Never Too Late (18 page)

As she left she also wondered who she was. It felt as though she had been so inconsequential, so insubstantial, as to be almost invisible in the lives of the people who were important to her, the people to whom she had thought she was important. Now she knew they had been inhabiting entirely different worlds. Her safe niche in a known role had disappeared a long time ago and she had been too stupid, too naïve, to know it.

Chloe watched her departing. “For goodness’ sake,” she exclaimed, “when is she going to join the real world? All our lives she’s been on a different planet, never noticing the things that matter!”

“That’s enough, Chloe,” Richard’s voice was dangerously quiet. “She’s devoted all her adult life to you two. You’ve wanted for nothing, including her time and care and love. It’s time you grew up and appreciated her for the wonderful mother and woman she is.”

“I think she knew really though,” James commented.

Richard slowly wiped his fingers on his napkin and stood up. “I think you’re right,” he agreed. “But sometimes the truth is difficult to acknowledge. And at the moment she’s in shock. It will take time to adjust to both your father’s current injuries and his past infidelities. We have to ensure we’re there to support her.”

*

Maggie walked towards the hospital through a park, the bright spring sunshine glittering off a pond where two toddlers were squealing with pleasure as they threw bread to the ducks. Their mothers chatted companionably on a bench while keeping a careful watch on the children. It was a vision of the world she had lost, the world she and her children had outgrown. Now both children and husband had outgrown her.

First things first though. She had to see Iain through this period of injury. She needed him to regain consciousness, to explain to her why he had done it.

It’s the least he can do for me. I deserve an explanation. And then... and then...

She had no idea what came next, she just needed one more chance to talk to him.

She left the park and made her way to the hospital. As she approached the entrance she heard a shout of “That’s her!” and suddenly she was surrounded by a group of reporters, cameras were flashing, and a barrage of questions were being thrown at her.

“How long has your husband been having an affair with Natasha Barrett, Mrs McTavish?”

“When did you find out about the affair?”

“Is your husband a serial cheater Mrs McTavish?”

“Will you divorce him?”

“Did you know your husband regularly drives when drunk?”

She held her hand in front of her face protectively, shocked to her core. A burly porter quickly came to her rescue, taking her arm and encouraging her forward through the hail of noise and light. With his support, and reserves of strength she didn’t know she had, she squared her shoulders and entered the hospital. Her rescuer led her to the family room to give her some privacy. She started shaking uncontrollably and sank into a chair.

“Don’t you let them get to you,” he told her, handing her a plastic beaker of cold water. “The vultures always descend if they think there’s a bit of scandal to spread across their rags, but they soon give up the chase. Always another story around the corner, know what I mean?”

Maggie nodded her thanks. “How did they know?” Her voice sounded strange and distant to her ears.

“Well, I reckon you’ll find there’s always someone ready to tip them off, either to make a few quid, or just to spread a bit of dirt.”

“But why me? Of what interest am I to them?”

He sat down opposite her. “From what I hear - yes, the grapevine is active in a place like this, you can’t avoid it, whether you want to listen or not - your husband is rich with a big company, she’s rich and been well known in society for quite a while, plus her parents are kicking up a fuss about her death.”

He stood up and patted her shoulder. “Just sit there until you’re ready to go up. You won’t be bothered by them in the hospital.”

She watched him go, feeling numb and cold. It was quite a while before her legs felt strong enough to support her again.

The nurses directed Maggie to a rest room near the theatre. Richard arrived shortly after her and their eyes locked.

“Go home to Joanne and the children,” she told him quietly. “Thank you for your help yesterday, but there’s nothing you can do here.”

He realised the effort it was costing her to remain calm in the face of his complicity in Iain’s affairs and greatly regretted the cost to their friendship.

“If there’s anything at all you want, Margaret, I’ll be there at the end of the phone.”

“Please, just go,” she begged.

He nodded slowly and left.

