Ghosts of Winter (34 page)

“But I live so far away.”

“We can see each other often enough. And even if we don’t, I’ll know you are there, just as I always have. We’ll always have the memories, nothing can take them away. And I have faith, Edith, my child will find fulfilment in a way we couldn’t. There won’t be a war to tear her life apart and catapult her into all this drive to be modern, whether she wants it or not. Who knows what a woman will be able to accomplish on her own in the future without even having to fight? I have the most wonderful dreams for her, doing what we could not.”

“It might be a boy.”

“I feel it’s a girl. I can’t explain it.”

“Don’t you worry it might all go wrong again?” Edith asked. “Life is so wonderful at the present. It frightens me sometimes we might lose it all, so easily, like all those people who died in the war and of the ’flu. Death seems so close by.”

“Not if you don’t give in to it. And I don’t see how we could lose this life we have,” Evadne replied. “If we can, then what was all that death and destruction for? So much sacrifice has to count for something. It’s that sacrifice that we’re building our future on.” She tried to have faith in her own optimistic words, but felt her hands begin to tremble at the thought of the life growing inside her.

Edith pulled Evadne closer until Evadne’s head rested on her shoulder. Evadne closed her eyes. They’d spent so many nights like this at school, and just for that moment, Evadne felt herself to be a girl again with all of her potential still to be fulfilled. Then she opened her eyes again and saw the carved banisters, the fine hallway of Winter, the house she was mistress of, and knew herself to be an adult now, with chances snatched away from her, but still a hope for a bright and shining future. An impossible love that would never die, and a child she would call Edith, to honour that love. Though her eyes filled with tears, she smiled.

I opened my eyes to darkness and dust. I felt I’d just dragged myself out of a deep chasm, but still had no idea what had really happened. I knew I was on the floor, but it was an odd place to be, and I couldn’t quite recall how I’d ended up there. When I blinked, my eyes felt gritty and dry. Then the pain coming from my left leg hit me full force, and I cried out loud, my cry becoming a cough through a throat full of dust. The coughing made my side hurt. I tried to press my hand to the place and found my left elbow was also on fire. I groaned and lay still, trying to make sense of this peculiar predicament.

“Oh my God, Ros, are you awake?” said a relieved, disembodied voice in the darkness. I couldn’t see anyone anywhere near me, but I could smell a familiar scent, of leather, tobacco, and creamy vanilla. I closed my eyes again, sure I was still unconscious, for both the voice and the smell were of Anna. Anna. If only she were here now, everything would be fine. I wanted her badly. If I was still alive—and since I’d not seen any white lights, long tunnels, or pearly gates, I was inclined to think I was—I would get Anna back, whatever it took. Fierce resolve cut through my confusion. If the first thing my mind did on recovering consciousness was to imagine not only her voice but also her fragrance, unquestionably I was meant to be with her. In my bewildered mind, that one thing was perfectly simple and clear.

The scent grew perceptibly stronger, and I felt a pressure on my right shoulder. “Ros? Can you hear me?” The anxiety in the voice was its most notable tone. It was definitely Anna’s voice. But what was that pressure on my shoulder?

“Ros, wake up, come on.” The pressure became a grip which shook me gently. I dragged my eyes open, determined to discover the sense behind this mystery. When I opened them it was to find a human form leaning over me in the dark. I couldn’t make out the person’s features, but I could see the dark outline of her square glasses. Anna.

“Anna?” I tried to say, but it was more of a groan than a real word.

“Yes, I’m here,” she replied, trying—I was sure—to sound reassuring, but actually sounding rather frightened and tense.

“What’s wrong with me?” I said stupidly.

“You falling through the ceiling might have something to do with it.” She took hold of my hand in a warm grip.

“Am I dead?” I asked, just to be sure.

“I hope not, since I’m having a conversation with you.”

“I fell through the ceiling?” The memory crept back in gradually, but it was such a ludicrously melodramatic thing to have done.

