Losing You (35 page)

The headmaster was asking if it was possible to send a recording of the school choir singing whatever Emma thought appropriate.
A few are suggesting ‘
Someone Like You’,
by Adele, one of Lauren’s current favourites. Salina would like to sing
‘J’ai Perdu Mon Eurydice’
with the school orchestra accompanying her. I’ve had many requests, everyone wants to do something, but I will be guided by you. Please know that my thoughts are with you, and if there is anything I can help with, anything at all, you know where I am. Henry Gibbs
.

Moved by his kindness, as well as the students’ need to be in touch with Lauren, Emma sent a message back letting Mr Gibbs know that no electronic devices were permitted in the ICU so she’d be unable to play the music, but she would be sure to read the email out to Lauren for now.
Please make the recordings anyway
, she finished,
because I know Lauren will very much want to hear them when she comes round
.

Buoyed by her own positivity, she clicked on to Philip Leesom’s message next.
My dear Emma, to say I was shocked by the news of Lauren’s accident doesn’t do justice to the terrible emotions it triggered for me, and for everyone who knows her. You don’t need me to tell you what a special daughter you have, you of all people know only too well. She lights up everyone’s world, and I can’t believe it will be long before she is doing so again. My thoughts are constantly with you both, and if you are reading aloud to her, which I’m sure you are, I’d like humbly to suggest that you might add ‘
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
’ to the list. As you know, she is very fond of this poem, though it is a lengthy work, so if you would like, I’d be happy to highlight some passages which I believe to be amongst her favourites
.

It was a gracious and heartfelt message that warmed Emma in a way little else had these past five days. She wrote back thanking him for the suggestion and saying she would greatly appreciate his selection, which she’d be sure to read to Lauren over the weekend.

As the landline rang, she turned to reach for it, still half focused on her emails. Expecting it to be Will she said, ‘Hi, are you going to be there this morning?’

There was a short pause before the caller said, ‘Sorry? Am I speaking to Emma Scott?’

Immediately tensing in case it was a doctor, she said, ‘Yes. Who’s this please?’
Don’t let it be the hospital with bad news, please, please
.

‘It’s Hamish Gallagher here,’ he told her.

She knew the name, but how? Intensivist? Anaesthetist? Registrar?

‘I’m the general manager at Avon Valley,’ he explained.

‘Oh gosh, yes, hello.’ Her mind was suddenly whirling, trying to pick up pieces of her life from before all this had happened. The job! Of course. She’d totally forgotten.

‘I hope I’m not calling too early,’ he said, ‘but I’m going into a meeting shortly that I expect to be in for most of the day.’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ she assured him. ‘What can I do for you?’ Was that the right question? Why was he calling? What was she going to say if he told her she had got the job? She couldn’t take it, it wouldn’t be possible, but how was she going to afford to live if she didn’t?

‘To be frank, Mrs Scott, Emma,’ he began, ‘I’d hoped to be offering you the position of Events Organiser this morning, but I’m afraid, owing to the unfortunate economic
times we find ourselves in, that the hotel is not experiencing its usual flow of business, which means that the job we interviewed you for ...’

‘No longer exists,’ Emma finished for him, feeling crushed in spite of knowing she’d have had to turn it down anyway. It would have been nice to be wanted, to receive some good news for a change. ‘It’s OK, I understand.’

‘If you’ll allow me to finish,’ he said politely. ‘The job we interviewed you for was a full-time position, but if you are able to join us on a part-time, or even a freelance basis, we would very much like you to become a member of the team.’

Emma felt shocked. This wasn’t what she’d expected at all, and considering her circumstances it could be perfect – couldn’t it? She wasn’t sure. She needed to think. ‘Do you ... Is it necessary for me to give an answer now?’ she asked.

‘Not at all. I realise this might not be ideal, but ...’

‘Actually, there’s something I should tell you,’ she interrupted. ‘The only reason I might not be able to take it is because last weekend my daughter, Lauren ...’ She took a breath. ‘She was in ... was in an accident and we don’t know yet ... It was quite serious. She’s in a coma ...’

‘Oh my dear, my dear,’ Hamish Gallagher murmured softly. ‘I read about it of course, but I had no idea she was your daughter. I’m so sorry to hear this. What a dreadful thing for you to be going through, I very much hope it all turns out the way you want it to. Please take some time to think about this, and if you’d like to discuss it further to see if there is a way we can make it work to suit us all, I will be happy to do so.’

