Meant to Be Me

by Wendy Hudson

  Her wrist screamed in agony along with the bruising that covered her chest and side. “Goddamn you,” she yelled. Tears pricked her eyes, hot and infuriating. Where was the nurse? She needed the nurse. She stabbed the call button and then furiously screwed the card up in her good hand and threw it to the floor.

  The look of alarm on the nurse’s face when she returned did nothing to alleviate the anger. “Who delivered these? Did you see? Where did they come from?” she shouted through the tears, directing her rage at the wrong person but unable to curb it.

  The nurse looked between Darcy and the basket, clearly confused and without an answer.

  Darcy’s fist wrapped around the bedsheets and twisted. There was no outlet for the well of fury that threatened to overflow. “I asked who sent them,” she shouted. “Don’t just stand there. Do something!”

  The nurse hurried to her side, taking Darcy’s frantic hand as she tried to turn herself away from the basket. To remove it from sight. She needed it away from her.

  “Hey, stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself more. Tell me what’s happened.” The nurse’s voice was calm as she tried to sooth her. She stroked a cool palm up and down Darcy’s arm and continued to grip her fingers.

  “This.” Darcy yanked her hand free and stabbed a finger in the direction of the basket. “This keeps happening. The stalker. Even in my hospital bed they won’t leave me alone because they love me apparently. How is that love? Who the fuck are they? Please, take it away, I need it to be gone.” The fight drained out of her, and she looked at the crumpled message on the floor, defeated. She nodded towards it. “The police will want to see the note.”

  Even if she was puzzled by Darcy’s ramblings, the nurse remained professional, despite how awful Darcy was being. “Aye, of course, love. I’ll put it in the relatives lounge, and I’ll be sure to keep the note. First though, I need you to calm down and take some slow breaths. You can’t be getting in a state like this.”

  Darcy did as instructed. The throbbing had taken over again, her leg vibrated hotly within its cast, and every inch of her skin itched with pain. She reached for the morphine button, unsure whether it was the hurt or the terror that made her want to give in to it. Either one seemed justified.

  “That’s it. No use trying to bear the pain when there’s something that can help.”

  The nurse continued to rub her arm reassuringly as Darcy pressed the button. The warm fuzziness washed over her quickly, and her lids became heavy. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. With one last glance at the stalker’s gift, she let the drugs do their job.

  Chapter 31

  It wasn’t that she expected some grand gesture of gratitude, but a response to a text would have been welcome. Eilidh flopped back on her sofa and picked up the remote, then threw it down again without pressing a button.

  Why was she wallowing? She had saved Darcy’s life and could be proud of that. She didn’t need Darcy or Anja to confirm that she’d done a good thing. That this time she’d gotten it right.

  Deep down, Eilidh knew that it wasn’t really about that.

  It was about Darcy.

  Maybe she should go back to the hospital? It had been a week now; surely Darcy would be feeling stronger and up to a visit? Every day at work had been torture, fighting the urge to get in the lift and press number eight, the floor Darcy was on.

  Despite her part in it all, Eilidh didn’t feel it was her place to be there uninvited. She was nothing more to Darcy than a few texts and a failed attempt at a date. The crash and her involvement didn’t change that. Eilidh was still a stranger.

  Then why can’t I get her out of my head?

  The questions continued to torture her day and night. What if Darcy had taken a turn? Maybe she wasn’t okay after all. Perhaps chatting to the right nurse or doctor as a colleague would at least give her an inkling as to Darcy’s health. Give her something to hold on to as a reason why she hadn’t been in touch.

  What was she thinking? As if finding out Darcy’s condition was worse would help. Of course it wouldn’t. Eilidh would be devastated to hear that after everything they’d been through that night, and she was sure Darcy was fine, though sorrowful and sore if her own experience was anything to go by. But fine.

  Then why hasn’t she been in touch?

