Mr. Smithfield

by Louise Bay

  Bethany waited patiently until the last fifteen minutes of the session, which was when they started the sitting dives. She’d been so excited last time when she’d managed to go headfirst into the pool that she’d been talking about doing it again all week. Only a few kids had managed it last time. Some had just refused and sat and watched. Others had tried but ended up inelegantly shuffling into the water feet first.

  “Hands either side of your ears and lay one hand over the other.” The instructor in red shorts on the side of the pool wandered from one end of the row of ten children to the other.

  The first child got the go-ahead to dive, and I kept my eye on Bethany, who would be one of the last to go. She looked like she was chatting to herself and kept positioning her arms and then relaxing them, practicing her form. She was so darn cute. She did it again and this time, her body started to move forward, almost as if she was going to go into the water, but she shifted and brought her arms down.

  Sit back, I wanted to shout. Be patient and wait your turn.

  My eyes flitted to the other end of the line-up of four-year-olds sitting on the side, and another child plopped into the pool, taking the attention of both the instructor in the pool and Miss Red Shorts on the side. The instructor in the pool helped the child who had just dived out of the pool while the instructor on the side coached the one about to enter the water.

  Bethany brought her arms up again into position and leaned forward, but this time she’d gone too far. I could see the moment her balance failed her. She glanced at me as I stood up, horror splashed across her face—not because she was in danger, but because she knew she was about to go into the pool when it wasn’t her turn. She tried to regain her balance, turning awkwardly, but instead of regaining her feet, she slipped into the water, hitting her head on the side with an almighty clunk on the way in.

  Time slowed and it felt as if everything had been covered in molasses. I dived into the water from the other side of the pool and felt her tiny body in my arms before she hit the bottom.

  I was vaguely aware of shrieking as I broke the surface.

  “Miss Lumen, what do you think—”

  I ignored everything but Bethany, lying her on the edge of the pool. She was unconscious. The blow to the head had knocked her out. I leapt out and rearranged her. People came toward us—I didn’t know if it was children or the instructors—and I was vaguely aware of someone screaming.

  “Call an ambulance,” I yelled.

  Bethany’s chest seemed to rise and fall but I put my hand on her belly to make sure. She was breathing, thank God, and I moved her onto her side, pulling her head back so she didn’t swallow her tongue just like I’d been taught.

  “Why isn’t she moving?” I heard a child ask.

  “Has someone called a goddamned ambulance?” I screamed.

  Nine

  Gabriel

  I nearly tore off the sliding door at the entry to the hospital as it seemed to take an interminable time to open. Finally, I raced up the corridor toward pediatric accident and emergency. I’d been here once before when Bethany had fallen off the bed when she was four months old; I hadn’t realized she had learned to roll over, and while I’d grabbed a new nappy she went right over the side. I’d had the same bitter taste of bile in my mouth then as I did now. The same panic running through my veins. Except this time was worse. I hadn’t been with her. I couldn’t hold her. I couldn’t feel her warmth.

  “Gabriel Chase. My daughter’s been brought in by ambulance,” I said to the receptionist who seemed to be on another call and not in any hurry to do anything.

  “Just take a seat, and I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said in a slow, drawn-out reply.

  “I will not take a seat,” I bellowed. “I want to see my daughter.”

  “Gabriel,” someone called from the other side of the room.

  It was Autumn. The adrenaline chasing around my body pulled me toward her, noting how very sad, serious, and bedraggled she looked.

  Please don’t have bad news.

  Please let Bethany be okay.

  I’ll do anything. Give up everything.

  Was it too late to strike a bargain with God?

  “How is she? Where is she?” I said, searching her forlorn face for clues.

  She pulled at my arm and we raced around the linoleum corridor, past a nurses’ station. Autumn ushered me through a curtain.

  There sat Bethany, in a hospital gown but fully conscious and smiling, a nurse by her side taking her temperature.

  “Daddy,” she said, beaming at me. “You’re here. Not at work.”

  Relief erupted in my veins at the sight of my beautiful daughter. Nothing was better than this, I said to myself. Being with Bethany was everything I needed. It was why I put up with work, why I vowed not to date. Why I breathed in and out. It was all about this little one with the gangly legs and shiny curls.

  “They say she’s fine,” Autumn said from beside me.

  “I want to speak to a doctor,” I muttered before stepping toward the bed and lightly pressing my lips to Bethany’s forehead. She looked okay, but I had to push down the urge to scoop her up and hold her as close as possible.

  “How are you feeling, my darling?”

  “Do you have snacks?” she asked.

  Well, that was a good sign.

  “She’s fine, Mr. Chase. Just a bump to the head is all,” the nurse said cheerily. “We’re going to keep her for a few hours just for observation.”

  “I want to speak to the doctor.”

  “They’ll be in when they’re free.” The nurse smiled, filled in something on a chart, and then left. Bethany smiled, glanced at Autumn, and held out her hand for something.

  Autumn glanced at me. “I gave her the iPad. The doctor said it was fine. I know she’s not supposed—”

  “It’s okay,” I replied.