“I presume so, at least. I arrived to find you here on the floor. I’ve called an ambulance.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.” Surely she was overreacting. The idea of needing an ambulance as a result of falling through a ceiling was embarrassing.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You were unconscious. And don’t tell me nothing hurts.”

“My leg hurts.”
My ego hurts. My heart hurts.

“See. The paramedics will be able to give you something for that I’m sure.” I became aware of her stroking the back of my hand. It felt good.

“Why are you here?” I asked her, still suspicious this might be a deceptively good hallucination.

“I came to see you. You called me twice today, do you remember?”

“I think so.”

“I didn’t answer.”

I remembered all too well then. She’d ignored my calls and left me pondering just how much I’d hurt her, frightened I’d lost my chance. But she was here now. And she was still talking.

“Then, after I didn’t answer the second time, I wished I had.”

“You did?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes. I was being childish not answering the phone when we had to talk about things. It didn’t help anything to keep us both hanging in that way.” Her tone was slightly awkward, and I knew she was struggling to articulate her emotions. But that there were emotions to articulate I took as a positive sign. “Anyway, I decided I had to come here and see you. Good job I did, I would say, since I found you like this.”

I smiled at her tone, and felt a pleasant, pain-soothing flood of warmth at her words. “You wanted to see me?” I pressed the point, hoping desperately she wasn’t going to say she’d only wanted to see me to explain more clearly why there would never be anything between us.

“That’s what I said.”

“In a good way?”

“I don’t know if it was in a good way, Ros. I knew I would have no idea until I got here and we talked.” Her reply was not as warm as I’d hoped for, but I knew the honesty was necessary. Emotion welled inside me.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” I couldn’t keep my words from wavering. I inhaled deeply and pain shot through my side. Anna’s fingers were warm on mine still. She’d not let go.

“I’ve already accepted your apology, Ros,” she said. “I don’t resent the way you reacted like I did at first—”

“At first?” I echoed.

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry I seemed like I didn’t trust you.” I drew another deep breath and gasped with the pain.

“I said I’ve accepted the apology, Ros.” She’d accepted my apology so easily, I felt oddly cheated out of the resolution I wanted. I needed to talk about it more. Happily, so did she. “I realised I was stupid feeling hurt and angry over something you really couldn’t do anything about at that moment. Over something you needed. And now I think you should stop talking and rest until the ambulance gets here.” Her tone left no room for argument. The subject was closed, and as pain jolted through my body once more, I knew I didn’t have the strength to discuss these issues now. I had it from her own mouth I had hurt her. I bitterly regretted her pain. I still needed her to let me apologise properly, needed her to tell me more about how she felt. But however much she’d been hurting, she was here now, still holding my hand.

“But what happens now?” I asked.

“We wait for the ambulance.” I was sure she knew what I really meant.

“Anna, I— ”

“We’ll see what happens, Ros. I came here tonight because I wanted to see you. You need to recover from this before anything else happens at all.” Her words were wonderfully soothing because they contained hope. That she wasn’t overly enthusiastic only lifted my spirits more, since I knew that she was being genuine and not merely speaking platitudes because I was lying injured on the floor. Then a horrible recollection came to me. There was one thing I needed to know at once.

“What about Sam?”

“Forget about Sam.”

“What do you mean?” I wondered if my dazed mind was playing tricks, and I’d imagined Sam’s interest in Anna. Or maybe even invented Sam. I hoped so.

“I was never interested in Sam. Does she seem like my type?”

“Well...not really. I mean she didn’t seem like your type to me, but I don’t know you well enough—”

“You know me well enough to know she’s not my type. Sam’s great and all, but I’m not into her like that.” My positive feeling grew stronger again.

“So, what about—”

“Shush, Ros. Sam’s a good friend of mine, if you must know. I asked her to come with me for your benefit.”

