Chapter 30
30
SEPTEMBER 2013, TEN YEARS AGO
In the six weeks since Belle had moved to London, she’d started her first job in marketing, made new friends and had kissed one guy. As things went, her new life post-uni and away from her parents in Norfolk had got off to a good start, even though the long commute from her shared house was the worst part of the working week and the job wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for.
The thought of sharing a house with three strangers had been nerve-wracking but also the perfect way to not feel quite so alone in a big city. They were all professionals. Two were in their mid-twenties, and the third, Hannah, was new to London as well and had just spent a gap year in Australia. She was also working in marketing, although for a publisher rather than a corporate events company. They’d hit it off immediately.
Ibiza felt like a distant dream, yet Belle frequently woke up thinking about Diego and often fell asleep fantasising about him too. She and Hannah had been on a couple of nights out, one when they’d got chatting to a couple of men. While Hannah had gone home with one, Belle had felt nothing when the bloke flirting with her had kissed her. Admittedly, he didn’t have Diego’s Spanish good looks, his charm or utter deliciousness, nor were they basking under the Mediterranean sun on the White Isle either… She certainly had post-holiday blues and the thought of jacking it all in and heading back to Ibiza was massively appealing, particularly when the job proved to be little more than grunt work. What marketing she did get to do was uninspiring, which wasn’t helped by her tetchy line manager.
Belle’s fifth week in her new job started off as normal. She’d got into a routine of grabbing breakfast in the shared kitchen, saying a quick hello to any housemates who were around, then walking to the bus stop. She’d been late two days in a row in her first week due to roadworks and snarled up traffic, which hadn’t gone down well with her easily irritated boss. Belle had now switched to an earlier bus which meant getting up at silly o’clock, but at least she wasn’t pissing anyone off by being late. The commute sucked, but she was able to listen to music or read. She was beginning to see the same people on the journey, a couple who even returned her smile.
Monday morning was her least favourite time of the week, not helped by it being a drizzly day at the end of September, but at least she managed to get a seat downstairs by the window. Summer seemed a long time ago. Her one regret about Ibiza was not suggesting to Diego that they kept in touch, but not having the chance to see him one last time had been out of her hands.
She opened up her text messages and clicked on Diego’s name, re-reading for what felt like the millionth time the one she’d sent him after Gem had finally got back to their hotel.
I’m so sorry I didn’t get to see you last night. Laurie was sick so I had to help her and I didn’t have my phone so couldn’t contact you – it was a nightmare, the worst bit not seeing you x
She scrolled down to the reply he’d sent.
No problem. Things happen.
That had been it and her heart had sunk. Even two months later it made her tearful. She’d wanted to suggest they met briefly before they headed to the airport but there was no hint from that text that he’d want to, no sense that he’d missed spending one last night with her. Not knowing how to respond, she hadn’t replied at all.
With a sigh, she clicked off the messages. Even with the bus lanes, the journey was slow, all stop and start. She glanced out of the grimy window to see where they were then scrolled through the photos on her phone, stopping when she found one of her and Diego in Ibiza, a selfie she’d taken on the second evening they’d spent together. His arms were draped over her and their beaming smiles matched. She remembered the thrill of being with him, buzzing with the love or lust coursing through her. It highlighted how emotionally lost she felt now.
She could still message him and see if he wanted to connect on social media, but each time she thought about it she stopped herself. What would she gain beyond torturing herself, glimpsing his carefree Ibiza life, wondering who he was hooking up with while mulling over the ‘what ifs’? There was no point. And as the days, then weeks, went by since the holiday, the idea of reconnecting with him seemed less and less likely.
Belle sighed again, clicked off the photo, popped her earphones in and listened to a dance hits playlist. The bus was finally going faster so they must have been out of the worst of the traffic.
A man in a seat across the aisle stood up, a frown creasing his forehead.
The bus was still moving and a couple more people were on their feet. Belle peered through the window. With the rain streaking the glass, she couldn’t see much but she didn’t think they were near a stop.
She pulled her earphones out and Avicii’s ‘Wake Me Up’ was replaced by raised voices.
‘You’ve gone the wrong way!’ A woman in her forties wearing white trainers and a smart trouser suit was working her way down the bus.
The road ahead didn’t seem familiar to Belle. She had only been in the job a few weeks but she’d already done this bus journey countless times. They’d never gone this way.
The woman had nearly reached the driver. Through the front windscreen, Belle could see a stone bridge with a height restriction warning in the middle of it. It certainly didn’t look tall enough for a double decker bus. The driver didn’t seem to be slowing down either. If anything, the bus was going faster and veering to the right.
Cold fear inched through her. Belle reached out her hands, ready to brace.
She was thrown forward with the impact, the bang as loud as if a bomb had gone off, followed by the screech and crunch of metal tearing. Her wrists smashed into the seat in front, followed by her forehead. Waves of pain ricocheted the length of her arms all the way to her shoulders.
Didn’t people say that accidents often happened in slow motion? Perhaps that was the case if you were watching from afar, but being involved in one was a whole different matter. The impact was over in seconds, allowing no time to process anything, but the aftermath was fragmented. Vague images twisted around moments of vivid clarity: a young woman across the aisle, her glasses smashed and blood pouring down her cheek; the sound of moaning from somewhere on the top deck, more upsetting than a blood-curdling scream. There was screaming too, lots of it. And shouting, a tense conversation behind her, someone asking someone else if they were all right.
The pain in her wrists was unbearable when she tried to move. Her head throbbed as nausea and dizziness duelled with each other. She remained slumped in her seat, her body achy and tense as she tried to make sense of what was happening around her.
Another scream, commotion outside, sirens. Someone sobbing. The smell of smoke. Her heart raced in panic. The metallic taste of blood. Was she bleeding? Perhaps she’d bitten her tongue. Her vision was blurry as if she’d woken up after a heavy night out. An intense pressure in her head. Every movement painful.
More voices surrounded her, then someone was talking close by. Talking to her.
‘Let me take a look.’
Belle squinted as a light was shone in her eyes, replaced by someone in a dark green uniform. A paramedic. ‘Can you tell me your name?’ he asked.
She opened her mouth but even that was an effort. ‘Belle.’
‘I’m here to help, Belle. Just keep your eyes open and focused on me, okay.’
Everything hurt, everything ached, everything was fuzzy as if she was wading through a distorted dream. Snatches of clarity, yet nothing made sense.
As she was guided into the back of an ambulance, the thought that her London life had got off to a good start vanished. How many lives had been changed? She wanted to rewind time to never get on the bus. No, scratch that, she wanted to rewind time to July and Ibiza, to Diego’s arms around her waist and his lips on hers. One moment in time that had been perfect.