‘Bloody Julius,’ muttered Gavin.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Nothing.’ Gavin cleared his throat. ‘You’re sure you’re doing everything you can?’
‘Oh yes, absolutely. You don’t need to worry.’ The doctor walked with Gavin down the long, white corridor. ‘The sister in the ICU says you’ve been here three days.’
‘How long?’ Gavin rubbed his face, feeling the growth of stubble. ‘I’ve lost all track of time.’
‘You don’t look very well. I suggest you go home for a while and catch up on some sleep, then you’ll feel much better. Does Susannah have any parents? Other family?’
‘No, I don’t think so, her parents died last year. She was an only child.’ Gavin shrugged and grimaced. ‘But for what it’s worth, she does have me.’
Gavin scrubbed his hands, put on a fresh apron, a new paper mask, then went back to Susannah’s room. Here, a nurse he hadn’t seen before was busy writing on the charts. ‘Hello, you must be Gavin,’ she began. Then she said he looked as if he needed some fresh air.
Gavin glanced at Susannah. She was fast asleep, and looked relaxed – she wasn’t twitching, fidgeting or talking to herself. So he kissed her cheek and told her he was going out, but that he’d be back soon.
‘Gavin, mate?’ Mike was sitting in the corridor, and jumped up as Gavin stumbled past. ‘We’ve all been taking turns to hang around,’ he explained, ‘and it’s my turn today. Course, they won’t let us near the ICU. My God, but you look awful. You need a pint or several. How’s she doing?’
‘It’s hard to say.’ Gavin didn’t want to talk to Mike. Or to anybody, come to that.
‘Where are you going now? asked Mike, running to keep up with Gavin.
‘To the Dean’s House, to get some sleep.’
‘I’ll drive you, then,’ said Mike. ‘You don’t look capable.’
* * * *
Gavin’s windscreen sported several parking fines, and a warning that he had to move the car today, or risk it being clamped. ‘Bastards,’ muttered Mike.
They drove into the city. Mike dropped Gavin off and said he’d park the car in Sidney Street.
As he strode through the Cathedral Close, Gavin began to shiver, but not with cold. As he walked into the hall at the Dean’s House, he realised tears were streaming down his face.
Chapter 18
There were letters, cards and even flowers, which somebody had put into a vase. Gavin pushed the clutter off the bed, lay down and fell asleep.
He’d taught himself to doze through all the bleeping of the machines, the whispered conversations of the nurses changing shifts, and the general shuffling and rustling that was constant in the ICU. But now he slept the sleep of the near-dead.
The weather had been in tune with Gavin’s mood, dull and miserable and overcast. But the next morning, the sun came out at last. A brilliant shaft of light, shining directly on his face, woke him up suddenly.
He yawned and wondered briefly where he was, but then he realised he must be in a bed, a real bed, and that he’d actually been asleep.
He had a shower, shaved, stole some of Aubrey Gordon’s cornflakes and another master’s milk, then walked to the Royal.
At the ICU, they greeted him like a long-lost friend, and offered him the traditional toast and coffee. ‘I’ve eaten, thanks,’ he smiled, then looked towards the high, white bed. ‘How’s Susie doing today?’
‘She’s coming on quite well.’ The nurse showed him the charts. ‘Her pulse rate’s almost normal, her heart is doing fine, and she’s breathing by herself today.’
Gavin looked – and realised that the horrible white tube which had been down Susannah’s throat had gone. In place of the rasp and wheeze of the electric ventilator, to which he’d become so accustomed that he didn’t hear it any more, there was just the regular breathing of a person sleeping.
‘When will she wake up?’ he whispered.
‘Sorry, we can’t tell.’ The nurse put all the charts back on their racks. ‘What’s her favourite music? If you could bring in a couple of tapes, we could play them to her, and they might wake her up. You must hold her hand and talk to her – if she can hear familiar sounds and voices, she’ll start coming round.’
The nurse picked up Susannah’s hand and stroked her fine, long fingers. ‘It’s like at the cinema,’ she grinned. ‘People open their eyes and say, where am I? Then everything’s plain sailing, more or less.’
Gavin took Susannah’s other hand. ‘Susie, darling?’ he began.