  Autumn handed Bethany the tablet and she set about doing whatever she did on it, which always seemed to involve feeding cartoon food to cartoon dogs.

  “What happened?” I said, taking a seat next to Autumn, trying to show her and myself that I was fine. Calm. Relaxed.

  “They were all lined up, sitting at the edge of the pool, ready to do sitting dives—”

  “I fell in, Daddy,” Bethany said, looking up from the tablet.

  “She tried to stop herself from falling and ended up turning and banging her head on the side,” Autumn explained. “Then she went down.”

  The bile in my stomach rose again. I should have been there. “No more swimming lessons for you,” I said. I might even look into home schooling. I needed to keep her safe.

  Bethany looked up from the tablet. “I like swimming,” she replied, frowning.

  Autumn’s phone went off beside us and she opened up a message. “It’s from Hollie,” she replied. “She’s nearly here. She’s bringing me some clothes.”

  I turned to look at Autumn properly and noticed her hair plastered to her head. “Are you . . . wet?”

  She shrugged. “From the pool.”

  “I thought you didn’t get in the pool with her?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t usually. I saw what was happening. Bethany was practicing her diving position but was getting closer to the edge. The instructors were preoccupied with the student diving.” Her eyes started to fill with tears and then she cleared her throat. “She should have swimming lessons. It’s important for her safety. But I don’t want to take her back there.”

  I glanced from Autumn to Bethany, but Bethany was preoccupied by her virtual dogs. She wasn’t taking any notice of either of us. I took a closer look at Autumn. It wasn’t just her hair that was wet. Her clothes were soaking. “You went in after her.”

  She nodded. “I knew I could get to her first.”

  “And thank goodness she did,” a woman said from behind us as someone opened the curtain. “I’m Doctor Todd,” she said and stepped into bay. “The fact that Bethany was breathing when she was pul
led out of the water means she’s going to be just fine. We need to keep an eye on her, but you can take her home soon. She’s had none of the indicators of severe concussion other than her being passed out for a minute or so. She was conscious by the time the ambulance team arrived.” The doctor glanced at Bethany and then focused on me. “You don’t need to worry.”

  “Then humor me and tell me what makes you say that.”

  “She didn’t inhale any water. Didn’t require resuscitation. She’s had no bleeding or fluid leaking from her mouth or ears. She hasn’t been sick and doesn’t feel sick. She’s alert. Lucid. No headache. No bruising. She has none of the symptoms of a severe concussion apart from a lump on her head and a brief moment of unconsciousness. But as I said, we’ll keep her under observation for the next few hours and then you can take her home.”

  “Please may I have snacks?” Bethany asked.

  “I’ll get someone to bring you something,” the doctor said.

  “She can eat and drink as normal?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Like I said, if she’d inhaled the water when she went into the pool, it might be a different story.” The doctor swept out and I turned to Autumn.

  “You saved her,” I said.

  “I just knew I could get to her first.”

  This woman beside me wasn’t just beautiful. And kind. And funny. She’d saved my daughter. I would never be as grateful to anyone else, for anything else, for as long as I lived. “You saved her,” I said again. And by saving Bethany, she’d saved me.

  Ten

  Autumn

  I tried to decide between the racing car and the dog. It was a tough decision. Gabriel had already picked out the top hat, which was just perfect for the surly British gentleman he was. I liked the dog and all, but it would have definitely been Hollie’s first choice. I needed something new. “Okay, I’m going for the car,” I said.

  “Fine,” Gabriel said from where he was sitting opposite from me. He was studiously tidying his piles of money, which he’d lined up in front of him on the sturdy oak dining table in the kitchen. “At least you didn’t take long to make that decision,” he grumbled.

  I laughed. I wasn’t used to sarcasm from Gabriel. “Oh look, the Strand,” I said, spotting the familiar name on the board. “That’s where you work, right?”

  “Near there, yes.”

  “I have to try to buy it. Then you can work for me and I’ll reduce your working hours.” I grinned at him and he just shook his head like I was the most irritating person he knew. I was going to win him over and relax him if it killed me, and then I was going to talk to him about Bethany.

  “Is there a Smithfield?” People referred to the area where Gabriel lived as lots of different areas. Smithfield. Farringdon. Clerkenwell. But Gabriel always used Smithfield, so now I did too.

  “No. We’re not cool enough over this side of town.”

  “It’s super cool around here,” I replied. “Especially when we’re actually allowed out,” I said, dropping a hint as subtle as a knee in the balls.

  “Do we have to do this?” he asked, ignoring my hint the size of Montana. “I hate Monopoly.”

  “Yes, we absolutely have to do this.” It wasn’t my favorite game, but I needed common ground and a way of stopping Gabriel from just stalking off into his private, locked lair, which he had been doing more than usual in the last few days. Anyway, I was used to the New Jersey version of the game. It would be kinda fun to play with the London street names. “Think of it as you giving me a tour around your city.”

  “There are plenty of tour buses that have stops a hundred meters away. You could see the real thing.”

  I sighed. “It’s warmer to do it like this.”