An hour later, while driving to the hospital, Emma was relating the conversation to Polly via her Bluetooth. ‘Can you believe that?’ she almost laughed through yet more tears. ‘I hardly knew what to say. It’s so kind and
human
that it made me realise if I can’t be my own boss any longer, then he’s absolutely the type of employer I want to have.’

‘He sounds a dream,’ Polly agreed, ‘and the freelance thing could turn out to be perfect.’

‘True – or a nightmare. If a big event comes in and we’re
in the middle of it, I won’t just be able to abandon ship if something happens with Lauren, except I’ll have to.’

‘Well, like he said, he’s open to discussion. So, tell him what your reservations are, and if, in the end, you both think you’re taking too big a risk, at least you’ll have been open and honest with him, which is the most he could ask for.’

‘You’re right. I’ll decide next week. He’s given me till then to make up my mind and the great thing is, it’s given me something else to think about. Believe me, I had no idea how much I’ve needed it. Everything’s been crowding in on me ... There’s Lauren, obviously, and everything that’s happening there, but there’s also my family ... I love them, really I do, but knowing that Mum’s driving Berry to Heathrow this morning, and not coming back until early tomorrow ... Actually, I’m starting to feel as though I can breathe more freely, which I’m taking as a good sign when Lauren’s going to be given the chance to do so today.’

‘It’s a fantastic sign,’ Polly agreed.

Emma smiled. ‘OK, so enough about me, what do you think about what’s happening to me?’

Polly gave a cry of laughter. ‘Oh, Emma, you don’t know how wonderful it is to hear you make a joke.’

Wryly, Emma said, ‘It’s feeling pretty strange, but at least I can do it. So now come on, what’s been going on with you? Is the nursery back in the church hall? How’s it working out with your new boss, sorry,
partner
, Alistair Wood? Oh my God,’ she ran on, feeling her insides starting to churn, ‘how’s Melissa? What happened when she talked to the police?’

Polly sighed. ‘To be honest, I’m not really sure,’ she confessed. ‘She’s eighteen, so I wasn’t allowed to be there, but from what Clive Andrews – and Melissa – said about it after, she didn’t tell him anything different to what she’d told me.’

Baffled, and still not really knowing whether or not to care when she couldn’t see how it would change anything, Emma said, ‘So she knows where Lauren was – or who she was with – but she’s not prepared to break the confidence?’

‘I think that more or less sums it up.’

‘Does she know these Osmond people?’

‘She says not.’

Emma shook her head in confusion. ‘What on earth are they hiding? What can be so bad that Melissa won’t give it up even now?’

‘Believe me, I’ve been racking my brains ... Melissa’s insistent that it isn’t anything criminal, but what worries me is that it might be, and she and Donna don’t realise it.’

Fighting down her unease, Emma said, ‘I think the real criminal of the hour is the boy who drove into her. Surely that should be enough?’

‘I agree, and Clive Andrews gave me the impression that he’s not thrilled about the way the investigators are going for this. He says it’s a waste of police time when they don’t have any evidence of a crime, but on the other hand if these Osmond people are up to no good with girls of Lauren’s age I guess it ought to be exposed.’

‘I wish I knew how Lauren knows them. Are they associated with the school in any way?’

‘Not that I’ve heard. I’ll call Donna’s mother and ask her, maybe she knows. I got the impression from Clive Andrews, though, that they’re struggling to make a connection. Have you spoken to Will about them? Maybe they’re someone he knows.’

‘He says not, but I’ll ask him again. I should go now, I’ve just arrived at the hospital and I expect I’m going to have a nightmare trying to park.’

‘Are you staying all day? Maybe I could come over and keep you company later.’

‘That would be lovely. You never know, by the time you get here, Lauren might be breathing on her own.’

‘Oh God, I hope so. Good luck with it. I’ll be thinking of you. Call if you need to.’

‘Thanks,’ Lauren responded with a shaky smile.

Now she was here her nerves were starting to get the better of her, and she really could have done without this problem of trying to find somewhere to park. She just wanted to get to Lauren now and be told exactly what they intended to do and when.