Most of what he said was abject nonsense, and his refrain of sweetheart, can you hear me sounded like a catch phrase from some television show. By lunchtime, he was hoarse, he had a splitting headache and he was so dispirited that he wondered if there was any point in going on. There’d been no reaction from Susannah but an infrequent sigh.
‘I think I’ll go out for a little while,’ he told the nurse. ‘Just a few minutes, though, so if she wakes – ‘
‘Go for an hour or so, why don’t you?’ The nurse was rearranging long white tubes, which snaked from underneath the sheets. ‘We need to give her a wash and sort her out. So you go for a walk and get some fresh air in your lungs.’
‘But what if she wakes up?’
‘We’ll tell her you’ve been here all the time, that we sent you for a breath of air, and that you’ll be back soon.’
* * * *
Gavin walked into the city centre. He bought some cans of coke, a packet of cheese sandwiches and a paper.
Soon he found the story. It didn’t fit the facts. The previous Wednesday evening, according to the paper, the director of the excavation was admitted to the Marbury Royal, with a suspected blood clot on the brain. At that moment, she was fighting for her life. Only a week ago, the excavation’s catering manager contracted meningitis.
Last December, a volunteer part-time digger – Anna would love that, thought Gavin – fell off a piece of scaffolding and broke her collar bone.
Curse of the Royal Tomb the article was headed, pointing out that death and disaster followed the desecration of King Tutankhamun’s tomb. Perhaps the Wellesley Hoard should have been left where it was buried, a thousand years ago?
Gavin grimaced. He stuffed the paper in a litter bin, then walked to the Cathedral Close. He’d been wearing the same jeans for days. He needed some clean clothes.
At the Dean’s House, he met Aubrey Gordon, who suggested a quick pint down at the Lamb. ‘Thanks, but I should be getting back,’ said Gavin. He liked Aubrey Gordon, he was a good bloke. All the masters were good blokes, in fact. They’d made him very welcome at the house, and they were all concerned about Susannah.
But he couldn’t handle any sympathy or kindness. He didn’t want to sit in a pub and talk about Susannah, he might start to cry, and men don’t cry.
He’d realised for the first time in his life how vulnerable it made you, when you fell in love. He would have given anything, suffered anything himself, just to have Susannah well again.
Although he wouldn’t have called himself a Christian, as he passed the grey bulk of the minster he muttered a sort of prayer.
* * * *
He went back to the ICU, which didn’t scare him any more. Instead, he found its rituals and routines both comforting and reassuring. Susannah wouldn’t dare to die, he reasoned, surrounded by all these machines and cared for by a dozen nurses, doctors, maybe more.
‘Hello, there,’ smiled the nurse, who he found writing in Susannah’s file. The nurses had changed shifts while he was out, and this was one he hadn’t seen before. ‘You’re Gavin, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ He sat down by the bed. ‘How’s Susie doing now?’
‘She’s definitely coming back to us.’ The nurse went over to Susannah, smoothed her pillows, stroked her hair. ‘Gavin’s here,’ she murmured. ‘But he’s been out without you! What do you think of that?’
Susannah’s eyelids fluttered. Her lips moved, and she
muttered something.
‘What was that, my love?’ enquired the nurse.
‘Don’t leave me.’ The whisper came with difficulty through her dry, cracked lips. Susannah’s eyelids fluttered once again, but her eyes stayed closed. ‘Don’t leave me, love,’ she said.
‘I shan’t ever leave you.’ Gavin’s own eyes filled with tears, and he had to knuckle them away. ‘Does she need a drink?’ he asked.
‘I think she’s fine for the moment, I’ve just given her some water.’ The nurse passed him a jar. ‘You could put some vaseline on her lips, they’re very dry. Come on, Gavin – talk to her, explain to her what you’re doing, tell her why.’
* * * *
‘Susie, love?’ Back from a fifteen minute break spent standing in the hospital car park chatting aimlessly to Mike and Anna, who had just clocked in, and breathing petrol fumes, Gavin took Susannah’s hand. ‘How are you doing now?’
‘Come on, Susie!’ said the nurse. ‘Goodness, if I had a nice young man come in to visit me, I’d sit up and talk to him!’
