by Dani Atkins
‘The same as you, apparently,’ I replied, wanting to sound indignant, but the words came out laced with pain. He carried her number on him? After all this time?
The nurse, perhaps not the sharpest tool in the box, looked from Ally to me, as a dawning comprehension crossed her features. ‘Oh, so do you two know each other?’ she asked guilelessly.
There was a long moment of stony silence.
‘We do. Or rather we did,’ answered Ally quietly.
I waited until the nurse had left us alone, before turning once more to the woman whose existence ran like a dangerous fault line buried deep beneath the bedrock of my marriage. ‘Please go home. You don’t belong here,’ I pronounced.
Ally’s features contorted, and her eyes filled with tears, but even through her pain I couldn’t help noticing that she still looked pretty. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but of course I belong here. The man I love is fighting for his life, where else should I be except right here?’
‘He’s not your husband. He’s mine,’ I cried, my voice breaking as the tears I hadn’t wanted her to witness began to fall.
Ally’s eyes widened incredulously. Yeah, right, like she didn’t know we were married. ‘David?’ she asked tremulously, and I hated even hearing his name on her tongue. ‘David’s here?’
She reached out a hand to steady herself on one of the chairs. She looked totally shocked, and for the first time I began to feel uncertain. But I was determined to stand my ground, even if the soil was shifting and sliding beneath my feet. ‘David’s here?’ she questioned again, her voice dazed. ‘Here? In this hospital? In this ward?’ I gave a small sharp nod, still a beat or two behind her in putting things together. ‘I don’t believe it. How is that even possible? I had no idea.’
And suddenly I did believe her. No one could feign that look. I watched her run her hands through her shoulder-length glossy brown hair, as she shook her head from side to side in total disbelief. Her eyes went to mine and within them I saw a reflection of my own incredulity as yet again fate had pulled us inexorably and inescapably back together once more.
‘It’s not your husband I’m here for. It’s mine,’ Ally confirmed.
I liked maths, I always had, but even I couldn’t begin to fathom out the odds against finding myself sharing the same hospital waiting-room with the woman who owned a piece of my husband’s heart, a piece I’d never been able to reclaim.
Ally
I lowered myself slowly onto one of the hard plastic chairs. What were the chances? A million to one? A billion? Neither of us spoke for several minutes, robbed of words by the sheer enormity of the situation. You think you’re in control of your life, you think you’re the one making all the decisions and then something like this comes along and you realise you’re just a tiny chess-piece being moved around on the whim of something or someone much larger. Free will? I wasn’t sure I even believed in that any more. I broke the silence first.
‘So what’s wrong with him? What’s David in here for?’
‘Heart attack.’ Charlotte fired the words like bullets. They found their mark and I flinched from their impact.
‘Really? Isn’t he far too young for that?’
She fixed me with an eye-narrowing look, as though I was being deliberately confrontational by daring to question her. Her hand went up to rub tiny invisible lines from her forehead, and I couldn’t help wonder if that smooth unlined face was just down to good genes, or if she’d had some help. ‘Yes, well, I’m not sure yet. I’m still waiting to speak with the doctors,’ Charlotte conceded.
We fell into an uncomfortable silence. There was so much between us that was volatile and incendiary, the smallest spark could lead to an inferno, something I suspected neither of us were capable of dealing with right then.
As much as I didn’t want to converse with her, I found it almost impossible to stop myself from covertly studying Charlotte. We had chosen seats as far apart from each other as the small room would allow, and although the lighting was dim, it was still bright enough for the stylish haircut, the statement silver jewellery and the impossibly high heels to make their intended impression. I was pretty certain her sharply cut designer dress had cost more than my entire annual clothing budget. I was dressed in a plain black jumper, with jeans tucked into my black boots, it was my uniform as a working mum and a look I favoured, and besides which, Joe liked me in jeans. A sudden memory sprang up of his strong work-roughened hands running down the length of my denim-covered thighs. A small sound tore free from the rock-hard lump lodged in my throat. Charlotte’s head jerked up at the noise, but although she looked in my direction she made no move towards me.
