‘Claire has a match today anyway,’ he shouts up.
Isabel frowns and leans over the balustrade, ‘I thought you said you hadn’t spoken to Claire?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he shouts above the sizzling pans, ‘Craig told me last night that the girls are playing against Torquay today.’
Well, that’s bloody strange that Claire would have had so much to drink last night, knowing she had to play football today. Then again, it could explain why she wasn’t picking up her phone.
The day was improving at last. After a rocky start, the fizzy feeling of panic in the pit of her stomach had almost dissipated completely. Paul even found Joan’s key. It had been there all along apparently. Must have been a hangover-induced bout of insanity, Isabel supposes.
With the warm wind on her face, her trainers sinking into the pebbly shoreline of Connarway Cove, she watches as Paul runs ahead, the little rucksack bouncing on his back. He retrieves a soggy tennis ball and throws it into the shallow waves for Sasha. She lifts her face to the sun and thinks about Rachel and Stephen’s wedding and wonders if Paul will be so romantic in his proposal. Not here on the beach of course, this is Rachel’s place; not in public either, that’s just embarrassing. Paul turns in the distance and points to Sasha swimming confidently back with the ball in her mouth. They both laugh and clap proudly. The little dog rolls frantically on her back in a sandy patch further up the beach in an attempt to dry herself, her little paws dancing in the air. She watches as Paul jogs over to a little sheltered spot, out of the wind against the cliffs, and begins to lay out the towels. He rummages in the rucksack for a foil wrapped sandwich, checking he has the one without mayonnaise. He holds it in the air, patting the towel next to him, signalling Isabel to join him. She smiles weakly, still feeling the after effects of the night before, and saunters over to their picnic spot.
‘Come on lazy bones. There’s a cheese, lettuce and mayo baguette here with your name on it. Instant hangover cure, I promise!’
Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her jeans. ‘Claire?’ Isabel stops in her tracks, ‘I tried calling earlier but there was no answer. Paul said that you had a match today?’ There was a pause at the other end.
‘Claire, you still there?’ she turns to face the other direction in case there’s a problem with the signal, her index finger in her left ear, blocking out the wind.
‘Yeah, yeah listen, we have to talk. Where are you?’ she sounds serious, scared almost.
‘I’m on the beach with Paul. Look, Claire, are you alright? I mean I saw you last night... outside the pub...’
‘You saw me with Paul?’ she asks, shocked.
‘With Paul? You were with Paul? My Paul? I don’t understand. He said he was at Craig’s and I saw you run to the toilets. I thought you had a new man. What the hell is going on Claire?’ she swings around to face Paul who is on his feet, the feeling of overwhelming panic and jealousy causing her to shake with anger. ‘You’d better tell me fucking quickly because I don’t like the sound of where this is leading.’ Isabel can feel the breath tighten in her throat and the panic rising through her chest. Her eyes darting from one side of the beach to the other, but without seeing the landscape. Images of Paul and Claire already fill her mind. Rolling around naked, together on the floor of her apartment. Claire’s long blonde hair streaming down her back, her head tilted back in ecstasy and Paul gripping her narrow hips, her small pert breasts glistening with perspiration.
‘Isabel? Are you there? For god’s sake listen to me. It’s not what you think.’
Isabel is frozen to the spot, finding it hard to tear her mind away from the sick, erotic scenes that are overwhelming her imagination.
‘You bitch!’ she shouts, and jabs the red button on her phone. Paul is walking slowly towards her, guilty as hell, his hands reaching out to her, imploring, in a desperate attempt to calm her down.
She breaks into a run, away from Paul, tears streaming down her face, no idea where she is going. All the plans for their future, her dreams of one of those detached houses in the village of their own one day, her promotion at school, children one day maybe... her whole life, all those plans that made so much sense yesterday, are now scrambled into a void of confusion. Torn apart.
