The Story of Us (7 page)

‘Are they discharging you now?' continued Jack. ‘Can I offer you a ride somewhere?'

‘No thanks. We have a cab waiting downstairs,' jumped in Richard, so speedily I think he was worried I'd been about to accept. As if on cue, the same young nurse knocked on the door to inform us our cab was
outside.

Richard placed an arm around my waist and steered me firmly to the door. I turned to look at Jack, whose face gave away so little emotion I honestly couldn't tell what he was thinking. I gave a small sad smile of goodbye to the man who had risked his life to save me. Leaving him there felt like unfinished business, or a debt that hadn't been repaid. When you owe someone your very life, perhaps it always does.

I didn't think to challenge Richard on his behaviour during the cab journey home. There were bigger and more devastating things to deal with and the enormity of this seemed to hit us both like a wrecking ball the closer we got to home. When the cab pulled up beside my parents' house, I laid a hand on Richard's arm as he pulled out his wallet to pay the driver.

‘Why don't you go back to your flat first, and wash and rest up and then come over later?'

‘Surely it would be easier if I just came in with you now?'

I shook my head sadly, and leaned over to kiss him gently, hoping he understood my reasoning. ‘It's not going to be easy whichever way we do this. Just come back in a little while, okay?'

They were both waiting for me at the kitchen table. My dad got to his feet as soon as I walked in, his arms going around me in a bear hug of fatherly relief, concern and love. I'd already spoken to him on the phone from the hospital, so he knew about Amy. I saw his red-rimmed eyes and knew it had hit him hard. Amy and Caroline had been frequent visitors to the house for over twenty years.

‘Do you want some tea? I don't suppose that hospital stuff was at all drinkable.' His voice was gruff with emotion, and although I wasn't fussed about the drink, I knew he needed some time to compose himself.

‘Thanks, Dad.' I pulled up one of the pine chairs and positioned it next to my mother. I saw the balled-up tissue held tightly in her fisted hand and when she turned to face me, there was a matching look of grief on the features that so resembled mine, that looking at her was like staring into a magic mirror of my future. That used to give me comfort and a sense of continuity, now it just scared the hell out of me.

My glance flicked across to my dad, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. I felt a small wave of relief. It was, ironically, one of her better days, though quite possibly my very worst.

‘Dad told me,' she confirmed sadly. ‘I can hardly believe it. Poor, poor Amy.' I nodded dumbly, feeling the hot prickle of tears escaping down my cheeks. Her eyes fell on my bandaged forehead. ‘Your head? What happened?'

‘It's a small cut from the accident. It's nothing really. The plaster makes it look worse than it is. Don't worry about it, Mum.'

She nodded, and just that ready acceptance of something that should have concerned her so much more, would have told anyone who had known her before, that this was no longer the same Frances Marshall.

‘I can't imagine how Linda and Donald must be feeling,' she continued, and my Dad and I both exchanged a surprised look. Even I might have struggled to remember the names of Amy's parents, but despite not having seen them in years, my mother had recalled them instantly. There really was no explaining what this disease decided to rob you of, and what it let you retain.

We sat drinking our tea in a sad silence. My head was starting to feel too heavy for my neck, and I kept rubbing my fingers against my eyes, which felt like they were filled with hot gritty sand. ‘Why don't you go upstairs and try to take a little nap, love?' my dad had finally suggested.

I shook my head. ‘I can't, Dad, there's so much to do. So much that we have to think about. I should check on Caroline, I've no idea how she is doing, and then I should go and see Amy's parents. And then there's the wedding. We'll have to postpone it—'

‘What?' questioned my mother sharply. ‘You're postponing the wedding? Why? Have you and Richard argued?'

I looked at her in confusion. ‘No. Of course not. But we can't go ahead with it now. Not after Amy…' My voice trailed away. Surely she could understand? I looked across at my dad who was studying her with an intense expression, as though willing her failing brain synapses to function properly. It was a look he wore often.

‘Oh, yes. Of course. She's your bridesmaid, isn't she?'

I nodded. That should have been
was
and not
is.
Everything about Amy was now in the past tense. No future for her. The thought sliced me like a sabre.

‘There's time enough to think about everything later,' my dad said, turning his attention away from my mother, who was completely unaware she had just passed a small unspoken test. ‘You won't be able to help anyone with anything if you make yourself sick. Go and get some rest now.'