  She wondered fleetingly if Anja had told Darcy about her involvement. It was an explanation for the silence, but she saw no reason why Anja would withhold that information. If only Anja would get in touch with an update, it would go a long way to assuaging her restlessness. Eilidh understood the stress and anxiety she must be under, but a quick text took nothing. A simple “she’s okay” would put her mind at ease, and it would cost Anja only seconds to send. So why hadn’t she?

  The snow had turned to rain, and it battered her living room window, in keeping with her mood. She threw a cushion at it, then another, as if some futile childish tantrum would help.

  Beer. She needed beer, Sam, and rantings and ramblings without judgement. Unable to resist, she tapped off one final message to Darcy.

  Are you all right? Be good to hear from you. E x

  Then followed it with a begging note to Sam.

  Sam, I need you. I need beer. The Castle in an hour? Help me. E x

  The cabin stood in darkness with only the moonlight to cast shadows throughout the woodland and illuminate Anja’s way. She sat in her car a moment and took a few breaths. Why was she being so ridiculous? Nervous about stepping inside?

  You’ve been here a thousand times before; this time is no different to the others.

  It was the second time she’d returned since that night, spurred on by Darcy’s need to have her own things at the hospital. They offered a small measure of comfort that Anja couldn’t deny her, and she knew she had to put her own irrational fear aside for Darcy’s sake.

  She gave herself a mental shake.

  After everything, you’re being fucking pathetic, Anja. Get the keys, get in the house, find Darcy’s things, and get out. Simple.

  As she stood at the bottom of the porch steps, she wished it were that easy.

  It’s only four steps up, then through the door. You know where everything is. Stick to business and don’t get side-tracked.

  It didn’t take long to find the pyjamas and requested toiletries, nor the books Darcy had asked for, the fluffy socks, and her favourite hoodie. Anja moved around Darcy’s bedroom as if it was her own. With the bag packed, she sat at the dressing table and unlocked Darcy’s phone. Eilidh’s name shone out; she’d sent three messages since Anja had last checked.

  A tap on each revealed much the same theme.

  Are you okay?

  Can I come visit?

  It would be good to hear from you.

  Would she ever get the bloody hint? Anja held her finger on one and clicked to mark them all before pressing delete. She felt no guilt. It was for Darcy’s own good. She didn’t need distractions or more questions—she needed to forget about that night and focus on getting better. Eilidh would only add complications and interference.

  If their paths were to cross again down the line, Anja had her cover story prepared. She’d lost Eilidh’s number and didn’t want to stress Darcy out with the weight of repaying Eilidh’s bravery while she recovered. She’d claim that she would’ve told Darcy eventually.

  Darcy might be a little peeved at first, but she’d understand. If she didn’t, Anja had a backup plan. She’d plant the seed of doubt where Eilidh was concerned and make Darcy question her involvement. Was she really out jogging at that time of night? In the snow? Really? Was their first meeting really just a coincidence? Insert a little look of scepticism, perhaps a raised eyebrow, a sardonic smile. That’s all it would take to get Darcy asking those questions, and maybe, just maybe, wondering if Eilidh was the driver that had left the other set of skid marks.

  Misleading? Of
course, but she wouldn’t hesitate in offering it to Darcy as an explanation for that night. In fact, that doubt could well work to Anja’s advantage. It was worth considering in any case, whether Darcy believed it or not. If she thought Anja saw it as a plausible possibility, her reticence to contact Eilidh would be explained away as over-protectiveness by her best friend, if nothing else.

  The bottom line was Anja needed to put time and distance between Darcy, that night, and Eilidh. Any and every reminder was a potential spark to her memory, leaving Anja powerless to stop it coming to life. It was unthinkable that Darcy might someday remember the events leading up to the accident. Anja couldn’t bear the thought…or the consequences.

  She was doing the right thing keeping Eilidh away, although returning Darcy’s phone to her was going to make that a lot more difficult. Could she pretend to forget it again? Say she dropped it?

  No, too weak.

  Maybe delete Eilidh’s number? Although that wouldn’t stop Eilidh from contacting Darcy, she’d demonstrated her persistence already. She could block Eilidh’s number? That was an option, although it still left other routes of contact. There was nothing stopping her showing up at Darcy’s hospital room.