She stumbles headlong across the beach, not caring if anyone sees her or what they think. She is only aware of the blood pumping in her ears as her feet hit the solid tarmac of the road. She has no idea where she is. Her vision blurred by tears and her legs propelling her faster and faster, driven by a fierce jealousy ripping through her whole body. Every ragged breath that she exhales sounds like a deep growl as the sobs catch in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Suddenly she hears a strange thud and crack. Slowly she becomes aware that her legs have stopped running. The pain of her emotions is being overwhelmed by a different pain, incredibly intense, somewhere in her jaw. Her tears continue their path down her cheeks, but her eyes slowly begin to close and a strange, muffled welcoming darkness begins to close in around her. Then, there is nothing.
Chapter 8
Louise Marsh received the phone call at five o’clock that afternoon. She had been pottering in the garden whilst Duncan sat in the conservatory planning his final lecture of the term on Spanish Twentieth Century Poetry. His reverie had been broken when he saw Louise walk slowly into the room, her hand covering her mouth, the other one limp at her side, her face drained of colour.
It had taken them only fifteen minutes to get to Derriford Hospital in Plymouth where they knew that they would find their beloved, only child. Within the walls of the grey forbidding building, somewhere within the maze of corridors, lay Isabel.
Duncan guides his wife towards the Reception desk as calmly as he can, fighting the urge to run wildly into the confusing labyrinth, shouting his daughter’s name. He knows he has to take control, for his wife’s sake, and they have to keep it together until they know how badly she had been hurt; how critical her condition is.
‘Isabel. Isabel Marsh,’ cries Louise softly, reaching out a shaky hand towards one of the nurses sitting behind a computer. Seeing her distress, people in the queue disperse sympathetically and they are both shown to a little office and asked to wait for a few minutes for the Doctor. Did they want tea? ‘No.’ Did they want to call anyone? ‘No!’ Duncan paces the small room and stops, frozen in his steps, as a young, blonde-haired woman enters the room, wearing a white coat with a badge indicating that she is Doctor Shelley Cole. She clasps a file to her chest. The first thing that Duncan notices about her, is that she looks younger than Isabel. How can she possibly help my daughter? Then he notices that she is not closing the blinds as they do on all the Medical dramas on TV when they have bad news to impart. He sits and wraps his arm firmly around his wife’s shoulders as Dr Cole introduces herself. Calmly and professionally she explains that Isabel has been very lucky. The relief in the room is palpable as Louise can no longer hold back and begins to sob loudly.
‘Isabel ran into a moving car but it was a side street and the driver was going slowly, looking for somewhere to park. Your daughter ran straight at his car. He described her state as “hysterical”.’
Duncan and Isabel sit mesmerised by what they are hearing. Hysterical?
‘Was she being chased?’ asks Duncan, as calmly as he can, ‘Did anyone see anything? Is there an investigation?’ he asks hurriedly. Doctor Cole lays her hands calmly on the file in her lap, ‘No, Mr Marsh, she wasn’t being chased.’ She pushes her black rimmed rectangular glasses up onto her nose, ‘I can take you to your daughter in just a moment and I’m sure she’ll tell you everything. She was unconscious when she was brought in and has stitches in her chin where she slid over the car bonnet and knocked herself out on the kerb. She has two broken fingers, as she tried to break her fall, but it’s mainly just bruises and scrapes. She really is very lucky she didn’t break her jaw or bite her tongue. No broken teeth either. She’s a lucky girl.’
Chapter 9
‘Oh mum,’
cries Isabel, as her parent’s slip worriedly through the curtains to her bedside. She has a big white plaster covering the stitches on her chin and raw grazes down the side of her beautiful face, yellow with iodine. Three fingers on her left hand have been bandaged together and they can see the bruising on her shoulders spreading beneath her hospital gown, across her collar bone.
‘Oh Izzy, my darling girl, what have you done?’ sobs Louise, resisting the urge to take her in her arms for fear of hurting her more.
Duncan stands bravely next to his wife watching the mother-daughter scene, fighting back tears of his own.
‘Oh dad, it’s all over. I can’t even talk about it. I don’t know what to do! I’m not going to marry Paul. Dad, we’re not going to buy a house, we’re never going to have children, we’ll never...’