It felt wrong to allow myself the luxury of sleep, and with it a brief welcome escape from reality, but I knew he was right. If we were going to postpone the wedding, and I couldn't think of getting married now, then there was a hell of a lot to sort out, but I was incapable of functioning or even thinking straight by then. I got shakily to my feet. I bent and kissed his forehead and then did the same with my mother. Her face scanned mine in concern.

‘Just a couple of hours,' I cautioned my father. ‘Don't let me sleep any longer than that, okay? Richard will be over later, and I don't want to still be in bed when he gets here.'

‘Richard's coming round?' said my mum, and the pleasure in her voice should have alerted me. ‘How lovely.'

Her parting words came as I reached the door to the hallway, and successfully ensured that rest would be a long time coming. ‘Emma.' I turned back to face her, and the confusion on her face said it all. ‘What's happened to your head? Why is it bandaged up like that?'

Not one of her better days after all.

From the dark circles beneath his eyes, it looked as though Richard had been as unsuccessful in catching up on sleep as I had. Every time my eyes had closed I'd seen again, in horrible, graphic detail, the events of the night before, like a spooling trailer for a film you never wanted to see.

Feeling restless and edgy within the confines of the house, I'd wandered out into the back garden, bundled up in an old comfortable cardigan to combat the late afternoon chill, and sat on a wooden bench beneath a leafy tree. I watched unobserved through the glass patio doors as Richard entered the cosily lit lounge. I saw him go across to my father, and felt a fledgling smile tug at my lips as I watched their handshake greeting turn clumsily into a brief and uncharacteristic embrace. His greeting to my mother looked considerably more natural. He'd crossed straight over to her armchair, crouching low to speak to her. I don't know what words were exchanged, but I saw him patiently nod his head and take hold of her hand as she spoke. He was more than good with her, he was amazing, and in a natural and tolerant way, that was never patronising or impatient. As hard as I tried to emulate him, I was nowhere near as good with her as he was. Perhaps, like he suggested, I was just too close, and losing her piece by piece like this was so damn hard and unfair.

I saw my dad point in the general direction of the garden, and Richard's answering nod. A few moments later he was beside me on the bench, sliding an arm around my shoulders and drawing me up against him. I fitted against the familiar contours of his body, like a jigsaw piece completing a puzzle. I could smell the spicy aroma of his shower gel and aftershave and for the first time in almost twenty-four hours I felt a slight lessening in the tension that had knotted around me like a garrotte.

We didn't speak for a long time, there was no need. A virtual lifetime spent in each other's company meant we were pretty intuitive at knowing what the other person was thinking. But this time, when I finally broke the silence, I genuinely had no idea how he was going to react. ‘We have to postpone the wedding, Richard.'

For a long moment he said nothing, and I twisted slightly in his hold to study his impassive profile. A gentle breeze ruffled his dark blond hair, and the impossibly long eyelashes of the same colour fanned his brows as he stared down the length of the garden with an expression on his face I simply couldn't name. Whatever images were running through his mind, he certainly wasn't seeing the neatly trimmed lawn or the flanking shrubs and plants. The silence stretched like elastic, and just when I started to think that surely it was going to twang and break with a painful and noisy protest, Richard gave a deep and sorrowful sigh, and gave me his answer. ‘I agree.'

His words pierced and deflated the argument I had waiting in readiness. I'd been so sure that he was going to disagree, I was completely taken by surprise. Irrationally, I felt a moment of disappointment that he'd not tried harder – or at all – to dissuade me.

‘It's the right thing to do,' I said, parroting the script I'd prepared in my head.

‘It is.' He reached for my hand then, and gently fingered the diamond solitaire on my ring finger. It had only lived there for three months, and I was still almost constantly aware of its weight and presence.

‘Just for a while,' he agreed, lifting my hand to his mouth and grazing the knuckle gently with his lips. ‘Postponing, not cancelling.' His eyes were locked on mine. I nodded back, unable to trust my voice.

Despite the protests from both Richard and my father, I insisted that I wanted to see Caroline that evening. I'd phoned several times during the day, but had only spoken to Nick, as Caroline had worryingly refused to come to the phone. With each call I could hear the base note of desperation growing in her partner's voice.

‘If you don't want to go then fine; I'll drive myself,' I said stubbornly, putting Richard in an impossible position. I knew he sided with my father, who thought the only place I should be going was back to bed, but there was a steely determination in the glare I gave my fiancé.