In the car park of the hotel Chloe put her hand on his arm as he was putting his jacket in the back of James’ car.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye were you?” she asked, sounding rather hurt, her expression troubled.

Richard looked at her and remembered the feel of her in his arms. “No, of course not.” He opened the driver’s door and inserted the key in the ignition before turning back to her. “James said he’d travel back with you when you’re ready. We’ll sort the cars out and your mother’s transport back from there.” Chloe just looked at him, her eyes begging him to stay. “Look, phone me as soon as there’s any news, won’t you?”

“But why aren’t you staying?” Chloe asked, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’d feel so much better if you were here too,” she pleaded. “You know, if anything happens… ”

Richard took both her hands. “Your mother prefers it if I go,” he told her. “Now she’s had time to think about it she feels I’ve betrayed her, and I can’t say I blame her.”

Bright spots of colour flared in Chloe’s cheeks. “No more than we have,” she declared. “Are we to be sent packing too?”

“You’re his children and should be here, she knows that,” Richard told her gently. “Besides, mothers are used to forgiving their children’s transgressions.”

He leaned forward to kiss her cheek in farewell and Chloe clung to him. Gently he eased her back onto the pavement. “Go on,” he told her, “Go to the hospital and wait with your mother. Phone me when your Dad comes out of surgery.”

Chloe nodded mutely and turned back to the hotel. Richard watched her a moment, sighed and got into the car for the drive back home.

*

The next hours dragged as Maggie waited for the surgery to be over. She had warned them about the newspapers but that was virtually the limit of their conversation. She always carried a novel with her and she tried reading, but the sentences did not sink in so she gave up on it. Her mind circled around and around her husband’s affair, and whether she was actually able to answer any of the questions those reporters had asked.

And how did they know what I look like? How did they know who I am?

Her mind refused to contemplate what was happening in the operating theatre.

Chloe drifted in and out of the rest room. James sat with her for a long time but they both felt awkward and unsure of each other, not sure what to say and what was best left unsaid. Endless cups of tea were brought as the morning passed into afternoon, the sun sliding slowly across from one wall to another.

Was it really only twenty four hours ago I was being pampered in the salon? Was it really less time than that when I was watching for Iain, hoping he would join me at my party?

All three of them jumped to their feet when a white-swathed figure entered, a green mask still round his neck where he’d lowered it from his face.

“Mrs McTavish,” he greeted her, hand outstretched. His face was drawn with tiredness. “I’m Mr Sears, the consultant surgeon who, I am glad to say, has just successfully operated on your husband.”

“He’s all right?” Maggie half gasped. “He’s conscious?”

Mr Sears held up is hand. “No, still in the coma, but I see no reason why he shouldn’t come out of it very soon.”

“What did you find when you operated?” James asked.

Mr Sears indicated that they should sit and continued speaking once they were settled. “We pinned his tibia and sorted out his knee without problem. That will just need a brace for the next six weeks, then careful exercise to regain full movement. There was also no problem with the abdominal repairs – some minor damage to the liver, easily fixed. As for the skull, the bone fragments were difficult to remove,” he told them, “but we’ve done so without causing any further damage. A scan very early this morning showed there was also a haematoma, causing pressure on the brain.”

Maggie indicated she understood and he continued. “We’ve also removed that and stopped the bleeding that was causing it.” He spread his hands expressively. “Now it’s just a case of the body’s own healing processes taking over.”

“How long before Daddy wakes up?” Chloe wanted to know.

Mr Sears pursed his lips and shrugged. “That, Miss McTavish, I can’t tell you. Each person is different and heals at their own pace.”

He stood up and looked at each of them in turn. “It’s true what they say about coma patients being able to hear. Do talk to him and encourage him. It will help.

“If any of you have any questions, the nurses will be able to answer most of them, or I’ll probably see you in the course of my ward rounds.”

Maggie stood up. “Thank you, Mr Sears.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “He’s in recovery now, and will remain heavily sedated for quite some time, but you’ll be able to see him on the ward in about an hour I would think.”