‘Shhhh...’ Louise strokes her daughter’s face as she begins to become hysterical again, ‘Shhhh sweetheart. Just rest for a while hey? We’re here now. Nothing can hurt you. We’ll sort it all out...’ They are distracted by the movement of the curtain.
‘Isabel, oh my word, Paul called me...’
‘Claire,’ says Louise, momentarily pleased to see her daughter’s friend.
Isabel launches herself forward in her bed, gripping her bruised torso, ‘Get oouuuuttt!!!’ she screams in a voice that she doesn’t even recognise as her own.
Duncan pushes Claire gently backwards, away from the bed. ‘I think you’d better go, Claire. We’ll call you, ok?’ he says, frowning in confusion.
A nurse comes running to Isabel’s bedside ‘Well what’s all this noise about then, eh?’ she says, in the patronising tones of a stereotypical, old-fashioned ward Sister. She plumps up Isabel’s pillow and settles her down.
‘No visitors please,’ says Duncan firmly, ‘until my daughter is ready. She’s obviously still very upset.’
‘Of course Mr Marsh, all just a storm in a tea cup I expect, but I’ll see to it that you’re not disturbed.’ She purses her lips and bustles from the cubicle.
Isabel sleeps fitfully for an hour as her parents sip sugary hospital tea from paper cups, debating in hushed whispers what on earth could have happened. ‘What about Rachel?’ suggests Louise, ‘Maybe Isabel will talk to her? Maybe she has nothing to do with any of this. Maybe she doesn’t even know?’
Duncan nods in reluctant agreement and Louise heads outside to make the call, brushing his hand gently with her own on her way past. As she reaches the main entrance and steps out into the welcome evening air, she hears someone shouting her name. Louise turns back towards the main door, expecting to see a nurse, gripped by momentary fear that Isabel may have had some sort of relapse. But, there is no uniformed medic, only Rachel and Claire huddled together on a bench. Claire looks like she has been crying for hours and frozen to the bone in just a thin t-shirt. Rachel must have just arrived as she is dressed for the cool evening weather and is still gripping her car key. She looks worried and confused, holding her best friend close. Just one of her best friends, thinks Louise, looking sceptically at them both, her dark auburn fringe falling over one eye.
‘Look, I know how it must look Mrs Marsh,’ pleads Rachel, ‘but I promise you, I’ve just heard, and I can explain if you’ll let me.’ Louise studies them both carefully, tucking her fringe behind her ear, raising her chin and considering how much she can trust them after Isabel’s reaction earlier.
‘Rachel, where’s your car?’ she asks briskly, ‘and you,’ she turns to face Claire as they walk towards the car park, ‘I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter,’ she warns, waving a perfectly manicured finger threateningly in her direction, ‘stay here!’
Settled in Rachel’s spacious Citroën Picasso, smelling vaguely of vanilla air-freshener, Rachel begins to explain the whole sorry story to Isabel’s mum.
Louise shakes her head in what Rachel interprets as pity, ‘but why didn’t Claire say anything to Izzy?’
‘She wanted to protect her I guess. She didn’t even tell me,’ Rachel sighs. ‘To be honest, I think she’s been very brave and it must be something of a relief for her, now that she doesn’t have to keep it from us.’ Rachel nervously twists the diamond engagement ring on her finger and picks at her flaky red nail polish.
‘Have they gone?’ Louise asks sternly.
‘Yes, they’ve gone. Loaded all their stuff in the van as soon as Paul told them what had happened,’ Rachel says, not taking her eyes off her hands in her lap.
Louise reaches over and takes one of Rachel’s squirming hands in her own, as tears begin to drop into her lap. ‘Oh no, poor Isabel,’ sobs Rachel, ‘she had plans you know? Big plans. Who’s going to explain it to her?’
‘I will Rachel,’ she says firmly. ‘Don’t worry. I think it’ll be easier coming from me. She’s having a hard time trusting anybody at the moment. My poor baby.’
Louise reaches over and hugs Rachel and kisses her on her tear-stained cheek, ‘I think it’s best if you both go home. I’ll send Claire out to you on my way back in, ok?’ Rachel nods. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I have spoken to Izzy. Thank you Rachel, you’re a good friend to my daughter.’ She pats her hand one last time and slides elegantly out of the car and strides purposefully in the direction of the hospital, pulling her cream woollen coat around her slender frame.