‘Caroline needs me, I
have
to go. And come to that, Nick could probably do with some support from you too.' It was a winning argument. My mother had watched the three-way stand-off, as though she had a front row seat for a very interesting foreign play. ‘Are you going out?' she asked mildly, as Richard held out my jacket and I shrugged my arms into the sleeves.

‘Just for a little while, Mum.'

Caroline and Nick lived on a new housing estate on the far side of town. They were the first from our circle of friends to climb on to the property ladder. I suppose it was an inevitable outcome, what with Nick working in a bank and Caroline in an estate agents. The crescent where they lived was model-village neat and tidy, peopled with like-minded young couples. Caroline, who'd been putting things away in a ‘bottom drawer' about a century or so after that notion had died out completely, was a natural homemaker and couldn't understand why neither Amy nor I had shared her enthusiasm for home décor catalogues or DIY superstores.

We pulled on to their familiar drive and Richard tucked his car neatly into the space behind Nick's. The one Caroline's car used to occupy. We turned to each other and shared a long regretful look before reaching for the car door handles and then walked hand in hand up the path.

I don't think I've ever seen anyone more grateful to receive visitors than Nick, who answered the door almost before the pealing chime of the bell had finished echoing in the oak floored hallway. He held me gingerly in a welcoming embrace, trying very hard not to focus on the white bandage on my head as he spoke. ‘She's in the bedroom.' I gave a nod and a smile which I hope said
I've got it from here
,
slipped off my jacket and draped it over the newel post on the stairs.

‘Caro, it's me. I'm coming up.'

As I got closer I heard music coming from the bedroom: it was a band the three of us had been obsessed with about a decade ago. Interspersed with the soundtrack of our youth were noisy gulping sobs, which were heartbreaking to hear. I gave a soft knock on the wood-panelled door and went in.

Caroline was a mess, and even more tellingly her
room
was a mess, which if you knew her even a fraction as well as I did, was a definite sign that things were far from right. Her short blonde hair was sticking out at weird angles from her head, and her face was red and blotchy from crying. She was kneeling in the middle of their double bed, on a beautifully embroidered white duvet cover, only you couldn't see the fabric at all, for the entire surface of the bed was covered in a sea of photographs. Dressed only in pyjama shorts and a strappy vest, my friend sat on an island in the duvet, surrounded by just about every snapshot that had ever been taken of the three of us.

‘I just can't believe she's gone,' said Caroline, her voice choked with pain. She ran her hands along the mattress, sweeping over the many photos, pieces of Amy, which were all we had left now.

I gave a cry which sounded alien and anguished. ‘I know.'

‘Why her? Why Amy? When there are so many terrible people in the world, why was
she
the one who had to go?' Even through my tears, I could see the question in Caroline's eyes, because it was the same one I'd been asking myself all day:
Why Amy and not me?
Survivor's guilt.

I cleared a pathway and crawled on to the bed to reach her, my arms going around her, and hers around me, like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods. We cried for a long time, clinging together but saying nothing, because sometimes the pain is just too great for words to be of use, and the only thing you can do is hold on tightly to someone you love, until it stops trying to rip your heart out through your chest.

I groped among the photographs for a buried tissue box, which was protruding from beneath a pile of pictures of us at primary school. I plucked one up and looked at it nostalgically. It was a photograph I hadn't seen in almost twenty years, and had been taken after a school nativity play. Amy was in the middle of the frame, looking adorable in a long blue gown, the perfect Virgin Mary, until you panned down and saw she was holding the baby Jesus doll upside-down by its ankle. To her left stood Caroline, wearing a pair of large donkey ears fixed to a hairband on her head, and a goofy smile on her face. On the other side of Amy was me, bizarrely wearing a weird tinfoil contraption on my head, for if memory served me correctly I'd been cast as The Christmas Alien… I felt Caroline's chin come to rest on my shoulder, as she too studied the photograph in my hands. Three faces, each so different, except for the undisguised look of happiness and friendship. I didn't need to examine the hundreds of other photos I was surrounded by to know that I'd find that same look on virtually every one. It had been there too on the snaps we'd taken just the night before, at my hen party. Three heads squeezed together, while Caroline held the camera at arm's length to take the shot. There might be make-up replacing the freckles, and styled hair instead of pigtails, but the same friendship had still shone from our eyes. And now those last photographs, which we'd thought were recording just one more milestone on the road, actually marked the final moments of Amy's life. I reached for the tissues again.