Hush (23 page)

Connie caught the bus back into Farnworth. It was dark outside, and the bus was almost entirely empty – just one middle-aged man who sat near the driver and stared straight ahead. The driver grunted at her as she waved her pass at him, and drove off without waiting for her to sit down, so that she stumbled in the aisle and fell into the nearest seat.

The darkness meant that she had to press her face right against the glass to see through to the outside. She watched the familiar scenery, as the countryside shifted into lamplit streets, with clusters of large houses set back from the pavement. The houses blended into rows of terraces, nestled tightly together, fighting for space; and finally into shops and public buildings, large and glass-fronted and impressive.

She got off at the usual stop and set off in the direction of the school, with no clear idea where she was going. The school grounds were dark and tightly locked against intruders; there was no point trying to break in, when the police would be able to get access legally. So she walked around the back of the building, searching the alleyways that she had avoided since her earlier run-ins with Eleanor and her gang.

The streets were deserted; she was surprised by just how quiet it seemed. She had expected the town to be much busier than the village at night, but, although it was more brightly lit and there was a sense of activity somewhere in the air, the streets themselves were quiet, almost eerie. Her footsteps
echoed unnaturally loudly, the sound bouncing off bricks and garage doors.

Connie knew it was pointless being out here. Lily would have walked from school to the bus stop; she knew better than to hang around outside school, inviting trouble. And so the only places she could possibly be were inside the school grounds, or somewhere unguessable: somewhere she wouldn’t normally go. As Connie couldn’t explore either of those, there was no point in her being out here.

And yet, she felt so useless sitting at home. Discussing the possibilities while Lily could be lying God-knows-where… Connie forced the thought out of her head, walking with renewed vigour back in the direction of the school.

Perhaps there would be a gap in the fence. Or maybe she could find a caretaker, or even the police – surely they would be here soon, once they had finished taking statements? Then Connie would be able to help them look – she could point them in the direction of Lily’s classrooms, guide them around the school. She could be helpful, unlike her parents, who sat at home awaiting their daughter’s return.

Connie walked the perimeter of the school, searching for signs of life, but saw no one. Surely the police should be here by now? It had taken her twenty minutes to get into town; they could have driven here from her parents’ house in half that time. Or was that it? Had they already been and gone?

Maybe they had found Lily straight away – if she was trapped somewhere she would be making some amount of noise, presumably. Clamouring to be found. If she was conscious, of course. So maybe that was it – they had come here already, found her, and now Connie was wandering around in the dark for no reason?

She stopped at the gate, peering through the bars in the hope of catching a glimpse of light or movement, but there was nothing.

That had to be it, then. They had found her. Taken her home.

Connie turned round and walked back to the bus stop.

Lily wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep or simply stopped thinking. Either way, she found her situation reasserting itself after a while, awareness of where she was slowly pushing its way back to the surface. Her trousers were still damp, and now cold. The hard surface of the floor felt as though it was bruising every inch of skin that rested upon it. Her muscles ached from being bent into awkward positions for too long.

She thought she could hear noises outside.

How long had she been here now? Three hours? Four? Not long enough for it to be morning. Would anyone be wandering around the school in the middle of the night?

Maybe, if they knew she was here.

She raised her first, banged on the door a few times, paused. Listened intently for any hint of movement on the other side of the door.

Nothing.

She banged again, but without really meaning it, then slumped back against the wall.

The house looked the same as it had when Connie left, still half-lit behind the drawn curtains. She crept around the side, not wanting to announce her presence just yet. There was no police car parked outside, so they had obviously left, but her parents’ car was still there. So Lily must be home, then, because if not then surely they would have taken the car to look for her? Or maybe they were both still sitting at home, leaving the job of searching up to the police. Or would one of them have gone with the police in their car?

Connie peered in through the window at the side of the kitchen. The glass was blurred and impossible to see through, but she didn’t want go and look through the patio doors; she would be too visible, and she wanted to see them before they saw her.

She could see two shapes at the kitchen table. Both looked adult-sized, so no Lily: maybe she was upstairs in bed? Surely not, though. It had barely been an hour since Connie had left; Lily couldn’t have returned home and been put to bed in that space of time.

So she was still missing. And her parents sat at the table, sharing a coffee, doing absolutely nothing to find her. She saw them lean into each other, exchange a kiss, and she felt her anger flare again. How could they be so uncaring? Did they perhaps believe that there was no real danger? That Connie had exaggerated her own experience, made it seem worse than it was? Or did they truly think they could help matters by sitting around doing nothing?