‘So, your husband . . . John, isn’t it?’
‘Joe,’ I corrected, stupidly irritated by her mistake.
‘What happened to him?’
‘He fell through a frozen lake.’
Charlotte’s perfectly threaded eyebrows rose upwards. It was – I knew – a completely understandable reaction. ‘What was he doing on a lake?’
‘I have no idea,’ I replied, cutting short her fledgling attempt at conversation. She gave a small shrug, which confirmed her lack of real interest in my husband’s condition. Her thoughts were only of David, there was no change there. None at all.
We both jumped when footsteps approached the door of the Relatives’ Room. It was impossible to tell which end of the corridor they had come from: Joe’s room or David’s. The door opened and a white-coated doctor stood at the threshold. It wasn’t a face I recognised from the team of medics who had been working on Joe. The doctor was flanked on one side by a nurse and on the other by a much younger man with a stethoscope hanging casually around his neck.
‘Mrs Williams?’ questioned the older doctor, his eyes going from Charlotte to me in enquiry.
‘That’s me. I’m Mrs Williams,’ Charlotte replied with particular emphasis, as she jumped to her feet.
My fingers curled unconsciously into the palms of my hands as phantom words from the past echoed back to me, words I had no business remembering.
‘Mrs Williams. Mrs Ally Williams. It’s going to happen, you know. One day, a few years from now.’ David’s arm had tightened around me, pulling me closer against his warm naked body. I had pushed playfully against him, my hand finding very little resistance in the taut firm muscles of his toned abdomen. ‘Shut up, you,’ I had replied, burrowing my head against his broad shoulder, using it as a pillow. The bed in his student accommodation was narrow and not particularly comfortable, but neither of us had seemed to mind.
‘You can protest all you like,’ he had said teasingly, threading his fingers through my long brown hair and gently raising my head so I could look into his eyes. ‘But you’ll see. One day, I’ll have my way.’
A small pink flush had flooded my cheeks. I never quite knew if he was being serious or not when he said stuff like this. ‘I think you just “had your way” quite effectively . . . twice,’ I had informed him primly.
‘Want to go for a hat trick,’ David had asked, pulling me up on top of him, Mrs-Williams-to-be?’
‘Would you like to come with us, Mrs Williams? We have an update now on your husband’s condition.’
I was glad to be left alone in the room, glad Charlotte had been led away by the group of doctors for a private consultation. I told myself I didn’t care whatever it was they were saying to her; I told myself it had nothing whatsoever to do with me; I told myself my interest was only in Joe, and no one else. I sat in the small darkened room, surrounded by my own lies.
My eyes kept going back to the weakly flickering lights of the small Christmas tree on the table. There’d been another Christmas tree on the night we had met, a magnificent one. It had been almost as tall as the marquee it was standing within, and was only just visible through the arch of fairy lights twinkling at the entrance as I hurried along the path. But I hadn’t had time to stop and admire it, for I’d been late, I remembered. Suddenly the sole of my
new cheap black shoes, the ones I’d had to rush out to buy that afternoon, had skidded like skates on the ice-slickened path and I had begun to fall . . .
Chapter 3
Ally – Nine Years Earlier
‘Whoa. Steady on there!’ His voice had come from out of nowhere in the darkness, just as his hand shot out to grab my arm, catching me before I fell spectacularly arse-over-tit in front of the long snaking line of students queuing up at the entrance to the Snowflake Ball.
I think my feet did that silly pin-wheeling thing that you usually only see performed by cartoon characters, before I finally got some traction and regained my balance.
‘Thank you,’ I gasped, already feeling a flush of embarrassment on my cheeks. I looked up but I couldn’t make out anything of the man who had caught me.