‘But it’s no use.’ Susannah’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Listen, when they come – ‘
‘Give her a little drink.’ The nurse gave Gavin a beaker with a spout. ‘Let some water trickle into her mouth, wait until she swallows it, then dribble in some more. Yes, that’s the way. You’re doing fine.
‘Go on, Gavin, talk to her, you can kiss her if you like, just on the cheek. Look at her eyelids, how they’re fluttering now! She must be dreaming.’
* * * *
No, she thought, I’m not, I can’t be dreaming. Sweet Jesus, let me speak to them, they don’t know what to do!
But her mouth couldn’t seem to form the words. She couldn’t open her eyes even a little, for the white light blinded her and made gasp in pain.
Where had Cenred gone? Over the past few months, she’d changed her mind about Lord Cenred. He no longer sat with the young warriors, drinking himself into oblivion, passing out on a bed of foetid rushes with the other drunken louts. These days he drank plain water or small beer. He listened respectfully to the older men, and led his hearth companions out on raids deep into Mercia. He brought back slaves and plunder, and warmed the lady’s heart.
That Mercian spy had talked, sung like a lark, explained in detail what the King of Mercia intended for the People of the Forest and their Queen. When Aelwyn heard it all, she’d been so frightened that she’d wanted to sit down and howl. Or run away, seek sanctuary in some convent and end her days in prayer.
But then, aware that the eyes of Raedwald and the other men were fixed upon her, she’d observed that at least the Maransaete were forewarned. They’d be able to take action now, prepare their counter-offensive for the spring.
‘Lady, what shall we do with this foul object?’ demanded Cenred, stirring the Mercian spy with his right foot.
‘Give him to the women.’ Raedwald grinned. ‘Let the maiden-children play with him.’
So this had been done, and afterwards they’d tied him to his horse and taken him to a place where Mercian outriders would find him. He might be dead by then. But that would be a blessing, for if the Mercians realised he had talked, he’d suffer further torment before at last he died.
‘God knows I would not willingly treat a human being so,’ murmured the lady, as she’d watched the spy being dragged away. ‘I would not use even a dog like that.’
‘Do not say as much in Raedwald’s hearing, nor in Ingild’s.’ Cenred met Aelwyn’s gaze. ‘Lady, our plight is desperate. We have no friends on earth, and in heaven our patron saints must weep.’
‘I hope they may intercede for us, as well.’ Aelwyn turned to leave the hall, picking her way across the bloodstained reeds. ‘After Evensong, I shall see all the thanes in council. See the messengers are sent about.’
So the Maransaete laid their plans. That November and December they suffered no more raids, because they patrolled their borders ceaselessly, so nobody could take them by surprise.
Any spies they caught were questioned, tortured, made to speak, and then dumped eyeless back in their own territory, as a warning to any others coming after them.
Cenred, Wulfhere and Raedwald led dozens of forays into Mercia, bringing back strings of winter-shaggy ponies and the great, horned cattle that the Mercians prized. But when her spies informed her that the enemy was moving livestock deeper into Mercia, the lady forbade more raids until the spring.
All her generals swore by God’s sweet body that they would not venture into Mercia until she gave command. But on Christmas Day, after he’d been gone more than a week and Aelwyn was becoming very concerned about his safety, Cenred led a cavalcade of ponies, slaves and cattle into the very heart of Weolinsleah.
This procession had been organised like a Roman triumph, with bedraggled captives marching two and two abreast. The old and sick were borne in makeshift litters. The babies and young children were in their mothers’ arms.
The headman of the village that Cenred and his band had overrun was bound and gagged and loaded down with chains. But Cenred and the other Maran warriors wore wreaths of evergreen, and beaming smiles.
When Aelwyn was confronted with her Christmas present, she was struck by the stark terror in the captives’ faces, and sent one of her household to ask Lord Cenred why they were so afraid.
Cenred came to speak to her in person. ‘A priest once told them the People of the Forest eat their enemies,’ he explained. ‘So all the way back home, we have been observing how much we enjoy roast Mercian. They think it is their fate to become the choicest dishes at our Christmas feast.’