  Gabriel hadn’t been himself since Bethany’s accident. He’d insisted on working from home and she and I hadn’t been allowed to leave the house so Gabriel could check on her regularly. It had been five days. Work seemed to be stressing him out and I knew he’d cancelled drinks with Dexter and his other friends tonight. Enough was enough. I was going to talk to him about getting things back to normal. But I had to get him in the room long enough to be able to bring it up. If Bethany wasn’t around, as soon as I walked into a room, he walked out. Mainly through that locked door to who-the-hell-knew. Tonight I’d insisted on taking him on in a game of Monopoly, and somewhere during the game I was going to tell him he needed to back off. Go back to business as usual or Bethany was going to become a timid little mouse. I also wanted to ask him why he was avoiding me, but that might take a bottle of wine and a win at Monopoly for me to get the courage up. Did he blame me for what had happened? I wouldn’t hold it against him if he did. I was so angry at myself for continuing to take her to lessons despite not being one hundred percent happy with the safety of the classes. I should have said something.

  “Ladies first,” he said, nodding toward the dice.

  “I vote for equality. Highest throw of the dice goes first.”

  “Highest number on any one die or highest number when the results of the two dice are added together?” he asked.

  “Wow,” I said, narrowing my eyes and looking at him like he was a fossil in a museum. “Do you ever stop being a lawyer?”

  I swear the side of his mouth curved up a fraction. “Details are important.”

  I grabbed the dice and tossed them onto the board. They both came up as sixes. I shrugged. “Sometimes they are. And sometimes they’re not.”

  He chuckled and threw the dice after me. He got a three and a five.

  “And in this instance, they weren’t,” I said, feeling rather smug.

  When he didn’t say anything, I looked up to find him gazing at me in that intense way he had for what felt like the first time since the accident. “You know you’re asking for trouble,” he said, his voice so low the timbre reverberated in my knees. “I’m going to have to beat you now.”

  It felt like a challenge. A frisson of excitement shot up my spine. “You don’t stand a chance.”

  He shook his head and I threw the dice again.

  I started counting his smiles—in my tally a little flicker at the corner of those lips counted—and I swore when we got to six, I was going to pluck up the courage to say something. It was my lucky number of the night, after all.

  “Kings Cross station,” I said. “I’ll buy it because it’s right by my favorite station, St. Pancreas.”

  He smiled. “What are you going to pay for it with? A kidney?”

  He seemed pretty happy with himself, but I didn’t get the joke. “What did I say?”

  “I’m being cruel by laughing. It’s kind of cute.”

  Gabriel was handsome-grumpy after three nights without sleep. I could testify to that because he’d worked overnight for three nights in a row the week before Bethany’s accident. But when he smiled? He was like a goddamned movie star. How was this man a lawyer? He should be plastered on a billion teenage girls’ bedroom walls. Hell, I wasn’t past sneaking a snap on my camera phone and pinning it up over my bed.

  “As much as I kinda like that you find me cute, can you clue me in on the joke?”

  He held my gaze like he was deciding whether or not to say something. Was he going to deny he called me cute? Tell me he didn’t mean it like that. Or maybe he was deciding whether he should kiss me. I’d vote for C.

  “You added an e,” he said finally.

  “I did what now?”

  “Pancras. Two syllables. Not pancreas, like the organ.”

  I started to laugh. “Oh my God, I had no idea.” I shrugged. “And I always so liked that it was named after a body part. But it was worth making a fool of myself to see you smile.”

  He stared at me for one second, then two. “You couldn’t be a fool if you tried.” His tone had turned from teasing to low and serious. “You saved my daughter’s life.” He glanced down at the board and mumbled to himself.

  I reached over and grabbed his wrist. “She’s fine, you know.”

  “If y
ou hadn’t been there,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before he reopened them. “If you hadn’t been watching like you were.”

  “But I was, Gabriel. You can’t torture yourself with what ifs.”

  “She’s never going swimming again,” he said with a resolute shake of his head.

  “You know that’s not the right decision to make. Give it some time, but she needs to go back in the water.”

  “I don’t want anything happening to her again. And the easiest way to ensure that happens is not to let her swim.”

  “You’re a clever man, Gabriel, and we both know that’s bullshit. She’ll be safer as a strong and confident swimmer.”

  He kinda growled at me. At least he didn’t bite.

  “You can’t wrap her in cotton wool all the time,” I continued. “You have to let her be a four-year-old. You don’t want to keep her home like there’s something wrong with her when quite the opposite is true.”

  “I should have been there,” he said.

  “And that’s another thing. You need to go back to work.”

  “What are you talking about? I have been working.”

  “But you need to go back to the office. One day she’ll leave home and go off to college and if she’s not developed her independence by then, what will you do?”

  “Easy,” he said, as if I’d been peppering him with trivia questions and just picked his specialty. “Never let her go to university.”

  I laughed. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

  He sat back against the chair and regarded me as if he were examining a rare object. “I can’t remember ever being called ridiculous before.”

  My heartbeat thundered and a siren of panic filled my ears. I’d taken it too far. I’d offended him. “Oh God,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand. “I’m sorry, I just meant—”

  He smiled, almost as if he had been embarrassed to admit it. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”