‘Not got another girl falling at your feet, David?’ called out a disembodied voice from the other side of the path. ‘It’s starting to get really old now, mate. Why don’t you back off and give the rest of us a chance?’ The lairy comment ended in a burbling gurgle of laughter, the guy clearly delighted by his own wit. Me, not so much. Especially as his words had drawn the attention of several students who were waiting in the queue to surrender their ball tickets for the event the Student Union had billed ‘The seasonal event you can’t afford to miss’. I hadn’t actually agreed with that tag line; for me it was more a case of it being ‘The seasonal event you can’t afford to attend’. Not at seventy pounds a ticket, and hardly anything left of my student loan for the term. If it hadn’t been for a desperate friend begging a favour, and a trumpet player with a bad case of flu, I definitely wouldn’t be standing in front of the enormous marquee, in my cheap slippery-soled shoes, with a stranger’s hands gripping tightly on to my arms. Still gripping in fact, long after I was out of danger of falling.
‘Thank you,’ I repeated, in the direction of my rescuer, who was still a tall shadowy shape in the darkness.
‘You should take more water with it,’ he said teasingly ‘I’m not drunk,’ I retaliated, although I wasn’t entirely sure the same could be said of his friend, nor perhaps of him, for all I knew. Anxious to leave, I pulled my arm free from his hold with a little more force than I should have used, and almost lost my balance yet again. Once more his hands steadied me. I heard someone laughing in the queue and could feel the heat rising like mercury in a barometer in my already flushed cheeks. I hated being the centre of attention or making a spectacle of myself, and right now I was in danger of doing both those things.
‘I was only joking,’ the man – who I assumed was called David – replied. ‘The path is really slippery here, it must be quite difficult to walk on in high heels.’
Except that I wasn’t wearing heels. My new shoes were shiny black patent flats, worn with a plain black pencil skirt and a cheap Primark black blouse. I looked more like I was going to a funeral than a ball, but then I was one of the performers and not a guest, I had to keep reminding myself. It was like a modern twist on the fairy tale. Cinderella, you can go to the ball . . . except you have to play in the band when you get there.
‘You’re sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you when I grabbed on to you, did I?’ He had a lovely voice, a voice made for singing, my musician’s ear instantly decided. It was rich and had a depth of tone that made you think of hot molten honey. I blinked the fanciful notion away just as my rescuer’s friend shouted out once again.
‘David, it’s fucking freezing out here. Just get her number and come over here or the rugby guys will have drunk all the champagne by the time we get in.’
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of where the comment had come from and then back at the man before me. ‘No. I’m fine. Thanks again. Sorry, I have to go,’ I said ducking past him to veer off towards the rear entrance of the marquee. I was already fifteen minutes late for reporting in to the leader of Moonlighters, the university band who were providing the live music for the ball. He was probably having kittens, thinking I wasn’t going to show up.
Just as I was about to disappear into the darkness, someone within the marquee flicked a switch and the row of trees lining the path suddenly materialised like magic, each one wreathed in sparkling white LED lights threaded through their branches. That was the first moment when I saw him properly, illuminated and backlit by the radiance of a thousand twinkling lights. He was, without question, the most dazzlingly good-looking person I had ever seen in my entire life.
The atmosphere at the rear of the marquee was the usual frenetic madness which you expect before a big performance. True, I was more familiar with classical recitals than big jazz bands, but the buzz and barely reined-in aura of panic was still easily recognisable. I knew the band-leader by sight only, but I would have been able to figure out who to report to because he was the one who looked closest to having a stress-induced heart attack.
I wove through the bustling performers and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hi, I’m Alexandra Nelson – Ally,’ I amended. He spared just a millisecond to nod distractedly and then continued scanning the crowds, looking for something or someone. ‘I’m depping for your sick trumpet player,’ I added. His hands latched on to my shoulders and for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was going to shake me for being late or kiss me with relief. Thankfully he did neither.
‘Thank Christ, I thought you weren’t coming.’
‘Sorry,’ I apologised, ‘But I got—’ I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence as a large folder of music was thrust at me. ‘I bloody well hope you’re as good as Tom says you are, because we’re on in ten.’ I gave a noisy gulp and looked down at the weighty sheaf of sheet music in my hands. ‘So please tell me you’re the best sight-reader in the entire music department.’