She peered through the glass again, and felt the first twinge of unease, the feeling that something was not quite right. When was the last time her mother had looked that relaxed, that carefree? When was the last time her parents had shared any physical contact? They had their backs to her, but they were sitting much closer together than they usually would be, and there was a relaxedness to their posture which seemed all wrong, especially now. What was going on? Had it all been an act – the fighting, the unhappiness? What would be the purpose of such an act?

She crept around to the patio doors, trying to get a closer look, through glass that wasn’t blurred. She crouched down so that her face would appear at foot-level, hoping they wouldn’t notice it.

It took a moment to work out what was wrong. Then she realised: the bulk of the man’s back, the T-shirt he was
wearing, the broadness of his shoulders: this was not her father.

While he was out looking for his youngest daughter, her mother was kissing another man in their kitchen.

The man turned his head slightly, and with a jolt of shock which was almost painful, Connie realised who he was. Why this scene held a disturbing note of familiarity.

Not pausing to think it through, fighting against a flurry of half-remembered images, she turned and fled.

The sounds outside were growing closer. Lily banged on the door, but the noises outside were too loud. Footsteps. Whistling. Doors swinging open and closed. It was definitely methodical. They were checking for something.

Someone.

They had to be looking for her. She banged again, her arms weak and useless.

When they opened the door at last, she almost didn’t have the energy to react. It was a man, she noted dimly. Maybe the caretaker. She couldn’t tell. He shone his torch inside, caught sight of her in the back, crouched down. Shone the light into her eyes, searching, making sure. Then lowered it, realising he was hurting her eyes.

‘Oh,’ was all that he said.

And behind him, just visible, another man, his outline much more familiar.

Her father, come to bring her home.

Connie was still perched by Lily’s bedside when Richard arrived. She barely looked up as he came into the room: the slightest inclination of her head, to confirm that it was Richard and not a doctor. Then she went back to studying her sister’s sleeping face, still clinging to her undamaged hand, as if she could drag her back into consciousness.

‘Took your time,’ was all she said, but it was an expression of exhaustion rather than a reprimand.

‘I’m so sorry. I was at work.’

He took a step forward, hesitated, then sat down in the only other chair, on the opposite side of Lily’s bed.

‘You can’t take your phone to work?’

‘I forgot it. Please don’t make me feel worse than I already do.’ He reached out a hand to touch Lily’s face; she was cool to the touch, pale and still, shrouded in avocado-coloured wool. ‘Has she woken up at all?’

‘No. The doctors say they don’t know when she will.’ Connie looked at him then, and he realised she’d been crying, a rare enough sight.

‘But she definitely will?’

Connie turned away, looking back at Lily. ‘They think so.’

‘Think so?’

‘They –’ Her voice caught in her throat, and she took a breath, visibly steadying herself. ‘They said it’s impossible to tell, with head injuries, but they aren’t worried at the moment.’

Richard stared at Lily’s expressionless face. She had been fine less than four hours ago. He’d heard her pottering around in her old room, shifting paperwork about. She’d even been humming to herself. Watching her now, he felt cold and numb, as though the blood was flowing more slowly in his veins, not quite reaching his extremities.

‘Do you know what happened?’ he asked eventually.

Connie shook her head. ‘She fell, apparently. I don’t know how they found her, or… well, anything, really.’

‘You mean it wasn’t you who found her?’

Connie looked at him blankly. ‘How would I have found her?’

‘I don’t know. I just assumed…’ Richard trailed off, confused. ‘How did she get here, if it wasn’t one of us?’

‘I have no idea. The doctors didn’t say.’

Connie’s expression was helpless, which snapped Richard out of his numbness. Clearly it was his job to get some answers.

‘Okay. I’ll go and ask them what happened.’ He reached out a hand, trying to find a part of Lily which looked undamaged enough to touch, but Connie was clinging to her only good hand. He settled on running his fingers along her jawline. Then he stepped out of the room, back into the corridor, which felt crowded and oppressive in comparison to the quiet surrounding Lily’s bedside.

There weren’t many members of staff around. He wandered down to the nurse’s station and found a harassed-looking middle-aged woman, her cheeks flushed with her own sense of responsibility. She shuffled paperwork for several moments before looking up at him.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m with Lily Emmett. She came in a couple of hours ago, I think? Over there.’ He pointed, uselessly – his finger indicated the entirety of the corridor.

