So she and Dillon had spent hours poring over florists’ websites and leafing through seed catalogs. He told her what they could grow: tulips, narcissi, peonies, dahlias, roses of course, sweet Williams, sweet peas, alchemillas . . . She sent a couple of the girls who worked for her on a floristry course, and by the next wedding season they were doing the bouquets, buttonholes, table arrangements—everything.
“I want that freshly-plucked-from-the-garden look,” said Alice. “Not those awful stiff formal arrangements. I want it all frondy and feathery and Thomas Hardy–ish.”
In the end, Dillon had suggested a portable greenhouse, to get the biggest seasonal range, and Alice had declared him an utter genius.
So they had got quite close, and sometimes they ended up in the White Horse having a drink, and Alice bobbed about the pub like the butterfly she was, chatting to everyone. And then she’d met Hugh at a friend’s party in London, and Dillon backed off. He could tell it was time for him to cut the ties, because there was absolutely no way a man like Hugh wanted the likes of Dillon cozying up to his girlfriend. And he tried to make it so that Alice didn’t realize he was deliberately avoiding her, because he knew the minute she twigged she would be insistent about including him, and Dillon simply couldn’t face the humiliation or the power struggle.
Tonight he was well and truly cornered in public, and he didn’t have a watertight excuse. He felt the prickly panic of a socially awkward situation.
“You’ve got to meet everyone,” Alice urged him. “They’ll all be at the wedding. Come on.”
She was tugging at his arm. Across the pub, Dillon saw Brian Melksham come into the bar for his Friday pint. Relief flooded him, just as Hugh walked over and put a proprietorial arm around Alice. There was no mistaking the underlying message.
“I can’t,” said Dillon. “There’s Brian. He’s having my ferrets off me.”
Alice’s face fell.
Hugh smirked.
“It’s like the bloody Archers in here.”
Dillon grabbed Brian’s arm and walked him over to the bar. “Don’t look over. Just pretend we’re deep in conversation.”
“What’s going on?”
“Alice wants me to go and sit with all her mates.”
“Is she here with that knob?”
“Yep.”
No one in the White Horse thought much of Hugh. They all thought Alice deserved better.
“I seen his white tart trap in the car park,” said Brian. “Nothing that a squirt of slurry wouldn’t put right.”
He pulled a fiver out of his pocket for his pint. That was what Dillon loved about people in the White Horse. They didn’t suffer fools.
At the end of the evening, the landlord called time. Dillon had stayed on for a game of pool in the back room, but he decided he’d leave now, before the traditional Friday night lock-in. You had to be in the mood, and he wanted a clear head for the weekend.
He walked back through into the main bar and saw Alice and her friends getting ready to leave. Most of them were unsteady on their feet, draped all over each other, braying and swaying. He looked at Hugh, who was holding his car keys. His face was flushed red, his eyes slightly glazed. He couldn’t possibly be fit to drive. Dillon looked at the empty champagne bottles littering the table. They’d had shots, too. Someone had set up a Jäger train—shot glasses of Jägermeister balanced on glasses of Red Bull. There had been much hilarity as the domino effect pushed each shot glass into the next one.
But Dillon knew Hugh’s type. He wouldn’t let a small thing like being over the limit stop him.
Dillon walked over to Alice, who was just coming out of the loo. He could see she had drunk too much to have any common sense left.
“You shouldn’t get in the car with Hugh. He’s out of it.”
Alice waved a hand. “He’ll be fine. It’s only the lanes.”
“Don’t be stupid. Let me give you a lift home.”
Hugh came looming up behind Alice. He was waving his keys. Dillon didn’t falter. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
Hugh’s stare was flat and hard. “Stick to worrying about your ferrets.”
“Dills has offered us a lift,” said Alice.
Ugh, thought Dillon. He didn’t want Hugh in his car, stinking up his seat belt with his city aftershave. But he couldn’t take Alice without him.
“It’s no problem—it’s on my way.”
