The Nearly-Weds (21 page)

He stands up and I know immediately that I’ve riled him. ‘I have no idea what a tosser is,’ he replies, ‘but if I am one, I don’t give a shit.’

‘Well, you should.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve got two gorgeous kids who love you and they don’t deserve a tosser as a father,’ I tell him. ‘They deserve someone who’s a good role model and a—’

‘A good role model?’ he interrupts.

‘Yes, a good role model who—’

‘You’re saying I’m not a good role model?’

‘Stop putting words into my mouth!’

Suddenly, I realize Ryan isn’t listening.

Instead, he’s looking towards the lake, his face filled with confusion and anxiety. Then Kristie’s running towards us. And she’s screaming.

‘What the fuck . . .’ Ryan begins.

‘It’s the kid!’ shrieks Kristie, hysterical. ‘He’s drowning!’

Chapter 46

As Ryan drags Samuel’s limp little body out of the lake, there’s so much adrenalin running through my veins I feel sick. ‘I don’t know CPR,’ he mutters frantically.

I swallow. I’ve never done this before. Not on a real child. The training I got during my studies involved mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a doll that could trace its parentage to a large jelly mould. Not a real child. Not Samuel.

‘I do.’ I move Ryan out of the way.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as, robotically, I put Samuel into the right position, hoping desperately I’m remembering this correctly. Kristie is still screaming hysterically about how she only turned her back to take a phone call. Ruby is standing behind me, sobbing, her bike abandoned by the picnic blanket. Ryan is the only one not making any noise. He’s kneeling beside me, his face so drained of colour he looks supernatural.

‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ His voice is so terror-stricken I barely recognize it.

‘I – I think so,’ I reply.

But I don’t
know.

All I know is that I’m probably Samuel’s best hope.

Please, God, make that good enough.

I put a shaking hand on Samuel’s forehead and the other under his chin to lift it. Then I bend down and listen to his breathing. But even with the wailing in the background, I can tell there isn’t anything to hear. His chest is still.

Panicking, I look inside his mouth, then close my lips over his, telling myself to keep a grip on the situation, not to lose it, to stay calm.

Except I can’t focus and my whole body is shaking and sweating like that of a recovering heroin addict.

I count to five as I begin the mouth-to-mouth, forcing any thoughts, other than those concerned with my task, out of my head. I pull away and check his pulse, praying I’ll feel something. But there’s still nothing.

Please, God, help me. Please, God, help Samuel.

I’m trying to stay on auto-pilot, trying my best to keep cool. But it’s no good: panic is taking over and my shaking has become so bad I can barely steady myself enough to do the mouth-to-mouth.

‘Don’t let him die, Zoe,’ whispers Ryan. ‘Please don’t let him die.’

My head swirls with Ryan’s words, Ruby’s crying, Kristie’s wailing. And Samuel’s grim, agonizing silence.

God Almighty, give me the strength to do this. Please, God. Please.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

I can do this, can’t I?

I can do this.

ZOE, YOU CAN DO THIS!

I don’t know why or how but suddenly the noise around me fades into nowhere.

ZOE, YOU CAN DO THIS!

I lean down and start the mouth-to-mouth again. After five breaths, I pull back and check Samuel’s pulse. My fingers are on his windpipe but I still can’t feel anything. I try lower down – maybe I haven’t got them in the right place.

ZOE, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LET HIM DIE!

I take another deep breath, then lean down to put my mouth to Samuel’s again.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three breaths—

Suddenly, Samuel’s chest rises. I lean back, shocked, stunned, amazed, as his little face splutters back to life.

Water is gushing from his mouth. He’s coughing wildly.

Then he’s crying. He’s crying and crying and crying.

It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

Chapter 47

I’ve never liked hospitals. Since the death of Grandma Bonnie six years ago, they’ve held few positive connotations for me, no matter how devoted or friendly the staff. I even hated driving Jason to A and E when he broke his arm playing badminton at the end of last year. Admittedly, this was partly because its unfeasibly contorted angle made me wince, but the lengthy wait in a room that resembled a prison cell – with two dodgy blokes exuding suspicious smells – didn’t help.

Although Jason was the injured party, he seemed far more cheerful than I was. I teased him afterwards that he saw his breakages – there were three in the left arm – as a badge of honour.