‘Emmett. Emmett.’ The woman muttered to herself, pulled out a file. ‘Oh, yes. Are you her husband?’

‘Partner. We’re not married.’

‘Are you her next of kin?’ she asked, with a tone of barely concealed exasperation, as if she were talking to a five-year-old.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I can stop trying to phone you, then.’ She laughed humourlessly at her own joke. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Emmett?’

‘No – I’m not…’ He gave up, realising she really couldn’t care less about the details. ‘I’d just like to know how she’s doing. Connie – her sister – said she hadn’t been given much information.’

The nurse flicked through Lily’s file. When she spoke, her voice was brisk and efficient. ‘Her vitals are still fine. These things can be unpredictable, I’m afraid. It could be a few minutes, it could be a day. But we’re monitoring her closely.’

He nodded. ‘And is there any danger she won’t wake up?’

The nurse looked at him with the first hint of compassion he’d seen since he arrived. ‘I’m afraid I’m not the best person to be discussing that with you. I can get her doctor to come and talk to you as soon he’s free?’

‘Yes. That would be great. Thank you.’ He turned to walk away, and then remembered what else he was supposed to be asking. ‘Do you know how she got here? She should have been at home alone.’

The nurse glanced down at the notes again. ‘An ambulance was called to the house. The person who called it had disappeared by the time the paramedics arrived.’

‘Male or female?’

‘I really don’t know, sir. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your wife when she wakes up.’

Richard went in search of coffee. He could feel the nurse’s eyes watching him all the way down the corridor.

He returned with two flimsy paper cups that held a substance which looked like coffee but bore little resemblance to it in taste. He handed one to Connie, and for the first time since he’d arrived, she looked at him properly as she thanked him.

‘What did they say?’

‘Not much. Someone called the ambulance to the house, they don’t know who. They still don’t sound too worried.’ He tried to sound confident, ignoring the fact that Lily looked utterly lifeless, her mouth slack at the corners instead of set in its usual stubborn lines of sleep. ‘The nurse said she’d send a doctor round to talk to us soon.’

Connie nodded, and turned back to watching her sister, holding her drink absent-mindedly in one hand.

‘Where are the kids?’ Richard asked.

‘Nathan picked them up.’

‘Is he coming here?’

‘No.’ Connie took a sip of her coffee and winced. ‘How do they manage to make this stuff so horrible?’

‘I imagine they infuse it with bodily fluids.’

Connie grimaced. ‘Delightful thought.’

‘So what’s your plan? Do you need to go home? I’m happy to stay here by myself, you know, if you need to – well… get on.’

‘It’s fine. Nathan can handle it.’ She caught Richard’s look, and added, ‘He is their father, you know.’

‘Yes, I realise that.’

‘I’d rather be here when Lily wakes up.’

Richard nodded, knew there was no point in arguing. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.’

‘Don’t.’ Connie’s voice was abrupt, surprising him.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t go diplomatic on me.’

‘What? What did I say?’

She didn’t say anything for a moment, staring into her coffee.

‘It’s what you’re not saying,’ she said, and then, ‘Forget it. I’m being stupid.’

‘Connie, if there’s something going on –’

‘It’s nothing.’ She put her coffee down on the bedside table, and reached again for Lily’s hand. ‘Nothing we need to talk about now.’

Richard watched Connie for a while, but she said nothing further, and in the end his eyes drifted back to Lily’s sleeping shape. The soft rise and fall of her chest contrasted with the unnatural noises of the machines that watched over her. He cradled his coffee in his palms and watched her until darkness fell outside, pushed gradually aside by artificial light; and all the while Connie sat beside him and said nothing.

Later, after the doctors had been to visit and decided that Lily wasn’t showing any signs of waking up any time soon, Connie agreed to go home and get some sleep. Took a few steps towards the door, then stopped. Turning back to face him, her eyes sharp and glinting with tears, she said, softly, ‘You know, I think he’s having an affair.’

Richard said nothing, and she left, closing the door quietly on the words; leaving them in the room for him to do with them as he wished.

He sat down next to Lily, picked up her good hand. Ran his thumb over the indents in her knuckles, willing her to wake up. The lights had been extinguished now, and the hospital seemed much quieter, just the odd squeak of footsteps in the corridors outside.

‘In the beginning was the word,’ he whispered, half-expecting someone to come into the room and tell him to shut up. Nothing. ‘And the word was…’

Lily slept on, oblivious.