Losing You (48 page)

It was a moment before Emma realised that it was Lauren’s name he’d stopped short of saying, as though afraid he might not have the right to speak it.

‘Sorry,’ he said hoarsely.

He was so young, Emma was thinking, so afraid and so shattered by what had happened that she couldn’t help feeling for him. ‘What music were you playing to her when I came in?’ she asked, realising it would be easier for him, perhaps for them both, if she steered them in another direction for a while.

He pulled out his iPod to show her. ‘I made up this play-list,’ he explained. ‘It’s got all these flute numbers, ones I heard her playing on YouTube, and some jazz-rap stuff, because I get that she likes that, and then I put on some Radiohead, which is mainly what I like, just in case she might be interested to know what I ... I don’t expect she is. Actually I don’t know why I did that.’

‘You’ve been watching her on YouTube?’ Emma said.

He nodded, then alarm darkened his eyes. ‘That sounds really creepy, doesn’t it? I never thought of it like that.’

Emma couldn’t help but smile. With anyone else it might have seemed creepy; with him, well, somehow it didn’t. ‘I think she’d like it,’ she told him.

He looked pleased, then doubtful, as though suspecting she was just being polite.

‘No, really,’ she said, in spite of having no idea what Lauren might be making of it, were she able to make anything at all. The point was, she didn’t feel it to be
sinister, only thoughtful and in a way tragic for what it was doing to him. Had anyone noticed how deeply he was suffering, she wondered. From what little she knew of alcoholics they soaked up all the attention; they broke families apart with an implosion that seemed to suck out all that was good about them. The young, the vulnerable were left damaged in the wings, wondering what went wrong, if it was something they’d done to cause this destruction of their world.

Was that what was happening to Oliver Lomax?

‘How long’s your dad going to be away?’ she asked.

‘He went last week, but he’s coming home tomorrow.’

‘And is your mother coming with him?’

‘No, she’s gone back into rehab now.’

‘Well, I guess that’s a good thing.’

He nodded. ‘It’ll give Dad a chance to focus on his business a bit more when he gets home. He’s felt bad about neglecting it and things haven’t been going too well lately.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a freelance exec producer, which means he represents independent producers to the broadcasters. Everyone’s cutting back on their programme budgets, so it’s not easy getting anything off the ground. He’s worried about having to let his staff go.’

‘How many staff does he have?’

‘Permanently, only three, but once the commissions we’re doing now are complete, we haven’t got anything to go on to.’

‘You work with him, do you?’

‘Kind of. I’ve been helping out one of the producers with a series about stately homes. He doesn’t really need me, but he pretends to to keep Dad happy, and I reckon it’s Dad who’s actually paying me. It won’t be coming out of the budget, because it’s not big enough.’

Emma smiled. ‘It’s not an easy time for anyone,’ she commented.

He was staring at nothing as he muttered, ‘Tell me about it.’ Then, collecting himself, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean ... Obviously, it’s a lot worse for ...’

‘Lauren?’

He nodded. ‘And you, I guess. I wish I could change things, make it all right. I would if I could.’

‘You’re doing what you can, which is a lot more than most would in your shoes.’

He swallowed hard and bowed his head again. ‘Yeah, well, she’s kind of, you know, special, isn’t she?’ he said haltingly.

Touched that he would think so, Emma watched him, waiting for him to look up again, but he didn’t.

‘When I saw all the stuff on Facebook,’ he said, ‘and on YouTube, it was like ...’ He shrugged, seeming stuck for the right words. ‘Everyone really hates me for what I did and I don’t blame them. She had so much going for her and I came along and ruined it all.’

‘Not purposely,’ Emma reminded him, quietly surprised to find herself defending him.

‘No, definitely not purposely, but it was my fault. I’d been drinking, so I shouldn’t have been driving, and I wouldn’t have been if Mum hadn’t ...’ He gave an odd sort of gasp. ‘I should have stopped to think before I got in the car, but I didn’t and now ... Now ...’

Reaching for his can of soda, she popped open the tab and handed it back again. ‘What’s happening in regard to the drink-driving charges?’ she asked.

