The Story of Us (42 page)

Richard shrugged. ‘I'm not sure how I worked it out. I think searching through the grass reminded me of looking in the ravine for the ring… and then I remembered your mum overhearing us in the hall the other week… and well I just followed a hunch… and… she was there—'

I hadn't intended to do it. If you'd asked me only minutes earlier, I'd have said that nothing on earth would have
ever
persuaded me to do it again. But as the picture became clear, as I realised Richard had made the connection no one else had even considered, and by doing so had undoubtedly saved Mum's life, I just couldn't help myself. I flew into his arms and his own tightened around me, literally lifting me off the ground. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,' I sobbed into the curve of his neck.

His arms remained tightly fastened around me, and I could hear the emotion in his own voice. ‘I'm just so glad I found her in time. I couldn't bear to have lost her either, Emma.'

As Richard held me against him, I was vaguely aware of a whirring clicking sound which rose above the excited chatter of the crowd. When he eventually released me, I realised the noise was the continual shutter clicks from several professional cameras which were pointed directly at us. The moment of our emotional embrace had been captured, and was probably already being earmarked as the money shot for their next edition. Not to be outdone, there were at least a dozen or more camera phones clicking away. From the edge of the crowd I could see one of the journalists hadn't wasted a single moment, and was already doing a piece to camera. Although I couldn't hear everything being said, one phrase carried clearly above the crowd, as the reporter smiled into the lens and described the ‘miraculous rescue by the woman's future son-in-law'. My glance flew to Richard, and then back to the reporter. I opened my mouth to correct her, and then realised the camera was still rolling. ‘And here are the daughter and her heroic fiancé,' she continued smoothly as the camera swivelled towards us. ‘You must both be so happy.' All words of correction and denial died on my lips, as I stared blankly at the glowing red light which I knew meant they were recording.

‘We are,' said Richard, reaching down and taking hold of my hand.

Behind us the liaison officer was now guiding my parents to the ambulance, gamely running interference with the pack of journalists.

‘Mrs Marshall,' hailed one of them, ‘just one last question: why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?'

My father raised a stilling hand to the reporter, and I could see how anxious he was to get my mother out of the mêlée and into the hands of the medics. But amazingly Mum seemed virtually unaffected by her ordeal, and if anything was relishing the interest from the assembled crowd. She clearly had no idea that every last one of them had gathered there today to search for her.

‘I wanted it to be a nice surprise for both of them. Emma's been so distraught lately, and I know how sad she must have been when she lost her ring. So I just thought I'd go and get it for her.'
Just!
I still had no idea how she'd managed to get to the ravine, or climb down the steep descent without breaking her neck.

A microphone was suddenly thrust through the crowd into my face. ‘This question's for the happy couple: when is the wedding?'

I could feel the weight of a hundred eyes upon me. I tried to look beyond the microphone-wielding reporter into the crowd, seeking the one face I needed to find. But there were too many people packed all around us.

‘We haven't decided on any immediate plans,' answered Richard, speaking for us both, although not using the words I'd have chosen. His answer didn't do anything to correct their misapprehension. ‘We're just glad that Emma's mum is safe and unhurt. That's all we're concentrating on for now.'

The police liaison officer was now at the open rear doors of the ambulance, trying to urge my parents up the shallow steps. You could almost hear the collective groan of the press.

‘One last photo,' pleaded the reporters. ‘One with all the family: mum, dad and the two lovebirds.' I'm sure my face perfectly reflected my dismay at that description, but Richard gave the smallest shake of his head and I knew he was right. Did I really want to be laying bare our personal life in this extremely public forum? Reluctantly I took my place between Richard and my mother, as the flashlights erupted like a firework display.

‘Okay, folks, can I ask you all to back up and give us a little room here,' interceded the chief detective, as his officers firmly began to ease back the reporters and crowd. ‘I'd like to thank all of you for giving up your time so generously and for helping us to achieve the best possible outcome today.' A small ripple of applause ran through the crowd and I turned to face them, smiling in gratitude, even as my eyes continued to scan desperately through the assembly. I still couldn't see him anywhere.

‘One more of the engaged couple? Perhaps sharing a kiss?' called a hopeful voice from the crowd. Richard saw the look of horror in my eyes and answered for me.

‘That's all for now, I think.' He put an arm around me, turning me away from the cameras. I climbed the steps of the ambulance where my mother was now being attended to by a paramedic. I turned around, and from my elevated position I was finally able to see Jack, or rather the back of his car, as he drove away in a grey cloud of displaced gravel chips.

Despite being urged by all three of us, my mother absolutely refused to go to the hospital to be checked out. In the end, rather than distress her further, it was agreed to allow her to go home. It didn't even occur to me to question Richard's right to accompany us. Somehow, in the unfolding drama of the day, the walls separating us had begun to subtly crumble. Even the sting of infidelity and broken promises lessened their significance when the tragedy we'd been facing had turned into a triumph, thanks to him.

It didn't even seem strange when Richard took control when we arrived back home, putting on the kettle, pulling cups from the cupboard and knowing – without having to ask – how everyone took their tea.

I watched him work, my attention split between him and my parents' conversation in the adjacent lounge. I shook my head in disbelief as I overheard my mum admit to hitching a lift with a passing lorry driver to get to the ravine.

‘After all those lectures she gave me as a teenager about not taking lifts from strangers,' I said in a stunned voice, as I took the steaming mug from Richard's hand. ‘She could have got lost; been run over; someone could have hurt her; or she could have fallen clean down to the bottom of that bloody ravine.' I was still unable to escape the list of awful possibilities.

‘But she
didn't
,' Richard countered soothingly. ‘None of that happened. You can relax now. Frances was lucky today, she must have had a whole squadron of guardian angels looking out for her.'