Hugh narrowed his eyes, reached out a hand, and patted Dillon’s shoulder, his smile beyond patronizing.
“It’s okay, Mellors—you’re off duty now. Run along.”
Dillon bunched his fists and stepped forward. Alice looked worried. “Don’t be so rude, Hugh.”
“Come on, darling.” Hugh ignored Dillon and took Alice’s arm.
Dillon could see Alice falter for a moment. As Hugh led her away, she turned, then shrugged, as if to say, What can I do?
Dillon stared after them. His jaw was set. His heart hammered in his chest. He shouldn’t let her go—Sarah would be furious. But he could see the look in Hugh’s eyes. He’d try to punch his lights out if he tried to stop him. And if Hugh got physical with Dillon, Dillon would fight back, and there was no doubt who would come off the worse. Dillon worked outside all day; Hugh sat behind a desk and went out for boozy lunches.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed out to his own car. He’d got a clear conscience: he’d offered them a lift, and Hugh had refused. If he wanted to lose his license, that was up to him.
—
The night air was crisp and cold, frost starting to settle on the branches.
Hugh’s car was waiting in the car-park exit, the engine idling.
Dillon got into his old Fiesta. He drove up behind the Audi, waiting patiently. He wasn’t going to pip his horn. He knew that was what Hugh wanted him to do. He was goading him. The seconds seemed like minutes. Dillon tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying not to get wound up. He wondered what Alice was thinking, if she knew what game Hugh was playing. She probably wouldn’t have a clue. Dillon was pretty sure she had no idea of her fiancé’s true colors.
Finally the Audi shot out of the car park and into the road, accelerating at a terrifying rate. He could imagine Hugh at the wheel, laughing his head off. Dillon’s lips tightened. He wasn’t going to take the bait. He counted to ten and followed in the sports car’s wake as slowly as he could, even though testosterone told him to keep up.
The lanes back to Peasebrook Manor were inky black at this time of night, trees looming on either side. Dillon dropped down a gear, taking the bends carefully. He could probably drive this journey with his eyes shut.
And then he turned the blind bend half a mile before the entrance to Peasebrook Manor and he slammed on his brakes. There was Hugh’s car. It had smashed into the massive oak tree on the corner.
The driver’s door was open. Dillon could see Hugh in the road, hands at his head. The passenger side had taken the full impact.
There was a horrible silence.
Dillon grabbed his phone. Thank God there was a signal here. He pulled into a gateway, flicked on his hazard warning lights, dialed the police, and opened his door in one fluid movement, jumping out into the road.
Hugh came running up to him. There was panic on his face.
“Have you got your phone? I can’t find my phone.”
Dillon pushed him out of the way and spoke into the phone. “Ambulance, please. And police.” He strode past Hugh, who pulled at his arm.
“Not the police—”
Dillon pushed him away. “There’s been an accident at the Withyoak turn. Car’s gone right into the tree. I don’t know how many casualties yet but definitely one!”
Dillon hung up and ran toward the car, jumping into the driver’s side.
Alice was slumped over the air bag, unconsciou
s. Her side of the car was crushed. There was broken glass, and blood on her face and her hands and in her hair. He could see that her legs were trapped. Dillon couldn’t begin to try to get her out. He might do more harm than good. He realized he was crying. He should have stopped her from getting in the car.
Hugh poked his head through the door.
“Shit. Is she all right?”
“No she fucking isn’t! There’s blood everywhere.”
“Oh Jesus. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”
“Alice! Can you hear me?” Dillon put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. The ambulance is on its way. Alice?” Dillon felt sick as he realized there was no response. He took her wrist and felt for a pulse. It was still there, and now that he knew she was alive, he could see her breathing.
“I can feel her pulse,” he told Hugh.
“Thank God . . . What should we do?”
Dillon was racking his brain for first aid rules, but he couldn’t think of anything. Her legs were trapped. He couldn’t pull her out. He didn’t want to move her in case he did more damage. All he could do was reassure her. He was shaking. With shock and fear and anger.