‘Lord Cenred, you take your foolish jokes too far.’ Aelwyn tried to frown at him – but then, she laughed instead, and told him he’d done very well. She would have hugged him, kissed him, given him the rings from her own fingers. But, aware of Raedwald’s jealous glower, she did nothing more.
After Mass, she sent a messenger to look for him and to bring him to her private chamber. When he came, she dismissed all her ladies and told him to be seated. But he knelt at her feet. ‘Lady?’ he said, humbly.
‘Lord Cenred, I wish to know what you have learned about the preparations for the attack they mean to mount next spring.’ Aelwyn’s gaze was cold. ‘But first, explain why you defied your lady, then suggest your punishment.’
So Cenred did explain, and at great length, kneeling on the sweet herbs strewn on the floor of beaten earth. ‘Lady, you must decide my fate,’ he said. ‘Let everything be done as you command.’
Then Aelwyn knew she wanted him.
She looked at him, into his eyes, and sighed. She simply dared not risk it, she would be a fool to raise one man above the rest. Raedwald would make sure she paid for it, most probably with her life.
She was not prepared for Cenred to take up the challenge, to draw her into his arms and kiss her with a feverish passion that she couldn’t help but answer with a hopeless longing of her own.
All the same, he did.
* * * *
‘There!’ the nurse exclaimed, and clucked with pleasure. As Gavin kissed her cheek, Susannah sighed contentedly. Then she raised one arm and laid her hand on Gavin’s neck.
‘She does know who you are, I’m sure.’ The nurse was beaming now. ‘You can give her a proper kiss,’ she added. ‘I promise not to look.’
So Gavin kissed Susannah on the lips. She didn’t respond in any way, but didn’t resist him, either. Instead, she sighed again, and then relaxed.
‘She’s fast asleep,’ whispered the nurse. ‘I’ll go and fetch a blanket for you, shall I? You lie down and have a little nap. You look exhausted.’
When Gavin woke again it was five o’clock and almost dark. Susannah was still sleeping peacefully. He supposed he ought to ring his boss.
On Monday morning, he had made a very hurried phone call, gabbling some rigmarole to someone’s secretary. He hoped she’d understood him and passed his message on.
Evidently, she had. When Gavin foun
d the only working payphone in the hospital, he learned his boss was actually quite concerned. Anxious to help, in fact. ‘How is your friend today?’ he asked.
‘Still in intensive care,’ Gavin replied. ‘She’s got no family of her own, and so I feel I ought to stay. I know this must be awkward for the firm.’ So sack me if you like, he added silently, indifferent to his fate.
‘It’s not a problem.’ Gavin’s boss seemed sympathetic. ‘Come back when you can. Look, I’ve got a meeting now, but ring me soon, okay? There are big changes coming, and some drastic rationalisation.’
As he hung up, Gavin shrugged. Soon, Fraser Redman would probably be rationalising him, on to the street. But there were other jobs. It didn’t matter.
As he walked back down the corridor he met David Linton, hurrying along behind a huge bouquet of lilies.
David pushed the flowers at Gavin’s chest. ‘How is she?’ he demanded. ‘I phone every day. But all they’ll say is there’s no change.’
‘That’s about right,’ said Gavin. ‘She’s still unconscious. They keep telling me she’s getting better, but – well, I just don’t know.’
‘God, I’m so sorry.’ David sighed. ‘Give her the flowers, from Dora and from me.’
‘They don’t allow them in the ICU,’ said Gavin. ‘But I could give them to a nurse. I’m sure she’d take them to another ward.’
‘Whatever.’ David shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘Gavin, I know you’re worried sick, but if you have a minute – ‘
‘Yes, of course.’ But suddenly, Gavin felt a surge of panic. ‘I must get back. I’ll ring you.’
As he raced up the stairs to the ICU, he was sure that something would have changed. But he saw Susannah looked just the same. The wires were still taped to her chest and forehead. The tubes and drips were still in place, and her eyes were closed.
But the nurse was smiling. ‘Susannah has been speaking to me,’ she said.
‘Oh, God.’ Gavin sat down at the bedside. He felt relieved, light-headed – and delighted. ‘That – that’s fantastic!’ he managed to croak, at last. ‘What has she been saying?’
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