“You mean you were trying to—” I was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.

“That’ll be the ambulance,” Anna said, hurriedly getting to her feet. Despite my giddy headache, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just said. She wanted to see me. She’d wanted me all along, even enough to try to make me jealous. She’d admitted I’d caused her pain, but she was still here. Even lying in the dark, in a heap of rubble and wood, my leg throbbing agonisingly, I felt wonderful. More talking was needed, but the door was still open, not slammed in my face as I had feared.

The paramedics, wearing head-torches, came into the room and bent to examine me. I knew Anna was close by.

“Where does it hurt, darling?” said the first paramedic, a middle-aged man who introduced himself as Gerry. I tried to explain to him as best as I could, and Gerry moved around me to examine my leg, while his colleague, a younger woman who told me her name was Fiona, informed me I would feel a sharp scratch as she inserted a needle into the back of my hand.

“Have you blacked out?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I told her. “I don’t know how long for.”

“Does your head hurt, or your neck?”

“No, but I feel a bit dizzy.”

“Okay, my love.” She shone a bright light into each of my eyes, and I felt dazzled. “I’m going to put a neck brace on you, just as a precaution.”

I was about to protest when my attention was drawn elsewhere. “Ouch!” I exclaimed in protest, as Gerry pressed my leg.

“I think you’ve broken it, darling,” he said. He had a wonderfully calming, deep voice, but his words alarmed me nevertheless.

“It’s not that bad, surely?”

“Afraid so.” He adjusted his position to palpate my abdomen. I couldn’t help but cry out sharply as he pressed a particularly painful spot. “And I would say you’ve got a broken rib or two as well.” He lifted my torn T-shirt and held a cold stethoscope to each side of my chest. Apparently satisfied with my breath sounds, he turned his attention to my elbow. “I think you’ve just bruised it,” he said, much to my relief, “but you’ll have to have an X-ray to be sure. Anywhere else particularly sore?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Their attentions to me were bewildering, as Gerry did something to my leg, and Fiona adjusted the neck brace. It made me feel my whole body was injured, as if the thought of a broken leg wasn’t frightening enough. “Anna?” I called.

“I’m here, Ros.” She came closer and reached for my right hand, despite the IV line embedded in it. Her firm grip soothed me like I knew nothing else could.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

“I’m so glad you came to see me,” I told her. “Sorry about this.”

“I don’t think you need to apologise for falling through a ceiling,” she replied. “Though if it was a bid to win my sympathy, I think it was going a bit far.”

“You think?” I smiled, even as Gerry adjusted the splint on my leg, and pain shot through my body.

“Just a little.” Her tone was as coolly beautiful as it was every time she expressed her humour. I loved to hear that tone back again.

“Worked though, didn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

*

Anna was good to her word. She travelled in the ambulance with me, and I was very glad of her company as we bumped along the road. Kindly and efficient though Gerry was, with Fiona driving, it was blindingly bright in the back of the vehicle and overwhelmingly clinical. I couldn’t help being a little frightened. Though I was strapped down flat on my back, I looked around me and observed all the trappings of the paramedics’ work. The defibrillator and oxygen mask were chilling reminders of the much more seriously injured and sick people who were carried in the ambulance. A broken leg and rib and a bruised arm really weren’t so bad. It struck me just how lucky I’d been. Already holding Anna’s hand, I gripped it more firmly, and she returned the pressure, reaching over to stroke my forehead, as if she sensed I needed the reassurance. Anna’s touch made me feel I was the luckiest woman alive, even with the broken leg and rib.

At the hospital, I was examined, I waited for X-rays, and then I was examined again. The verdict was I had indeed broken my leg, but only a simple fracture. I had actually cracked two ribs, and my elbow was bruised and swollen, but otherwise intact. There was more medical concern about my having lost consciousness for a short time, and the doctor ordered that I stay in hospital overnight for observation, because of the danger of a possible concussion.