“I don’t know. We mustn’t move her. I know that.”
Alice gave a moan and turned her head slightly, then shut her eyes again.
“It’s your fault,” said Hugh. “You were chasing us. I saw you pull out right behind me. You were harassing us.”
“Don’t talk crap.”
“I’m going to make sure they have you for dangerous driving.”
“They’ll think you’re having a laugh. My car doesn’t do over sixty.” Dillon pointed a thumb over to his ancient car in the nearby gate. “And they’ll see your tire tracks. What speed were you doing—seventy? Eighty?”
Hugh looked at the road in the moonlight. Dillon was right. There was a pair of black lines imprinted on the road where he’d lost it on the corner. They’d be able to work out his speed.
“I’ll lose my license. I’ll lose my job. I won’t be able to support her.” He grabbed Dillon’s shoulder. “Could you say you were driving?” Dillon looked at him. What a bloody state.
“I’m not insured to drive your car,” he pointed out coldly. “If I say I was driving you’ll be landed with the bill.”
Hugh put his hands to his head in despair.
“If she dies,” Dillon told Hugh, “I’ll kill you.”
“She’s not going to die,” said Hugh, but he looked as pale as the moonlight as lights appeared around the bend, accompanied by wailing sirens.
Next to him, Alice stirred again and reached out a hand. Dillon took it.
“It’s all right,” said Dillon, squeezing her hand as hard as he could. “It’s all right, Alice. The ambulance is here. You’re going to be all right.”
In no time, there were people swarming everywhere, shouting instructions, the elaborate choreography of an emergency procedure taking shape.
Dillon and Hugh were taken to one side, removed from the scene of the accident.
“I lost it on the bend,” Hugh was telling a policeman. “I’m not used to this car, and the road was slippier than I thought. I was taking Alice home to Peasebrook. We’re due to get married . . .”
He was trying his best to look the modicum of respectability and clearly thought that mentioning Peasebrook would give him some kind of immunity.
“Come and sit in the car with me a moment, sir,” said the copper to Hugh, deferential but firm.
“Of course,” said Hugh, but he looked at Dillon as if expecting him to help.
Dillon watched Hugh follow the policeman.
Hugh had got what was coming to him. Dillon hoped they locked him up and threw away the key. He’d lose his license; maybe he would lose his job. Maybe that was the only reason Alice was with him—because of his money. That was how these families worked, wasn’t it? It wasn’t so far from an arranged marriage. Was Alice having to pretend to love Hugh, in order to keep Peasebrook?
At the moment, though, he didn’t care—all that mattered was Alice.
—
It seemed to take forever for the ambulance men to get Alice out of the car. The minutes seemed like hours. Eventually they lifted her gently onto a stretcher. She looked so small, so still, as they carried her over to the ambulance.
“Who’s coming with her? Is anyone coming with her?” one of the paramedics asked.
“Yeah. I’ll come.” Dillon didn’t want Alice turning up at the hospital on her own. He climbed into the back.
“Are you her husband? Boyfriend?”
“No—I work for the family. Is she going to be all right?”
No one answered. Someone was taking her blood pressure. Someone else was wiping away the blood.
Then suddenly Hugh was banging on the door. Someone opened it to let him in. Dillon was astonished. It looked as if Hugh was in the clear. How on earth could he be? Dillon had seen him with his mates. They were all roaring drunk. What had he done? Had he bribed the copper? Or was he genuinely not over the limit? Dillon couldn’t understand it.
“Is she all right? I’m coming with her.”
“There’s only room for one,” said a paramedic.
Hugh looked at Dillon. “I’m her fiancé.”
Dillon knew Hugh had pulled rank. He nodded. “I’ll go.”
Hugh put a hand on his arm.
“Thanks for helping out back there. I was useless, I know . . .”
Dillon just looked at him. Why the apology? Was he trying to disarm him? Hugh tried to smile at him.