She nodded and bit her lip to maintain control. Mr Sears smiled at her sympathetically, nodded to Chloe and James and left the small room. The first hurdle was passed.

*

Sharon and Sophie surveyed the results of the children’s labour over the past week. Maggie’s idea about an exhibition of changing village life through the centuries had really fired the pupils’ imagination. The original library exhibit items had been supplemented by drawings the children had done and things they had brought from home.

When Sophie had visited the school and first shown them the items about Sir Joseph, the library and Chetmere itself, she had been inundated with questions about what was happening in Holmsford at the same time, and what life had been like for their family members. Sharon had quickly realised that she would have to impose a set time frame on their efforts. She decided they would look at the period from the building of the library up to the Dunkirk evacuations, the anniversary of which coincided with the week of their exhibition. The rest of the war, and what had happened next, could be done in the next school year.

They had timed the exhibition to run over the last few days of May and into June so that all the parents would get chance to pop in and see it over the weekend. The school hall had been opened an hour earlier and many villagers were being led around by the children, who were keen to show off the items they had contributed. The excited chattering was deafening.

“It’s a shame Maggie can’t be here to see this,” Sharon said sadly.

Sophie took her camera out of her bag. “I’ll just have a wander and get a few shots for her.”

“I know you and your ‘few shots’,” Sharon laughed. “I’ll have enough material for an exhibition about the exhibition!”

“You never know, we might get a piece in the local rag after all the effort the children have put in. I’ll be taking them some photos this afternoon.” Sophie grinned and moved off.

She soon found herself being called by children wanting their photos taken. She took a very appealing shot of Isabelle taking Hilda’s hand and pointing to the Dunkirk montage.

Hilda had been in two minds about whether to lend the photo of Stephen and his Military Medal. She was glad, now, that she had. Isabelle had obviously spent a long time to ensure that her contribution was in her very best writing. She had described not only how the men were evacuated from the beaches but there was a long piece, for such a young child, about Stephen’s bravery. She described how he had won a medal inscribed ‘For Bravery in the Field’ but had not been able to collect it himself from King George VI at Buckingham Palace and his mother had gone for him, crying because her son was dead.

“Did you cry too?” Isabelle asked her.

“Yes, Isabelle,” Hilda told her. “I cried too. I cried for a long time.”

“Was he your bestest friend?”

“The bestest friend in the world,” Hilda sighed and wiped the corner of her eye with a tiny embroidered, lace trimmed handkerchief. “We were going to be married when he got back. I loved him very much. But he never came home.”

Isabelle hugged her waist. “Don’t be sad – we’re here and we love you too.”

Many of the children were on the stage, where tables and rails held clothing of the style of a century ago. Sharon had managed to borrow the costumes from the amateur dramatics group in Chetmere on the understanding that if, in trying them on, any got damaged they would be repaired or replaced. The elevated stage had seemed the best option for easily keeping an eye on what was happening. Two teaching assistants were helping the children try them on and inevitably, having seen themselves in the mirror, they wanted photos too. Sophie was in for a very busy afternoon.

That Sunday evening in The Royal Oak Ken and his friends were sat at one end of the bar and the talk was all of how well their grandchildren had done, and what life had really been like for them during the past decades. As the evening progressed, though, they were finding it increasingly difficult to make themselves heard above the growing noise of a hen party. The women were gathered around three tables which they had pulled together, totally blocking the dart board.

“That’s certainly changed,” Ken commented morosely. “You’d never have seen our lasses getting drunk in public like that.”

“That’s just it, though, isn’t it,” his neighbour Alec said. “These aren’t our lasses are they? How many of them were born and brought up in the village?”

There were nods of agreement all round.

“It’s not just the house prices,” Frank put in. “My Jenny and her husband couldn’t afford a house here now, but there’s no work to be had here either. Let’s face it, who wants a long slow commute in today’s traffic? And if you’re stuck with public transport, where there is any that is, the cost is just astronomical.”