  What if she replied to Eilidh? As Darcy. It wouldn’t be the first time. Put Eilidh’s mind at rest and tell her she was fine but needed a little time and space to recover. She’d be in touch when she was ready. That would buy Anja some respite, but could she rely on Eilidh to accept it and not engage further?

  It was a chance she decided to take.

  Eilidh, sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’m sure you understand. I owe you my life and someday I want to thank you in person. But for now I need time to recuperate with my family. I’ll be in touch. D x

  There. It was apologetic without feeling the need to explain and showed gratitude and acknowledgement of what Eilidh had done. It also didn’t invite any further conversation other than an acceptance of Darcy’s wishes. Anja would wait until the morning to bring the phone to Darcy, which gave her long enough to deal with any texts that might come back.

  Satisfied with her plan, she allowed herself to relax a little for the first time in days. She idly picked up a bottle of Darcy’s perfume, a personal favourite of hers, and spritzed some on the cuff of her jumper. The scent further calmed her nerves and allowed the exhaustion she had been staving off to set in.

  She kicked off her shoes and crawled on to the bed, pulling Darcy’s favourite nap blanket with her. The pillow was nowhere near as good as the real thing, but she hugged it close and closed her eyes. Its scent was pure Darcy and reminded her of sunshine and summer holidays.

  The perfume on her wrist combined with the soft fleece blanket on her cheek led her imagination to a shaded day bed for two by a private pool with a sea breeze rolling across their bikini-clad bodies. There was blue sky and the waft of sun cream, shared smiles, holding hands, and tropical cocktails.

  With the dream fixed firmly in her mind, and hopes of one day making it a reality, Anja drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 32

  The pub and beer had done nothing for Eilidh but achieve drunkenness and the usual silliness that ensued when she and Sam were out together. Fortunately, she had at least managed to refrain from any regrettable drunk dials or messages.

  When the message had come from Darcy asking for some time, she’d still been sober enough to reply coherently and thoughtfully. Despite the wish to scream at her phone and say it wasn’t okay because the thought of more time without seeing Darcy made her feel awful.

  But this wasn’t about her. She knew that. Darcy deserved whatever she asked for, whatever she needed. Eilidh understood that, as hard as it was to push her own feelings aside until Darcy was ready.

  Sam had suggested their tried and tested hangover cure for the following day, something she hadn’t done since the alleyway incident that had left her with a dislocated shoulder amongst many other injuries.

  “Sam, good to see you, pal.” The sales guy at the water centre, Martin, engaged him in some kind of male greeting ritual, and Eilidh rolled her eyes. They’d flirted persistently for at least the last two years, and Eilidh wished they both get it over with and finally go out.

  “What can I do for you today? The usual?” Martin included Eilidh in the question but clearly only had eyes for Sam.

  “Aye, although we’ll take a two-person kayak rather than solos.” He nudged into Eilidh. “It’s the first time this one’s tested her shoulder since the injury.”

  Martin nodded knowingly, and Eilidh wondered exactly what Sam had told him. “Sensible. I’m sure you’ll have no bother paddling the two of you back if she struggles.”

  Martin’s attention was solely back on Sam, and Eilidh bit back the cheeky retort on the tip of her tongue. It was her that had gotten Sam into kayaking in the first place; she’d taught him everything he knew, and she could out-paddle him any day. Despite his bulging biceps, they were no match for her superior technique.

  She made to wander away, but Sam reached out and tugged her back to the counter, throwing a protective arm around her shoulders. “My girl here can paddle better with one arm than I can with two. She’ll be grand. Won’t you, Grey?”

  Martin stuttered a little. “I didn’t mean it like that. I…”

  Eilidh gave Sam a squeeze and put Martin out of his misery. “The two-man’s still a good idea. I don’t want to push it, and you’re right, Martin, I’ll feel safer with him sat behind me.”