‘Well, I wouldn’t be much of a sportsman if I never ended up in hospital.’ He grinned.

‘I don’t know whether you’re immensely brave or completely daft.’ I smirked as I kissed him on the way out. Just thinking about it makes me feel an overwhelming pang of longing for him.

If I was hoping that American hospitals would be any more appealing than British ones, that idea was quashed the moment I walked through the door and was assaulted by a distinctive medicinal whiff. Then there is the fact that we’re here because of what happened to Samuel. Frankly, there’s nothing positive you can say about that. Except, of course, that he’s alive.

Thank God, he’s alive.

‘He’s settled well, but he’ll need to stay in at least overnight,’ the doctor tells Ryan. ‘But the important thing is that he’ll be fine. You saved his life.’

Ryan’s complexion is marginally less ghostly now, but his expression is numb. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he whispers. ‘It was Zoe who saved his life. It was Zoe.’

‘Well, Zoe,’ replies the doctor, putting his hand on the back of my chair, ‘you should be real proud of yourself. The little guy wouldn’t be with us if it wasn’t for you. You did everything right.’

I force a smile, but I’m feeling so wiped out I’m sure I must look like a zombie.

As the doctor closes the door of Samuel’s room behind us, I look down at his little round face as he lies fast asleep on the bed. He’s still pale too, but compared with how he looked when Ryan pulled him out of the water, he’s a vision of health and vitality.

Ruby is also fast asleep on a couch in the corner of the room, a blanket wrapped tightly round her. I offered to take her home hours ago, but she was determined to stay and I think Ryan’s glad of our company.

‘Well,’ I drag myself up from my chair, ‘do you fancy a coffee? I’m sure I saw a machine out there somewhere.’

Ryan shakes his head. I’m about to walk through the door, when his voice interrupts me. ‘Zoe.’

I stop.

‘Can you sit down again for a minute?’ he asks.

I walk back to my chair quietly so I don’t wake Ruby or Samuel. ‘What is it?’ I ask.

His cobalt-blue eyes are glazed with unspilled tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says slowly, as he wipes them. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Forget it,’ I whisper. ‘It was just a row. And I said things that were—’

‘No,’ he replies. ‘I don’t just mean about the row. I mean about everything. I mean about . . .
how I am.
’

‘Oh,’ is all I can manage.

‘I know what I’m like to live with. And yet you put up with it.
With the way I am.
And I guess what I’m saying is . . . you shouldn’t have to put up with it.’

Now I bow my head, fiddling with a cord at the side of Samuel’s bed. This conversation
should
feel awkward but somehow it doesn’t. ‘I’m not going to tell you I’ve found my whole time here easy,’ I whisper.

‘I know,’ Ryan admits, ‘and I . . . I don’t feel good about it. Believe me.’

I look up into his eyes. He’s as handsome as ever, but so pale. My heart starts to beat faster and I curse myself at the inappropriateness.

‘Zoe,’ he continues, ‘you should know that you’re probably the first person I’ve met since Amy died that I actually, really . . .
liked.
’

Suddenly my chest feels tight and I realize I’ve been holding my breath for so long my cheeks must be about to turn blue.

‘You’re kind, Zoe,’ he continues, as I listen in silent astonishment. ‘You’re funny. You’re
great
with the kids. That’s before we even get on to the fact that you’ve just saved my son’s life.’

As I sit there, shell-shocked, so many things are whirling in my head yet I have nothing to say.

‘I’ve been an asshole. And I know I don’t deserve your friendship. But please just know how sorry I am.’

I feel a dry lump in my throat as Ryan reaches across the bed and gently clutches my hand. His is big and strong but his fingertips are soft. As I gaze at the contours of his knuckles, my heart beating wildly, he squeezes. There is something about the way he does it that makes the tears I didn’t know were welling spill out of my eyes. They rush down my cheeks and on to the blanket next to Samuel’s foot. Just watching them soak into the fabric makes me say something without even thinking about it. ‘I want to go home.’

As soon as I’ve said it, I don’t know why I did. Perhaps the intensity of the moment reminds me of how much I miss it. Of how much I miss Jason. Of how
desperately
I miss him.

