Taking Flight (21 page)

Chapter 38

VICKY

The doorbell and the phone rang at exactly the same time. I freeze-framed in the hall, the silky dress swishing round my bare legs, and chose the door. I took a deep breath and opened it, feeling ridiculously shy.

Rory didn't look like a stranger exactly – he looked the way the mirror told me I did – a glammed-up version of his normal self. But I certainly got what Fliss meant about boys in tuxedos.

I wanted to say, ‘Wow!' but I reminded myself we were only friends.

Rory took a step back. ‘Vicky! You look gorgeous. Give us a twirl.'

Half-mortified, half-delighted, I did, knowing the dress's back was its best bit – the plunging line and the criss-cross straps.

‘You look pretty amazing too,' I said.

Rory bowed. It was as if we were both playing a part in a costume drama or something. I just hoped the final scene would be the hero and heroine in a big romantic
clinch. ‘Your carriage awaits, madam. Sorry it's not a stretch limo.'

‘Oh no, they're terribly vulgar. I'd much rather have a – what is it again?'

He laughed. ‘A Clio.'

‘I'll just get my coat.' The silvery pashmina wasn't warm enough on its own for a January night, so Fiona had lent me a lovely, long, black wool coat. As I lifted it from over the banister the phone rang again.

I hesitated – how important could it be? It was only the landline. Mum and I both had our mobiles.

Oh, what the hell. I grabbed it. ‘Hello?'

For a second I thought, ‘Oh my God! Heavy breathing! It's a pervert. Thank God Rory's here!'

Then I recognised the voice saying, ‘Colette?' It was Declan.

‘No, it's Vicky,' I said. ‘Declan,' I mouthed to Rory.

‘Oh.' There was a funny noise, like a gasp or a sob. And I caught on. He wasn't phoning for a chat. Something was wrong. My imagination fast-forwarded. Theresa – the stupid cow had done it again. Well, he'd have to try Mum's mobile. Except that wouldn't be fair – she was out for her special birthday night.

‘Look, what's wrong?'

But I couldn't make any sense out of the reply. ‘Here, you try,' I whispered to Rory. With a mixture of relief and foreboding I handed him the phone.

‘Declan? What's up, mate?' He sounded calm, grownup and in control. ‘OK … OK …' he was saying. ‘Where exactly are you?' He flapped his hand at me. ‘Pen and paper!' he cried. I rifled in the drawer of the hall stand and came up with a pencil and a slightly furry Post-it. What was he writing? I glanced at the clock. Five to seven!

‘Right,' Rory said. ‘I've got it. See you in ten minutes, max.' He hit the button, then swiftly punched in 1471 and scribbled down a number. ‘Just in case,' he explained. ‘I think I know where I'm going but –'

‘Look, will you
please
tell me what's going on?'

Rory sighed. ‘I don't know for sure. I couldn't get much out of him, only that he seems to be hurt in some way. I couldn't just tell him we were going out, could I? Look, we'll have to give Phil's a miss, but we'll go straight to the hotel after we sort this out. Come on.'

We dashed out. A thin rain was falling which made me fret about my curls turning to frizz. Rory thrust the Post-it at me and started the car. I read his scribble – the name of a shop and a phone number. I hoped it meant more to him than it did to me.

‘D'you know where we're going?'

‘Roughly.' He indicated left out of Sandringham Park. ‘I think he said something about a fall and being on the main road near his estate.'

‘Hmm. So, what – we give him a lift home?'

‘I don't know. He sounded pretty bad.'

‘OK.' I tried scenario two. ‘So we take him to A&E?' And
then
go to the formal, I added silently.

‘And dump him there?' He sounded hassled. He was driving faster than usual.

‘It's
your
formal. It's not like you can just miss it. You're head boy!'

‘God, I hope not. Maybe we can pick up his mum or a friend to stay with him.' He didn't sound that hopeful. ‘Look, can you text Phil? Tell him we won't make it to his.' He handed me his phone.

Scrolling down his contacts – not many girls, I was glad to see – I tried not to let myself imagine scenario
three. The one where whatever this was was so bad it made us miss the whole formal.

Because that sort of thing just couldn't happen.