He shrugged again and continued to stare down at his can. ‘I went in front of the magistrates the week before last,’ he replied. ‘They’ve referred my case on to the Crown Court. The preliminary hearing’s on the seventh of next month.’

Realising how much bigger this was for him than he was making it sound, she said, ‘I heard about your blood sample being lost, but I believe it turned up again?’

He nodded. ‘We still haven’t had the results from it, though. Charlie, that’s my brother, reckons they’re screwing up all over the place because of the cutbacks.’

‘So do you think they’ve lost it again?’

‘No, apparently they’ve just got this enormous backlog. It’ll be positive, anyway, I know that.’ He took a breath, then another. ‘It’s doing my dad’s head in thinking about me going to prison.’

Imagining it was, Emma asked, ‘And what about you? Is it scaring you too?’

He swallowed. ‘I try not to think about it too much. Jolyon, my lawyer, keeps saying it might not come to that, but I reckon he’s just trying to make me feel better.’ At last his eyes came fleetingly to hers. ‘They’re going to try to get me off by citing special reasons, but that won’t get Lauren off, will it? And I don’t see why she should be left to suffer while I walk away scot-free, especially when none of it was her fault.’

Amazed by the apparent depth of his feelings, Emma said, ‘No, it wasn’t her fault, but actually, I can’t see how you going to prison will help her either.’

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and because she was slightly thrown by the fact that she’d even said it, she let the silence run for a while. What did she want to happen to him, she was asking herself. Would it be right for him simply to get away with it? Of course not, but what was sending him to prison going to prove, or change?

Dreading to think of what Will might say if he had any inkling of the way her mind was working, she finished her tea and said, ‘I should go back and see her. What are you going to do now?’

He seemed at a loss. ‘Go home, I guess.’

‘Is anyone there, with your parents away?’

‘Not today, but Charlie’s been around for a while. He’s gone back to London now though. He’s just passed his bar exams and he’s about to start his pupillage at some major chambers next Monday. Dad’s really proud of him.’

Detecting a note of disappointment in himself, she swallowed the urge to reassure him in a way that would probably sound patronising, even fatuous, considering the circumstances, and got to her feet.

‘Will you come to see Lauren again?’ she asked.

He stood up too. She could see both amazement and misgiving in his eyes. ‘I’d like to, if it’s all right with you,’ he replied tentatively.

Her mother, Polly, Will, and almost everyone else would probably think she’d gone totally mad. Nevertheless she
said, ‘It’s fine with me. It’s nice to know she’s not on her own during the times the rest of us can’t be here.’

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, trying to hold her eyes.

She held out a hand to shake. ‘It was good meeting you,’ she told him, realising it was true.

‘It was good meeting you too,’ he replied, taking her hand.

‘If anything happens when you’re with her, if she shows any sign at all of waking up, will you let me know? I’ll give you my number.’

‘Of course,’ he said, taking out his mobile. ‘I’ll put it straight in my phone.’

After double-checking he’d got it right, she led the way outside.

‘Thanks for saying it’s OK to come,’ he said, holding back to show he wasn’t going to follow her.

She looked up at him and gave a small nod, before turning to walk back to the ward.

Thanks to a two-hour delay taking off from Cape Town, it was close to ten in the morning by the time Russ cleared customs at Heathrow and was able to collect his car from the long-term parking. The weather, he decided as he headed out to the motorway, was doing a better job of brightening the day than his mood. However, it was good to be on his way home after a seemingly endless eleven-and-a-half-hour flight, not to mention the gruelling week that had gone before it.

Still, at least Sylvie was back in the clinic now, and promising to stay put until she’d kicked her dependency, which would be making him feel a whole lot better if he believed her. However, he wasn’t going to trouble himself with it now – God knew he’d had enough of it over the past seven days, finding Sylvie more difficult than ever, even with Olivia’s support. Hans, Olivia’s husband, had seemed to deal best with her, showing considerable sensitivity and understanding for her condition, largely because he’d been through the same nightmare a few years back with his oldest brother. The brother, tragically, had ended up choking to death on his own vomit while slumped on
the doorstep of his twenty-nine-year-old daughter’s Constantia home.

