Losing You (67 page)

‘Are – are you angry?’ Lauren hiccuped after a while.

Though Emma’s first instinct was to deny it, what she said was, ‘Actually, I passed that some time ago. After that came the shame, and the disappointment, and then the sheer bloody fury of knowing that if you hadn’t been involved with him you’d never have been on that road that night and Oliver would never have hit you.’

Lauren’s face was ravaged by tears as she finally looked at her mother. ‘You understand, donnn’t you, that it wass my fault too, not just Oliver’s?’

‘Yes, I understand that,’ Emma replied, and pulling her into a tender embrace she decided to leave it to Oliver to
tell her about his mother. ‘What were you going to do with the journal if you found it?’ she asked.

‘Des-estroy it,’ Lauren stammered over a sob.

Emma’s expression turned wry. ‘Then you don’t have to,’ she told her, ‘because I’ve already done it for you.’

Lauren drew back to look into her eyes. Emma held the gaze and lifted a hand to stroke her hair. ‘I’mm, I’m sorry, Mumm,’ Lauren whispered.

Emma shook her head in fond despair. ‘Yes, I’m sure you are,’ she said, ‘we all are, but the only thing we can do now is try to put it behind us and concentrate on the future.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

OVER THE NEXT
few days Lauren seemed to sink deeper and deeper inside herself, not wanting to talk to anyone, or go out, or even engage with the new therapists who came to see her. All the sheet music piled in her room, along with her guitar, flute and keyboard, remained untouched, and as far as Emma and Phyllis knew she wasn’t using her computer either. Occasionally she switched on the TV, but Emma feared that it was more to drown out the sound of her crying than to keep up to date with
Hollyoaks
or
EastEnders
.

Being so involved in the festival now, Emma had no choice but to leave her with Phyllis for most of the day, though Phyllis was willingly shouldering the responsibility. She was naturally as concerned as Emma, but she was also being pragmatic, as the community psychologist had advised – Lauren was undoubtedly going through an adjustment period, he’d said after his first visit following her return home, and this wasn’t at all unusual. However, if she was still so low in a couple of weeks, he’d get in touch with his colleague back at the centre to discuss how best to tackle the problem.

Though Emma was certain that this silly rift with Oliver was at the heart of Lauren’s unhappiness, every time she tried to broach the subject Lauren would simply turn her face to the wall and tell her mother to leave it, or to go away and leave her alone.

‘Won’t you at least speak to him on the phone?’ Emma persisted.

‘No,’ Lauren snapped.

‘But why?’

‘He doesnn’t call mme, does he, so he obviously doesn’t wannt to speeak to me.’

‘But you’re the one who told him you didn’t want to see him any more. He’s hurt, Lauren, and angry and confused.’

‘Not mmy fault I’mm no good and cann’t do annything.’

‘But you can do practically everything ...’

‘Not new mmusic, or dance, or speaking properly ...’

‘It’ll come, and I’m afraid lying here feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help matters at all.’

This was about as far as she ever got in trying to persuade Lauren out of her gloom, and the situation was only made more difficult by the way Lauren’s left hand, or arm, had started to show signs of a weakness that they’d thought had disappeared during the early stages of her physiotherapy. Emma first noticed it at a mealtime, about a week after Lauren came home, when they’d managed to coax her downstairs to join them for dinner, and the fork slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. A few minutes later the same thing happened, and when Emma regarded her curiously Lauren shouted, ‘Don’t blamme mme. I can’t help it if mmy stupid hannd doesnn’t work, can I?’

‘This is precisely why you have to start seeing the physio again,’ Emma informed her more sharply than she’d intended, but she was angry and alarmed by the new development, and afraid that Lauren seemed to be losing interest in her own recovery. ‘I’ve had enough of all this, Lauren,’ she cried, slapping her napkin down on the table as her eyes filled with tears. ‘Everybody’s going out of their way to help you, me, your grandmother ...’

‘Stop having a go at mme.’

‘You’ll start co-operating again, young lady, and even if you won’t do it for yourself, you’ll do it for those of us who love you.’

‘It’s mmy life nnot yours.’