The rain was full on now. Rory had to put the wipers on fast, and it was hard to see properly as they slashed across the windscreen. But there was no mistaking the hunched figure on the low wall beside the waste ground.

‘Quick! Over there!'

He indicated and pulled over. I hoped Declan would just dash into the car – I really didn't want to get out into the rain – but he showed no sign of moving.

Rory looked at me. ‘Come on, Vicky.'

I took a deep breath, wrapped the pashmina round my head and followed him out into the street, hovering behind him as he squatted down beside Declan.

‘Bloody hell.' It was the first time I'd heard Rory swear.

Declan lifted his head and I gasped. Even in the dark you could see the blood running down his cheek from his hairline.

‘Shit,' I breathed. ‘What happened to you?' He tried to answer but his teeth were chattering too much. ‘Here.' I pulled off Fiona's coat and wrapped it round his shoulders. I kept my arm round him and his whole body shook against me.

Rory touched Declan's arm. ‘OK, Declan, mate, we're going to take you to hospital. Can you move?'

‘Thought you weren't meant to move people?' I said. This was the one bit of first aid I knew.

‘Depends,' said Rory. ‘Where does it hurt?' God, he sounded like a doctor already.

‘Dunno.' Declan dashed some blood away from his eye and I tried not to notice how it got on Fiona's coat
when he pulled it round him again with an awkward, one-handed movement.

‘He's bleeding loads,' I whispered.

‘Scalp wounds do bleed a lot,' said Rory. ‘But it's probably not too bad. Can you remember what happened, Declan?'

‘Fell down some steps.'

‘Were you knocked out?'

‘I think so, yeah, but I'm OK. I walked round here. Don't need to go to hospital.' He tried to stand up, but his legs buckled and I had to grab him.

‘You need to be checked over,' said Rory. He sounded so calm and grown-up, like he did this sort of thing all the time. ‘Vicky, give him a hand to the car.'

Somehow we manhandled him into the front of the car and I climbed in behind him.

And knew, without a doubt, that this was scenario three.

* * *

The average waiting time tonight is two and a half hours
. I'd been reading the sign on the counter of the Accident and Emergency reception obsessively, but it never changed. Maybe they just kept it like that all the time.

‘You look like Lady Macbeth.' Rory sat down and handed me a plastic cup of something that was meant to be coffee. I glanced down at my dress. Dark smears of blood stood out against the turquoise silk.

‘Oh, Rory, your formal. I'm
so
sorry. I feel awful.'

Rory shrugged. ‘It's not your fault.' He blew on his own drink and smiled.

‘He's
my
cousin.' I looked round the dismal room,
trying, as I had been ever since I got in, not to look at the woman opposite who was clutching a kidney bowl and retching. Trying to filter out the wailing of a hundred children.

‘I suppose
someone
would have stopped and helped him,' Rory said. ‘But I'd rather it was us.'

‘Yeah, me too,' I said. ‘Oh well. At least we didn't have to wait two and a half hours.'

‘Ha! Don't be fooled. This is only where the triage nurse sees him. Then they work out how long he should wait.'

‘No way! You mean we could be here for ages?'

‘Yep.'

‘But he's really hurt! Surely they'll take him quickly?'

Rory shook his head. ‘Compared to a lot of people he's fine, Vic. He's conscious, he's walking and talking.'

‘Just about!' A wee boy with a black eye ran past my legs and nearly made me spill my coffee. I slanted my eyes at him in the nastiest face I could. ‘Well, he'd better get seen to before that wee brat! There's nothing much wrong with
him
.' I felt an overwhelming urge to black his other eye.

‘Honestly. I've come in with my mates with far worse from rugby, and they've had to wait hours.'

The woman with the kidney dish was called, thank God. I checked the clock on the wall. Amazingly, since it felt like we'd been here for ever, it was only five past eight. At the hotel, Rory's friends would probably just have finished their starters. I looked at him. His trousers were a bit damp and he'd undone his bow-tie, but basically he looked OK. Unlike me, he wasn't covered in blood.

I took a deep breath. Part of this whole nightmare had been OK because of being with Rory. But …

‘Look,
you
could still go. You won't have missed that much if you leave now. No, listen,' I said as he started to protest, ‘I'll be fine here. I'll give Mum a ring after they sort Declan out. You said it would be hours yet, so she can enjoy her meal and everything. Then we can take him to our house. Maybe he'll tell her the whole story.'