  It took a lot for Eilidh to admit weakness, but she wasn’t stupid. The loch was as dangerous as any sea and wouldn’t think twice about sucking under anyone who disrespected or underestimated it. With its links to Loch Dochfour and the Caledonian Canal, it was classed as open water, and waves of over three meters high had been recorded off Dores Beach. At this time of year, seconds in the frigid water could be fatal.

  Martin smiled and rang through the hire. He handed them a slip for the kayak and a couple of locker keys. “You thought about buying a new one yet, Eilidh?”

  Eilidh looked across at the racks of kayaks, a cornucopia of colours and styles. Her last one had been sold on Claire’s insistence; apparently it had taken up too much space, and what was the point of having one clutter up a bedroom when you could hire them? Well, Claire was gone now, and Eilidh could take up all the space she wanted.

  “Maybe in time for summer.”

  She caught Sam’s smile, her answer had clearly delighted him. From the despair of wondering if she would ever kayak again, to thinking about buying a new one, they both knew it was progress, and a flutter of happiness at the thought of getting back out on the water made her grin right back at him.

  “Let’s do this.”

  It was a different kind of quiet. Not the echoing loneliness of her house quiet, but the quiet that only the vast isolation of being out on the water could offer. Eilidh’s breathing matched her rhythm, slow, steady, and calm. Peace seeped into her soul, and it felt like coming home.

  Sam kept her pace, content for her to take the lead. He’d barely said two words since they’d launched, but she guessed he had sensed her need for it. She’d talk when she was ready, and they had an entire day of freedom on their hands which both seemed content to savour.

  After leaving the beach near the Bona Lighthouse, the twenty-two miles of the great Loch Ness stretched before them. They followed the rugged north shore, the Clansman Harbour their aim and halfway point. This early in February it wouldn’t be too busy, and it was a good place stop to and assess how Eilidh’s shoulder was faring. With a south-westerly wind against them on the outward leg, the return journey would be easier if her arm began to flag.

  She’d paddled seas, rivers, and lochs across the world, but Loch Ness would always be close to her heart. It was her territory, where she’d learned and practiced her skills. That in itself gave her the confidence to be out on a cold, still Fe
bruary morning, with her best friend in the seat behind her.

  “Only another mile or so,” Sam called.

  Eilidh pulled her paddle up across her lap and gave him a thumbs up. Her shoulder needed to rest a moment, and they slowed down as Sam worked for the both of them. She closed her eyes and tuned in to the loch’s natural symphony. Water lapped harmlessly at the side of the kayak, birds larked about their daily business, and both jostled with the hum of a distant motorboat and the repetitive rub of Sam’s arms against his life jacket as he stroked their way to shore. Her shoulder felt loose enough and there was no indication she was struggling with it, but taking regular short breaks was still a good idea, and Sam was happy to keep them moving.

  They approached the harbour, and it seemed their timing was perfect; a sightseeing cruise was just departing, meaning the place would be less busy. Safely on the beach, they secured their paddles and retrieved Eilidh’s waterproof bag.

  A short track led through some trees, taking them back from the water to a favourite picnic bench. As hoped, there was no competition for it; any tourists hanging around were no doubt cosy in the local restaurant or coffee shop.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Sam shrugged out of his life jacket and into the lightweight goose-feather jacket Eilidh passed him. They both sported dry suits, but when not moving, the added layer was necessary.

  “It feels good.” She zipped up her own jacket and rolled the recovering joint to demonstrate. “No tightness or pain. You did a good job, Tommo.”

  He smiled and gave her a wee shove. “Well, if I can’t fix my best friend…”

  “You’re a brilliant physio, pal. Your patients are lucky to have you. As am I.” She shoved him back as he reached to unpack their lunch from the bag.

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get to the important stuff. What’s in the flask?”

  “Hot chocolate. Of course.”

  “Mm…” Sam’s eyes lit up as he unscrewed the cap and poured them both a cup. “And egg sandwiches? My favourite. I’m feeling well and truly loved today.”