‘Don’t you dare throw that at me. I gave you life once, and I’ve done everything in my power to bring you back to it a second time, so you’ll do this, Lauren, or I’m telling you now, I’ll wash my hands of you and let you become the very thing you fear, someone who’s useless, has no friends, no life, no reason to get up in the morning,’ and
before Lauren could muster any more arguments she stormed out of the room, took herself upstairs to bed and didn’t even bother going in to say goodnight to Lauren after Phyllis had left to go to Mrs Dempster’s.

The following day the physio turned up just as Emma, looking tired, unhappy and extremely stressed, was about to go out. ‘Good luck,’ she said tightly as she left him with her mother. ‘If she doesn’t co-operate I wouldn’t bother wasting your time any more.’

‘Emma,’ her mother protested.

‘No, I mean it,’ Emma told her, still angry enough to hope Lauren could hear, and not prepared to discuss it any further she went to get in her car, tucked her Bluetooth behind one ear and called Russ, who was having his own struggle with Oliver’s temper and pride. ‘How’s your little ray of sunshine today?’ she asked when Russ answered.

‘I still haven’t had the pleasure,’ Russ responded, ‘because he hasn’t ventured out of his room yet, but I’m guessing he’ll be much the same as yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that, ready to storm your house and force her to see him one minute, then damned if he’ll ever have anything to do with her again the next. One good thing seems to be coming out of it though, apparently they started up some kind of Internet project together while she was at the centre, and he’s working off most of his frustrations by focusing on that.’

Interested to know more, Emma said, ‘What kind of project?’

‘Apparently I’m not allowed to know the details yet, but he claims to have come up with an innovative way of marketing on the Net. I can’t imagine it’s something no one else has thought of yet, but you never know, and please don’t ever repeat that, because he’d never forgive me if he thought I doubted him.’

With a crooked sort of smile Emma said, ‘So what are we going to do about the two of them? We can’t just leave things the way they are – or can we?’

‘Maybe we can, because actually, I’m not inclined to interfere. They’re grown-ups, or they certainly like to
consider themselves to be, so when they’re ready to act that way I’m sure they’ll figure out this nonsense for themselves.’

Emma sighed, ‘Under any other circumstances I’d completely agree, but Lauren’s depression is really starting to worry me.’

Sounding more sympathetic now, he said, ‘Of course, and I’m sorry, because that really does need to be addressed. Let’s give it some more thought and see what we can come up with by the next time we speak.’

To Emma’s astonishment, when she walked in the door just after seven that evening the first thing she heard was the sound of a flute coming from Lauren’s room. It was a piece they knew well, ‘Dance of the Blessed Spirits’, and it was being played so fluidly that Emma wondered if it was a recording, until a note rang false, followed by another, and then the music stopped.

‘This is a good sign?’ she whispered to her mother as Phyllis came into the hall. ‘It’s the first time she’s even attempted to play since she came home.’

‘Actually, she’s had quite a good day,’ Phyllis responded with a smile. ‘She worked with the physio and ate lunch, and this afternoon we walked around the back garden naming all the flowers.’

Emma could hardly believe it.

‘I think your little outburst last night might have done the trick,’ Phyllis told her.

Though she’d have liked to think so too, Emma couldn’t imagine it would be that easy, so she certainly wasn’t going to start congratulating herself yet. ‘What did the physio say?’ she asked.

‘That he was pleased with their first session, but he didn’t work her very hard apparently. He’s going to step up the game tomorrow, he said, and arrange for an OT to come in the next day or two to give her some extra help with her left hand. It’s why she’s finding it hard to play, the hand keeps giving out on her.’

Feeling the dreaded chill of fear creeping up her spine again, Emma said, ‘Does the physio think they can strengthen it up?’

‘They’re going to try, but if it persists he says she might have to go back for another scan.’

Her chest tightening with the horror of any more radiography on Lauren’s brain, Emma said, ‘OK. I’ll go up and see her. Are we going to Polly’s for dinner?’

‘I think it’s still on. Polly’s definitely expecting us, and Lauren hasn’t said she doesn’t want to go.’

‘Of course I wannto go,’ Lauren retorted, when Emma asked her. ‘Havenn’t seen Melissa for ages.’

Deciding not to remind her that this was her choice, not Melissa’s, Emma said, ‘Well, I’m glad to know you’re feeling up to it. I hear things went well with the physio today.’