When Louise arrives back at the ward, Isabel is sitting propped up in bed after another visit from the bossy Sister, insisting that Isabel eat something. She is pushing a piece of dull, steamed fish around the plate on the tray in front of her. She watches as it slides in and out of the watery broccoli juice, her mind clearly elsewhere. Father and daughter look up, relieved to see her as she slides her coat onto the back of one of the worn plastic chairs. Louise hesitates a moment, then looks pointedly at both of them.
‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do,’ she announces confidently. A surprised Duncan seems almost amused by the fact that his wife is taking control. Intrigued, Isabel stops playing with her food and Duncan silently removes the tray and slots the portable table back into the cabinet beside her bed.
‘You’ll come and stay with us for a while until you’re better,’ starts Louise. ‘We’ll call James Lapthorne later, but no doubt he’s already heard about what’s happened along with the rest of the village. With only two weeks left of term that’s one less thing to worry about.’ She leans in closer to her daughter. ‘I’ve spoken to Rachel. She’s told me everything... now before you interrupt, you must listen to me sweetheart.’ Isabel opens her dry lips to protest but her mum continues. ‘I just met Rachel outside, when you were asleep. Claire had no choice but to call her. It was the first that Rachel had heard of any of what has happened and Isabel... shhhh...’ she interrupts herself and puts a calming hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘Listen, I believe her. You were right about Paul seeing someone else.’ Isabel gasps and begins to cry again, reaching out for her dad’s hand, still hoping that it is all just a horrible mistake, ‘But...’ Louise continues quickly, ‘it wasn’t Claire. Claire was trying to protect you, darling.’
Isabel shakes her head rejecting what her mum was trying to tell her ‘No, I saw her outside the pub with a man, with Paul. She...’
‘Yes,’ Louise interrupts, ‘she was arguing with him love. She had known for some weeks that he had been carrying on with that young girl next door to you.’
‘Jules??’ she squeals, dropping her dad’s hand and pushing herself upright in bed, red with rage.
‘Yes, darling, Jules. Apparently Claire had seen them together when she had football training, after the boy’s team, on a Tuesday night some time ago.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t she tell me then?’ Isabel cries through gritted teeth.
‘Because he’d threatened her Iz. She had a secret of her own too that he swore he would tell everyone in the village if she dared tell you about him and that girl. He swore to Claire that it was a “one-off”, at least that was what Rachel called it.’
‘But I...’
&
nbsp; Louise rests her hand over her daughters’. ‘The night you were in the pub, Claire was on her way to the toilets when she saw them, Paul and that girl. They let themselves into Joan’s house next door, practically undressing each other in the street. The little cow...’
‘I had the key... I...’
‘I know sweetheart, but do you see now why she didn’t want to tell you? She swore to me that she was going to speak to you as soon as she saw that Paul had quite blatantly lied to her about it being a “one off”. Oh I’m so sorry, darling, I really am.’ Louise looks sadly down at Isabel. She looks so small and vulnerable in the big hospital bed.
‘She did try, she did,’ Isabel sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand like a small child. ‘She called me on the beach, but I wouldn’t listen.’
The three of them sit quietly for a while, until Isabel frowns, ‘but how did he threaten Claire? I don’t understand.’
Louise strokes her daughter’s cheek lovingly ‘Claire’s gay Isabel. Paul saw her together with a girl after a match one Sunday, apparently he saw them kiss, he saw it as a way out. He saw an opportunity to blackmail her into keeping quiet. She’s struggling with it Izzy. Lisa, the girl she was with, is her first girlfriend. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.’
‘Oh, Claire!’ she cries, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands so hard that she begins to see spots. She lowers her hands and thumps the bed in disbelief, ‘surely she should know that she can tell us anything. Oh... I need to speak to her...’
‘Tomorrow,’ says Louise calmly. ‘I told them both that I’d call later after I had explained everything to you. They’ll be desperate to come and see you tomorrow, no doubt love.’
Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) Page 3