After finally finding a space at the top end of the site, she decided to take heart from the sudden burst of sunshine that had broken through the cloud, and was just locking her car when her mobile rang. Seeing it was a number she didn’t recognise, her heart skipped a beat as she clicked on. ‘Hello, this is Emma Scott.’

‘Mrs Scott,’ an unfamiliar voice said at the other end. ‘It’s Liam Grant speaking, Mr Farraday’s registrar.’

Emma’s chest had become very tight. ‘Is ... Is everything OK?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry to tell you that Lauren has experienced another surge in intracranial pressure.’

No! No, no, no
, Emma cried inwardly, clapping a hand over her mouth.

‘As a result of the CT scan, Mr Farraday has decided to operate again. We thought you’d want to know that Lauren is being prepared for theatre now.’

Emma’s mouth widened in a silent scream. It was all she could do to keep herself upright. ‘I’m here,’ she managed, stumbling out of the car park. ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please tell her ... Please tell her I’m coming.’

It was the middle of the afternoon by now. Will and Emma were seated either side of Lauren’s bed, whispering to her softly, telling her how brave she’d been to come through yet more surgery, and not to worry because everything was going to be fine. As yet they had no idea what had caused the sudden surge in pressure, or how serious Nigel Farraday was considering it to be. All they knew for certain was that she was still with them, and that the plans to start weaning her off the ventilator had, at least for the time being, been abandoned. Mr Farraday would be coming to speak to them as soon as he’d completed the scheduled operation that had had to be postponed because of Lauren’s emergency.

Emma glanced anxiously at Will as he stood up and went to the window. He couldn’t see out; no one could see in. Blurred figures moved past and footsteps clipped along, out of sync with the bleep and hiss of Lauren’s life support. Sharon, this morning’s duty ICU nurse, was close by keeping watch on the monitors, and making notes every
five minutes or so on her clipboard. What was she seeing, Emma wondered. Was everything happening the way it should, or was Farraday going to be disappointed, even alarmed by her recordings?

She wouldn’t ask in front of Will. Already very much on edge, he needed no further cause for anxiety.

‘Hey, sweetheart,’ she whispered, putting a hand on Lauren’s. Lauren’s skin was warm and soft, her fingers were slightly bent, her nails as perfect as they’d been last Saturday. Her broken leg was covered, while the other was bare to mid-thigh: the expanse of tender, flawless flesh was virtually unmarked by the trauma. Her head was swathed in new bandages, white and crisp; no sign of blood, no indication of anything that was going on beneath the bulky turban. Emma wondered again if all her lovely hair had gone, or if they’d only shaved part of it away. It didn’t matter, nothing did, as long as the pressure had been relieved inside her skull and the immediate danger had passed. She looked at the bruised eyelids, as delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and longed to catch a tiny fluttering of life. Lauren’s shapely lips were as colourless as the skin on her face, with a few tiny cuts seeming almost black against the paleness. ‘Are you going to squeeze my hand?’ Emma asked softly. ‘I’d love it if you did.’

‘You’re not giving her a chance to come round from the anaesthetic,’ Will told her irritably.

He was right, of course, but what was the harm in trying?

Checking his watch, Will returned to the bed and sat down again. ‘All this waiting,’ he complained in a whisper. ‘We need to know what keeps causing this, what they’re doing to stop it happening again.’

She didn’t answer, afraid it would descend into an argument, and she wouldn’t allow that in front of Lauren.

By the time another hour had passed she couldn’t bear Will’s agitation any longer. She was sure she knew what he was thinking, but wasn’t prepared to ask or listen to him rant, or spout words no one needed to hear. He’d gone out a while ago, to use the bathroom he’d said, but she suspected he’d been on the phone to Jemima, releasing his pent-up emotions. If she was right, it hadn’t done him any
good, because he still couldn’t stop tapping his foot, or sighing.

Finally, the main doors to the unit opened, and glancing out of Lauren’s cubicle Emma saw a young woman heading their way.

‘Hello, I’m Claudia Buckley, Mr Farraday’s PA,’ she said with a smile. She didn’t look at Lauren, Emma noticed, realising she minded about that. ‘Mr Farraday’s asked me to take you to his office.’

Feeling sick with nerves and wishing she could just scoop Lauren up and run away with her, Emma rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Won’t be long,’ she whispered to Lauren. ‘We’re just going to have a chat with the doctor, then we’ll be back.’