I wasn’t sure if I could legitimately claim that title, but this was no time for false modesty. I glanced down at the music with a confidence that I hoped wasn’t misplaced. ‘Don’t worry. I can handle this.’
He nodded, apparently satisfied. I thought of the universally acknowledged tough auditions to get into this elite band of musicians, and knew mine would probably go down in Moonlighters’ history as the easiest admittance ever. But with their biggest performance of the year just minutes away, and a room full of students who had paid a large amount of money for their evening’s entertainment, what else could he do? Besides, I was only playing with them for just this one gig.
‘Just follow the rest of the band. We throw in some moves on a few of the big numbers.’
My heart sank a little. This was a world away from the University Philharmonic Orchestra in which I usually played. This wasn’t the type of music I typically performed, nor the kind of people I tended to socialise with. Moves? What moves? I hoped to God he didn’t mean actual dance moves, because that was definitely not me.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he assured either himself or me, and I could almost see him mentally crossing Missing Trumpet Player off his list of problems which needed to be sorted out in the next ten minutes.
I shrugged off my thick quilted jacket, sat down on one of the large storage boxes used for transporting the amplifiers, and ran my eye down the set list. We would be playing three sets, of forty-five minutes each, over the course of the evening, and the music was largely well-known jazz numbers – the kind popularised by artists like Michael Bublé. My parents would have loved it; they would certainly have enjoyed it far more than the scores of recitals and performances they had dutifully sat in the audience for over the last fifteen years, since I had taken up music. The fact that they’d never missed a single one of my performances was testimony to their love and pride in my accomplishments, rather than a love of the musical content. It had taken me a long time to appreciate that my love of classical music must have skipped a generation. It was my grandmother who I really wished had still been with us to attend those concerts. It was her musical gift that ran through my veins, as much a part of my genetic make-up as my brown hair, green eyes and generous curving lips. Lips which I sho
uld be getting warmed up, I realised, as I snapped open the clasps of the black leather case which held my trumpet.
The marquee was amazing. The high vaulted ceiling was a canopy of folded pleats, into which had been set an entire Milky Way of tiny glowing lights. There was almost too much to take in during our sedate single-file walk up onto the stage. But I could see at least two giant ice sculptures and an enormous chocolate fountain positioned to one side of the venue. There was a wooden boarded dance floor immediately in front of the stage and the remainder of the vast space was taken up with a sea of large circular white-linen-covered tables, all festively decorated. An excited roar went up from the assembled ball-goers as we took our positions. I was playing First Trumpet and walked to my designated position – top row, behind the trombonists, who in turn were behind the saxophones. There was a familiar fluttery feeling deep within my stomach. A strange intoxicating cocktail of terrified nerves and mounting excitement. There was a moment, just one, right before the first song began, just as the band-leader glanced at his assembled musicians to check we were all ready, when I thought – as I always did – What the hell am I doing here? Then the leader flung his hands dramatically upwards and I raised my trumpet to my lips in readiness and lost myself, as always, in the magic of the music.
The first set flew by. We had a twenty-minute break, just enough time to down a bottle of water and sample a few of the sandwiches that had been provided for us in the small makeshift ‘green room’ at the back of the marquee. It wasn’t what the diners in the marquee were eating, but then they had paid for the privilege of a hot gourmet meal and the six bottles of wine that I’d seen on each of the tables.
I didn’t bump into David again until our final break. The rest of the band, not surprisingly, all knew each other really well and were chatting together in companionable clusters. I felt a little awkward among them, which was ludicrous, because out on stage I could feel the strains of the music we were making drawing us together into one cohesive living musical entity. I wasn’t shy, but I’d always been one of those people who preferred to watch quietly from the sidelines. Perhaps it was the result of being an only child to parents who were a good fifteen years older than those of my classmates. Or perhaps it was just the way nature had made me. People who didn’t know me well often mistakenly thought I was standoffish or distant. Neither was actually the case, but it took me a long time to open up to strangers, and even though I was now in my second year of university, I had made a whole load of acquaintances and very few close friends.