‘Mm, he’s really nice. I liked him.’

Starting to relax a little, Emma withdrew at that point, not wanting to overload Lauren with more questions or concern in case they sent her spiralling off into a black despair again.

‘Do you think this could be the start of the mood disturbances we were warned about?’ she asked her mother when she went back downstairs.

‘It’s hard to tell, but for now I’m taking the view that it’s still all a part of adjusting to being home. And the fact that she’s had a go at playing some music today and didn’t fly into a temper when things went wrong is, in my book, definitely encouraging.’

It was in Emma’s too, and when Lauren and Melissa disappeared off to Melissa’s room later that evening, she allowed herself to take even greater heart that Lauren was emerging from her depression. A girl needed her best friend, especially when things weren’t going well with a boyfriend.

‘So what’s happening about Oliver?’ Polly asked, keeping her voice down in case Melissa’s bedroom door was open.

Rolling her eyes, Emma said, ‘Apparently he’s as full of pride as she is, so he’s trying not to think about her by throwing himself into some new project he’s got going.’

Polly glanced at Phyllis. ‘But they’re going to get back together at some point, obviously?’ she said.

‘I’d like to think so,’ Emma replied. ‘And right at this moment I’m daring to feel hopeful that a nice long chat
with her best mate will help bring her to her senses and get her to call him.’

‘No, you definitely have to wait for him to call you,’ Melissa was advising sagely. ‘Men never respect you if you run after them.’

‘That’s wwhat I thought,’ Lauren agreed miserably. ‘But there again, I wwas a bit mmean, the way I said I didn’t wwant to see him any mmore.’

‘You were upset and scared about leaving the centre. He should understand that, and if he doesn’t then he’s just not right for you.’

Lauren looked unhappier than ever. ‘He was there every day though, and we got really close, so I think he must care a bit.’

‘Oh, I’m not saying he doesn’t care, because he definitely does, but you said yourself he hasn’t tried to ring you, or come over and see you.’

Lauren’s head went down as she wondered again if Oliver was secretly happy to have been given a way out. ‘I think Mum might have told him I’ve been tired and need to rest,’ she said, seizing an excuse even though she had no idea if it was true.

‘If she did you’ll have to get her to tell him it’s all right to come now, then see what he does.’

Lauren’s eyes showed how lost she was feeling as she gazed at Melissa. ‘You definitely don’t think I should call him?’ she said.

Melissa shook her head. ‘No. Definitely not.’

It was the week leading up to the festival and Emma’s feet were barely touching the ground as she flew about balancing everything from budgets, to schedules, to flaring artistic egos. She was almost constantly on the phone, either at her desk inside the hotel, or in the gardens where the stalls and tents were being erected, or heading into some last-minute meeting with the local council, or a major contributor, or someone from the press. There was no doubt that without the backup she’d received from Hamish and his wife, and most of the hotel staff, she’d never have been able to pull
this off. She simply hadn’t had the right level of experience before, or anywhere near enough contacts, which meant her stress levels had soared off the scale more times than she cared to remember, never helped by how worried she constantly was about Lauren.

At this moment she was outside inspecting the easels for an art stall. Her mobile rang and seeing Russ’s name come up she quickly clicked on. ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked busily.

There was the unmistakable ring of irony in his voice as he said, ‘OK. My son’s finally lost his head, he’s about to storm the Bastille and I don’t think there’s much I can do to stop him.’

Laughing with relief as she switched the phone to her other ear, Emma said, ‘Let him go,
please
! I’ll call my mother to give her some warning. When should they expect him?’

‘Well, he’s at Sylvie’s apartment right now, so I’d say twenty minutes, half an hour tops.’

‘OK, the trusty Phyllis will be there to open the door. What happens after that will be down to them.’

With more irony in his tone, Russ said, ‘I’m not sure whether I wish I was going to be there to see it or not. Anyway, if it does go to plan, perhaps I could invite you all for a barbecue at Craig Court this weekend. That includes your mother, of course, and Berry, if she’s still coming over from Italy.’

‘Sadly, she’s had to cancel, Adolfo’s back in hospital. Not serious, but he doesn’t want her to leave him. And I sincerely hope you haven’t forgotten that it’s the grand opening of my summer arts festival on Saturday. I was hoping you’d be here.’