‘I want my mum and dad,’ I whimper. ‘I want to hear a Scouse accent again. I want to drive on the left. I want to watch what Leanne Battersby’s doing on
Coronation Street
. I want a massive breakfast with HP sauce. I want . . . I want . . . Well, that’s all.’

I glance up at Ryan, who looks as though I’ve stabbed him in the heart.

He stands up and walks silently round the bed to my side. Then he leans down and – to my even greater astonishment – wraps his arms round me. They feel so powerful and strong that they take my breath away. I am overwhelmed with shock and desire as warmth spreads through my body and I struggle to keep my pulse under control.

I close my eyes and, my emotions all over the place, eventually persuade my shoulders to relax. As he pulls me closer, I register how glorious the warmth of his skin feels against mine. I allow my wet cheek to drop to the muscular curve of his shoulder and luxuriate in the sensation. My head is a cyclone of confusion but my body’s reaction is one of unequivocal yearning.

Ryan strokes my hair away from my face and I can feel his mouth next to my ear. His breath is soft and sweet. ‘Don’t go,’ he whispers. ‘Please don’t go.’

Chapter 48

Later in the week I wake up in the middle of the night dreaming about the wedding again. There is cold sweat on my forehead and I feel so clammy that if my mother was there she’d accuse me of coming down with something.

I hardly sleep after that, tossing and turning as if the bed has been invaded by a swarm of morris-dancing ants. By the time I drift off, it feels as if I’ve had only a minute’s sleep before I’m woken by Ruby and Samuel knocking at my door. ‘Come in,’ I croak, sounding as if I’ve inadvertently left my tonsils somewhere else.

When the door opens, Ryan is standing there with a tray of scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon, toast, a cup of tea and a paper. ‘Oh, Jeez – I forgot something,’ he mutters. He produces something from his back pocket and plonks it on the tray.

It’s a bottle of HP sauce.

Chapter 49

If they’d made museums like the Boston Children’s Museum when I was little, I’d have wanted to spend my life there. Trudie, Amber, Felicity and I have been there all morning with our entire crew, who have been so excited you’d think someone had been surreptitiously slipping e-numbers into their organic pear juice.

We’ve been taking apart toasters in a section called Johnny’s Workbench, investigating the laws of science with a golf ball, and are now in Kid Power, which is about different ways of exercising. They should be exhausted, but if anyone suggested stopping for a rest I’m sure the kids would think they needed psychiatric treatment.

‘You not joining in, Felicity, love?’ Trudie asks, as she slips off her cork wedges and prances on to an interactive dance-floor with Andrew and Eamonn skipping behind her.

‘Oh, I’ll sit this one out,’ says Felicity, cheerfully, straightening the collar of Tallulah’s cardigan. ‘This isn’t the kind of dancing I specialize in.’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve got qualifications in that as well?’ I ask.

‘Only a few.’ She beams. ‘Grade eight in ballet, seven in jazz – just enough to get by, really. My real passion is ballroom, though. Did you know that the Viennese Waltz is so fast and complicated that some schools insist on teaching it privately rather than in classes?’

‘Er . . . of course.’

‘Well,’ she continues with conspiratorial glee, ‘between you and me, while I could never comment on this personally, I’m told
my
Viennese Waltz is enough to make gentlemen weep.’

‘Why? Do you tread on their toes?’ Trudie shouts.

‘Very droll, Trudie,’ Felicity concedes.

It’s always slightly odd to hear Felicity refer to the men in her life. In contrast to Trudie – whose love life is such a hot topic it’s positively inflammable – Felicity gives the impression that her attitude towards the opposite sex is rather like her attitude towards
foie gras:
she can take it or leave it.

Trudie once attempted to interrogate her about her romantic history, but while we got some mildly juicy titbits (lost her virginity at twenty-one to the son of one of her father’s shooting companions), she insists she’s focusing on her career. Trudie couldn’t have been more appalled if her tea had been spiked with Domestos.

‘Now, Tallulah, my darling,’ Felicity says, as she leaps up and claps her hands, ‘I spotted a wonderful basket-weaving area earlier that I know you’ll love. Shall we?’

By now the children are as giddy as a pack of hyenas having their feet tickled. Even Amber has joined them on the dance-floor and is lolloping around performing what she insists is a traditional
bhangra
dance she picked up when she was travelling in India. To me it looks like some of the moves you see at three a.m. in the Ministry of Sound.