Splintered Ice
Page 26
“Time,” said Edith, patting his hand lightly. “Time will solve it all, heal all your wounds.”
“You think so?”
She nodded, just once. “But if ever you need any help, Jed, any words of comfort or guidance, you know where to find me.”
“Yes.” And his other hand fell over hers and squeezed it tightly. They sat like that for a long time, lost in their own thoughts of what was to come, of what might be.
The television blared from the living room when he came through the door. His mum, perched on the edge of the sofa, swung around and he gasped when he saw her eyes, so red. His stomach lurched. “What the hell has happened now?”
Sniffing, she gave a tiny shrug. “They were driving. The reports are sketchy, but the police don't believe he was drinking. Apparently, the steering column came away. It snapped, all of it rotten with rust and they—”
“Mum, who are you talking about?”
“Brian Randall. He was in a car-crash with that girl, Janet.” Jed groped for the back of the sofa, his legs losing all strength. “He's dead, but she … Thank God – she's all right.”
Swallowing hard, he managed to form some strangulated words. “When did it happen?”
“This afternoon.”
Without another word, Jed tore out of the house and made his way to the local hospital. He didn't know what he would find, but he needed to be with her, to let her know he didn't blame for anything.
They met outside the ward, Jed not realising who he was until, about to move up to Janet's bedside, the man threw out his arm to bar the way. “And who the bloody hell are you?”
Taking a step back, Jed looked over the man's shoulder to where Janet lay, her face swollen, arms bandaged, tubes and drips sprouting from her body. Breathing hard, having run all the way from the hospital car park, Jed turned his head to the man. “I'm Jed.”
For a moment, the man appeared at a loss for words. His mouth fell open slightly, lips trembling. “You … You're the one who called me.”
“I knew she wasn't dead.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because she is as much a victim as I am.”
“You mean … the one who was driving?”
“No. I mean Jon Kepowski. He drugged her, or hypnotised her. Maybe both. He did the same to Brian, forced him to do his bidding. The truth has died with him.” He dragged in a deep breath, setting his jaw hard. “I need to talk to her.”
“You can't – she needs rest. She barely made it out of that crash alive. Damn that bloody stupid car, they said it could have gone out of control at any moment.”
Something hard and heavy lodged in Jed's throat. Closing his eyes, he gave up a small prayer of thanks, remembering the many times he sat behind the wheel of the little Viva, before he continued. “I'll only be a moment.”
The impasse remained, her dad not willing to budge, Jed desperate.
And then her voice. As sweet as he remembered, but so weak sounding, so small. “Jed, is that you?”
The two men exchanged a look and Jed saw her dad surrendering, his shoulders slumping. “Go on then,” he said, “but try not to cause her too much stress.”
“We've both had enough of that to last a life time,” said Jed, giving a short nod. Stepping up to the bed, he saw her bruised and battered face and felt that all-too familiar lurch in his stomach. But then she smiled and he knew, with total certainty, that everything was going to be so much better from now on.
The End
About the Author
Stuart G Yates is the author of a eclectic mix of books, ranging from historical fiction through to contemporary thrillers. Hailing from Merseyside, he now lives in southern Spain, where he teaches history, but dreams of living on a narrowboat in Shropshire.
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