her arriving in Australia. Nothing at all. She’s just . . . here. Then my dad visits her when she’s still Kemp, then she gets married and becomes Mrs Rogers. Then she dies. About ten years ago.’
‘Oh.’ Emily’s spirits sank for a moment, and then she said, ‘But there has to be a link, right? She’s from here, from Howelland, isn’t that right, James? And she ends up in Australia and Cressida sends a message to her via your father. What was the message again, Cameron?’
‘It was something like “Miss Fellbridge wants to know if you got the money” and the answer was “yes, thanks.”’
‘But it wasn’t Ursula Kemp who it was delivered to,’ Emily said thoughtfully. ‘It was a girl, right?’
Cameron nodded. ‘I think it must have been her daughter, Maggie Kemp.’
‘And have you found her?’
Cameron looked pleased with himself. ‘Yes, I have, actually. But you’ll have to take over from here, Emily. Because she’s in England. In London, to be more precise.’
Emily stared at him. ‘London?’
‘Yep. And I have an address too.’ Cameron grinned. ‘So I suggest you get down there and ask her a few questions, and maybe we can nail this thing.’
The care facility was bright, clean and modern. As much as possible had been done to minimise the presence of the medical equipment that each patient relied on, but it was still there. The nurse who led her down the long corridor told her that one wing was reserved for those in long-term vegetative states. ‘They probably won’t ever wake up,’ she said, adding cheerfully, ‘so it’s lovely that your husband is one of the lucky ones!’
It didn’t seem so lucky to be confined to this place, Emily thought as they walked behind the nurse. Carrie gripped tight to one of Emily’s hands, her eyes wide. She knew that they were going to see Daddy but also that Daddy would not be like before. More than that, Emily couldn’t say because she knew so little herself. She carried Joe, who had wrapped both small arms around her neck and was clinging to her.
‘Here we are!’ the nurse said, looking down at Carrie. ‘Your daddy has a room all to himself.’ She opened the door.
Emily stepped forward, her heart pounding. The last time she’d seen Will had been months ago, when he lay obscured by masks and tubes and all the rest of it. In her nightmares he’d been curiously untouched by the accident, the man she’d known from before. She looked at the bed that dominated the room. Beside it sat Diana, as neat and well turned out as ever, smiling happily to see the children, holding the hand of the man in the bed.
So there he is. That’s Will.
The figure in the bed was shrunken, its muscles wasted away and its cheeks hollow. The hair, more grey than red now, was almost gone. But what shocked her was the dazed look in his eyes, and the way one shoulder twisted upwards and one side of his mouth drooped down slightly. His skull was marked by a large scar and an indentation where he’d been operated on. He was so different from the flashing-eyed maniac in her dreams that she was washed with pity for him.
‘Will,’ she said, stepping closer to the bed. Her heart was beating fast, and into her mind came a picture of December House. It stood, beautiful and welcoming, nestling in the hills, surrounded by gardens and the orchard and the fields. She and the children were there in the garden, playing together, the wind whipping up their hair. They turned and waved to someone walking up the path to the house. It was a man. He scooped Joe up in his arms and jiggled him in the air before putting him down. He gave Carrie a bright red apple and he turned to Emily with a kiss. She saw now that it was James. ‘Oh Will,’ she said, her heart breaking for him. He would never know that joy now. He’d never walk up the garden to the home that held his family and his heart. Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Will,’ Diana said loudly, leaning towards him. ‘Who’s here, Will? Who is it?’
The vacant eyes moved over to her and blinked slowly. He said in a strange blurry voice, ‘Emily.’
‘That’s right!’ Diana was delighted. She patted his hand. ‘Yes, it’s Emily. And look who’s with her!’
Will looked at the children and a spark flickered in his eyes. He smiled slowly.
‘It’s Daddy,’ Emily said to Carrie, who was clinging to her and eying the figure on the bed with trepidation. ‘Go and say hello,’ she urged.
Carrie stepped forward. ‘Hello Daddy,’ she said quietly.
‘Carrie,’ Will said, a wobbling emotion in his voice. ‘Joe.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Diana said, her expression excited. ‘Isn’t that wonderful, Emily? He said their names! He knows them. He’s come so far.’ She smiled happily at the children. ‘Come and see Granny,’ she said to them, letting go of Will’s hand and holding out her arms to them. ‘I’ve missed you!’
‘It was awful,’ Emily said to Polly later that evening when she related the events of the day. ‘He’s just a shadow of what he was before.’
They sat in Polly’s kitchen, the children all in bed, and steadily drank their way through a bottle of white wine.
‘But he knew you all.’ Polly shook her head. ‘That’s amazing. When you think of what he’s been through. How long he was in that coma. The human body is an incredible thing.’
Emily nodded. ‘Yes. But . . .’ She didn’t know how to express the disconnection she felt from Will. She felt sorry for him in the way she would for a stranger. Except for that one flash of the life he might have had with them, she couldn’t connect the man in the bed with the one she’d married and had children with. ‘I have to divorce him,’ she said frankly. ‘I know I’ll look like a villain, but I can’t be his next of kin any more. That should be Diana. I’m going to see a lawyer tomorrow, if it’s all right for you to take Carrie and Joe in the afternoon.’
‘Of course it is. Mine are delighted that they’re here, you know that.’
Emily smiled at her. ‘Thanks. And you must come up and stay with us sometime.’
‘We’d love to, when you’ve recovered from all the drama. I’m so sorry to hear about Tom,’ Polly said earnestly. ‘How is he?’
‘All right, I think. It’ll be a couple more weeks before I know any more.’
‘Poor T
om. We’re all hoping for the best.’ Polly sipped her wine and then said teasingly, ‘What I don’t understand is how on earth you’ve found the time to get yourself a man as well! Honestly, Emily, is it the country air?’
Emily laughed. ‘I suppose it is. A month in Cumbria and I couldn’t stop myself!’
‘Whatever it is, you’re looking extremely good on it,’ Polly replied. ‘I’d better get up there pronto. I could do with a roll in the hay myself.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emily walked the south London street until she came to the address on the printout in her hand. She didn’t know this part of town, and it was obviously one of London’s less prosperous areas. Among the large council estates, the betting shops, the twenty-four-hour grocery shops and the off-licences with the goods locked away behind padlocked windows, there were rows of small Victorian terraced houses, most in a state of despair but a few well kept. One of these was the house she was after. She knocked on the bright red front door and admired the window box on the bay sill.
The door opened at last. A woman with dyed dark red hair cut in a shaggy modern style and thick eye make-up stood just behind it. ‘Yes?’ she said suspiciously.
‘I’m looking for Maggie Kemp,’ Emily said politely. ‘Or Rogers. I’m not quite sure which.’
The woman just stared at her, as if she didn’t recognise either name. ‘Why?’
‘My name is Emily Conway and I’d like to speak to her about her mother, Ursula.’
There was a pause as the woman stared at her. ‘What about her?’ she asked finally.
‘Just a question or two. Are you Maggie?’
There was a long pause as the woman gazed at Emily. She was in her early sixties, Emily guessed, and her skin was tanned and lined with the fine scrawl of sun damage.
‘Yes, I’m Maggie,’ the woman said finally, opening the door a little further. Emily could hear the Australian accent now. ‘What’s all this about? Why are you interested in my mother? She’s been dead for a decade.’