Granite-faced and without another word, Dillon climbed out of the ambulance.
Outside, another policeman walked past.
“Somebody get on to Peasebrook Manor,” Dillon heard him say into a radio. “Best for them to meet us at the hospital.”
Dillon felt sick at the thought of Sarah being given the news. She would be distraught. He couldn’t imagine there was anything worse than being told your child had been in a car accident. He wished he could be with her, to reassure and comfort her, but it wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t his place. Even though Dillon spent hours with her every day, it was Ralph who would and should be with her. He didn’t even feel entitled to go to the hospital. This was a family matter. He was staff. It was his duty to step away, and wait until he was needed.
The ambulance doors slammed shut and the driver turned on the siren. Dillon looked up into the night sky. He couldn’t believe the stars were there, twinkling happily. How was it possible, when Alice lay there so still and small?
The ambulance drove off and Dillon was left there, watching Hugh’s car being hoisted onto the tow truck. There was the sound of hydraulics and clanking chains, the mechanics shouting instructions to each other. The remaining policeman removed the accident sign.
And suddenly, everyone was gone and it was deathly quiet. It was as if the accident had never happened, except for the scar on the old oak tree. Dillon stared at the tree and the skid marks and wondered how fast Hugh had been going. He felt sick thinking about it. What could he do? Pray, he supposed, but he’d never been a praying man. As far as he was concerned, nature took its course, man interfered from time to time, and what happened, happened. No greater force had any influence.
He went back to his car, still parked in the gateway. He drove slowly home, seeing ghosts in the shadows as the light turned from granite to gun smoke.
9
Sarah sat upright, her hands pressed between her knees, staring at an awful painting of a wood in autumn hung on the pale green wall of the hospital waiting room. Waiting, she thought. Waiting for news. A diagnosis. A prognosis. Suddenly nothing else in life held any import or urgency. Eating, sleeping, drinking—all were irrelevant. They’d been here since two o’clock in the morning. Alice was having a brain scan, or an X-ray, or was in
surgery or something—she couldn’t remember which, or in what order. The information was a jumble and Alice was the staff’s priority. And they couldn’t give any more information until they had answers. Sarah kept telling herself everyone was doing their best, but it was agony.
Ralph came in with a mug of tea in each hand and held one out to her. He’d gone off to find the friendly Scottish nurse with the bleached-blond hair and the smiling eyes, to see if she had any idea what was going on.
Ralph, for all his usual blundering, blustering hopelessness, had come into his own. His mantle of fecklessness slipped away, and out came a man of integrity and grit. It must have been his army training. He’d had only a couple of years in the Blues and Royals, but it must have been lying dormant in him. Maybe that was what had been lacking in his life over the past years? A proper crisis.
Sarah stared down at her tea.
“Come on,” he said. “Drink up, darling. We’re going to need all our strength.” He fished in his pocket and brought out a brace of digestives. “Not much of a breakfast, but they’ll see you through. An army marches on its stomach.”
Sarah took one of the biscuits. A tentative sip told her the tea was too hot, so she dunked the biscuit in.
“The consultant should be here in a few minutes,” Ralph added, and their eyes met. It was the moment they had been longing for and dreading, the consultant’s verdict. Ralph put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get through this, darling. She’s a fighter, Alice. That spirit of hers . . .”
He trailed off and his voice caught on his words. Sarah put up her hand and squeezed his arm. He needed reassurance, too. He looked down at her, surprised and grateful, and she realized with a start of guilt that they barely had any physical contact anymore. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but a gradual withdrawal. Sarah wondered for a moment if he had noticed or, indeed, if he minded. She felt a rush of regret, tinged with guilt.
The door opened and they both stood at attention, Sarah sliding her arm into Ralph’s. Now that she had touched him, she felt the need to be close. They both stood there, clutching their mugs of tea, staring at the young doctor in the maroon jersey.
How to Find Love in a Bookshop Page 14