‘No,' he said. ‘I'm not leaving you.'

‘But I'd be fine. And you're head boy. It's your –'

‘Vicky.' He covered my hand with his and squeezed it. ‘We're in this together. You're not getting rid of me.'

I bit my lip, tasting lip gloss, to stop the smile I felt wasn't appropriate. ‘OK,' I said simply. I left my hand in his.

Just then Declan appeared from the nurse's room. He was holding a piece of white stuff to his forehead. He'd been cleaned up a bit but he still looked terrible.

I shifted my skirt to let him sit down. ‘Well?'

‘Have to get stitches in my head – no, staples, she said. And an X-ray.'

‘Ouch!' I imagined a stapler stabbing through my skull.

‘I've had staples,' Rory said, ‘when I fell off my bike. It's not as bad as it sounds.'

Declan held out a piece of paper, where the nurse had ticked a box saying his injuries qualified him as ‘medium priority'.

‘D'you want to phone your mum?' Rory asked.

‘Nah, she hasn't got a mobile, and –' He seemed to run out of words and I tried to imagine not wanting to tell my mum immediately if anything happened to me.

Declan seemed to notice our clothes for the first time. Shiny tracksuits and football tops were clearly the dress code in A&E on a Friday night so I suppose our formal
wear – even if mine was a bit bloody – made us stand out. ‘Were you going somewhere?'

‘Oh, no,' I said. ‘This is how we always dress on Friday nights.'

‘But you … oh God, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have … I didn't know…'

‘It doesn't matter. Some things are more important.'

‘I thought it'd be Colette.' He sounded panicky, desperate.

‘She's out for her birthday,' I said. ‘Look, it's
fine
. Honestly. Don't worry.' I put my hand over his. It felt cold and dry, and there were grazes all over his knuckles. Oh my God, I was practically holding his hand. ‘We'll phone my mum in a bit,' I said.

Half eight. Twenty to nine. Nine o'clock. Half nine.

* * *

‘Vicky! You should have phoned me immediately!'

I returned Mum's hug and exchanged a sheepish smile with Brian who was standing just behind her, fiddling with his car keys. ‘I didn't want to spoil your birthday.' Now that she was here I felt tearful.

‘Oh, your lovely dress!'

I looked down at it. ‘I know.'

‘Where's Declan?' She gestured at his fleece on the chair beside me.

‘Getting X-rayed. Rory's with him. He got two staples in his head.'

‘Ouch,' said Mum and Brian together. I wondered how much Brian knew.

‘Where's his mum?'

‘AWOL. He won't say much.'

‘Vicky.' Mum sounded serious. ‘I know how you feel about him. But if his mum's – well,
drinking somewhere
–'

‘Even if she's not,' I put in quickly, ‘he'll have to come home with us. He needs looking after.'

Before she could reply, Rory and Declan came slowly along the corridor. Declan hesitated when he saw Mum but she pulled away from us and hugged him. ‘Oh God,' she said. ‘I'm not hurting you, am I?'

He didn't answer but he hugged her back, and both of them had tears in their eyes. The familiar jealousy started to rear up but I pressed it down. Remembered where Declan's
own
mum was – probably; he didn't even
know
. Suddenly I knew what Mum had been getting at all those weeks she tried to make me realise how lucky I was. It was nothing much to do with living in a nice house and having a horse and computer and an iPhone and all that.

All the same, I had to look away. At Rory.

‘Nothing broken,' he said. ‘He's cracked two ribs. His shoulder's the worst – he says he grabbed at the banister to break his fall and he must have given it a real wrench. The rest's only bruising.'

He nodded at Brian and they shook hands, very man to man.

I grabbed Declan's fleece and Fiona's coat. ‘Can we go home now?'

Rory and I went out alone to his car. Walking out of the hospital, breathing the cold, damp midnight air, I shrugged off the horrible stuffy air of the hospital.

Rory put his arms around me and I leaned into him, feeling that we'd been through something big together. Bigger than a formal – which was only a dinner and a
disco in a posh dress, really. Even though we weren't kissing, only hugging, I felt closer to him than ever before.