The story of this undignified and desperate end and the damage it had caused his family, his daughter in particular, had, predictably, had no lasting effect on Sylvie. However, Hans remained certain that Sylvie would take it very deeply to heart when she finally came out of rehab, and would be eager to thank God, Olivia, Russ, the entire universe for how narrowly she had escaped a similar fate.

Russ could only hope Hans was right, but there was still a long way to go before this could be confirmed. When, if, that time ever came, Russ would just have to hope that discovering their marriage really was over wouldn’t send her straight back to the bottle.

‘Are you sure it’s over?’ Olivia had asked while driving him to the airport the day before. ‘Perhaps it is none of my business, but you still seem to care a great deal about her.’

He didn’t admit to feeling that way against his will, simply saying, ‘We’ve been together for twenty-five years, and we have two children together.’

‘So you do it for them?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what about this woman, her friend, Fiona? Is it serious between you two?’

‘No, it never was and it’s over now anyway.’ He hadn’t felt proud of dismissing Fiona so abruptly, particularly when she’d called a few times since that fateful night, as a friend she always stressed, to find out how he was, and if there was anything she could do. He suspected if he wanted to start up their relationship again on the same terms as before she’d be more than willing, but he didn’t, and was grateful to her for not suggesting it.

Connecting to Oliver’s mobile via his hands-free, he left a message on the voicemail letting him know he should be home in time for lunch, if Oliver was going to be there. When he tried Charlie he ended up leaving a message for him too, telling him to call when he could. He felt ludicrously let down that neither of his sons was available for a chat, then absurd for thinking how lonely it suddenly seemed to be now he was back. He wasn’t a huge socialiser, nor
was he much given to discussing his problems, but spending some time with Hans and Olivia had, he realised, seemed to lessen some of the strain. Of course Sylvie had been the main concern for them all, but he’d found himself talking about Oliver too, and how withdrawn and purposeless he’d become since the accident. Though Hans and Olivia were sympathetic, naturally, there was really very little they could do, apart from agree that hanging about, waiting to find out what was to become of the girl, clearly wasn’t helping Oliver to move on. Where Hans had felt he could make a difference was in offering Russ a loan to tide him over the difficult time he was having with his business. Russ’s refusal had been polite, but firm enough, he hoped, for Hans not to try broaching the subject again.

He’d have to start pulling some rabbits out of the hat soon, though, or he was going to be facing the demoralising prospect of lay-offs, and might even, if things got any worse, have to start thinking about selling up. The house was too big for him on his own anyway, and running editing rooms and production offices so far from town was just plain crazy when centralised companies half his size had long since started to fold. Being located where he was hadn’t mattered during the boom years, when the facilities were regularly booked out for weeks, even months, in advance. It was a very different story now, though, without any signs of a change on the horizon yet.

Oddly, the one person he’d expected to have difficulty getting hold of at this time of day didn’t only turn out to be at his desk, but was available to take his call.

‘I take it you’re back,’ Jolyon announced, dispensing with hello. ‘Successful trip?’

‘I guess you could put it that way,’ Russ responded. ‘Do you have time to bring me up to speed with any new developments?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do have a few minutes before I’m due back over the road.’

Over the road in Jolyon’s case was Bristol Crown Court. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

‘Driving down the M4.’

‘OK, well it might be a good idea to stay out of the fast lane
while we go through this. First up, we’ve had the blood-test result at last and as expected, it’s positive. However, because of its little journey into a black hole I requested it be sent off for independent analysis, and you’re probably not going to believe this.’

‘It was negative,’ Russ suggested, knowing it couldn’t be true, but actually daring to hope.

‘No, it was positive all right, but it’s turned out not to be Oliver’s blood at all. In fact, it belongs to someone by the name of Otis Lomass, aged forty-three, an unemployed car mechanic of Afro-Caribbean descent who lives in Montpelier. So I’d say, not even close.’

Russ was stunned. ‘So the real sample is still lost?’

‘As far as I know, and I can’t even guarantee anyone’s still looking, but I guess they must be.’