I gave a small grateful smile. ‘No. Just one. You.'

He looked embarrassed and pleased in equal measure at my words.

‘Maybe now we'll be able to persuade your dad that we're going to have to find a better way from now on.'

I bent my head low over my mug, effectively hiding my face from view. His use of the ‘we' pronoun hadn't gone unnoticed, and a small worrying alarm bell began to ring.

The rest of the afternoon blurred by in an endless carousel of visiting medical professionals, police officers, and the incessant ringing of our telephone. We were grateful to learn that, physically, Mum appeared to have sustained nothing more serious than minor scratches and a few bruises, all of which would have easily lost to mine in a contest. Emotionally… well that was a different matter. My father's face was a portrait of worry when he quietly told us to expect a visit from a social worker and someone from a dementia society over the next few days.

‘That's
good
news,' Richard said encouragingly. ‘It means we're going to be able to get you more help.' My father smiled back weakly, still looking unconvinced. I remained silent, unable to ignore this second appearance of that worrying pronoun. But there was something else concerning me even more than Richard's apparent reinstatement as an honorary family member. Jack. I hadn't been able to reach him all afternoon. I'd been trying pretty much every ten minutes or so from the moment I got back into my car, and so far the only thing I'd heard when calling his mobile was the annoying tinny voice of a recording advising me
‘This person's phone is switched off.'

I saw Richard watching me closely each time I pulled the phone from my pocket, either to call or check my messages, of which there were none. With much more restraint than I'd been expecting from him, he very wisely said nothing.

By early evening I'd gone from vaguely concerned and frustrated, to angry. Jack had no idea what was going on. Surely, if I meant anything at all to him, if
last night
had meant anything, he should have been the one phoning
me
, checking on
me
,
not vice bloody versa. When Richard volunteered to go and collect a takeaway for dinner, I tried Jack's number one more time, and finally heard a different sound at the end of the phone. It was ringing. I grabbed a jacket from the hook by the back door and quickly slipped out into the garden to speak to him in private. It rang six times, and with each trilling tone, my heartbeat began to race. I took a deep and calming breath. I didn't want to begin our conversation by sounding hurt and angry that he'd not been in touch.

‘Hi, this is Jack.' The soft burr of his accent warmed me, and I could almost feel the tension that had been flowing through me begin to evaporate.

‘Hi, it's me—' I began, hoping he'd recognise my voice as easily as I would his.

‘I'm sorry. I can't take your call at the moment. Just leave me a number and I'll get right back to you.' There was a prolonged beep and then silence. He'd let it go to voicemail. For just a moment I considered hanging up, but some small persistent hope refused to be quashed in the darkness.

‘Hey, Jack. It's Emma. It's eight o'clock, and I just wondered if everything was okay? I've not heard from you since you left the forest and I've been trying to reach you for hours. Call me when you get this.' Perhaps I should have added something personal to my message, but I was still hurt that he hadn't been in touch. Surely he must know I'd wanted no part in all that media craziness when Mum had returned? Why wouldn't he talk to me so I could explain?

Halfway through our Chinese takeaway, my mother's head began to droop, and my father didn't look that far behind her. It was amazing they were both still upright after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

‘Look, why don't you two go upstairs to bed? I'll clear up things down here,' I volunteered, helping my sleepy mum to her feet.

‘
We'll
clear up,' corrected Richard, already gathering up containers and dirty plates.

My mother nodded vaguely and headed towards the stairs, but Dad wasn't so willing.

‘I think I might just stay down here tonight…' he began, a look of real concern on his face, ‘… just in case.'

I knew what he was worrying about; the same thought had been on my mind all evening too. ‘She's not going to go anywhere tonight. She's too exhausted.'

‘Still… I don't want to take any chances… not until I've installed some type of alarm on the doors.'

I sighed deeply. He didn't know it, but I was actually more worried about how everything was affecting
him
, rather than anything else. He wasn't a young man, and the last thing he needed to be doing was sitting up all night on sentry duty.

‘
I'll
sleep down here tonight,' I told him. ‘If I keep the lounge door ajar, I'll easily be able to hear if the front door is opened.' He still looked doubtful, but I was already gently propelling him towards the stairs. I kissed the soft wrinkled skin on his cheek. ‘Go and get a good night's rest.'

It didn't take long for Richard and me to clear the kitchen, but by the time I finished wiping down the worktops, I too was yawning widely. I guessed no one in our family had got much sleep the night before, for vastly different reasons.

‘You look exhausted,' Richard observed. ‘Go and sit down in the lounge and I'll bring us both some tea.'

After a moment's hesitation I nodded in agreement. I needed to speak to Richard privately, without my parents around; I needed to make sure he understood the way things stood. And I realised it was something I needed to take care of sooner rather than later.

Sleep didn't creep up on me; it didn't sneak in slowly, inviting me to drift along with it. It came out of nowhere like a wrecking ball, felling me into unconsciousness with one mighty swipe. I opened my eyes, and my first thought was
Why's Richard taking so long with the tea?
Then I noticed that the room was bathed in early-morning light, and there was in fact
a cup of tea on the small oak table beside me, but it had a very unpleasant-looking skin on its surface. I reached out and curled my fingers around the cup, it was stone cold. A very familiar soft snorting sound came from the other side of the room, and I froze. I knew that noise. It was one which I'd once found strangely endearing. I slowly turned my head and saw Richard fast asleep in one of the armchairs, gently snoring through slightly parted lips.

I sat up very slowly, noticing that a thick fleecy blanket had been draped over me while I slept, dead to the world. Richard again. I got to my feet, feeling the kinks in my spine groaning in a chorus of protest. The old, poorly sprung three-seater was not the most comfortable place to have spent the night, but it was probably a darn sight more accommodating than the chair where Richard now slept.