Chapter 22
When Harriet rang at seven the following morning, Nicola assumed it was to tell her they were setting off.
Dad always wanted to make an early start, even if the journey they were taking was only an hour or so in length.
It had meant, as kids, they’d sometimes find themselves reaching Brighton or Bournemouth – or some of the other seaside towns their parents had favoured – at eight thirty in the morning, and have hours to kill before their holiday accommodation was actually open.
‘Hello, you!’ Nicola said, sitting down on the edge of her bed.
She was up early too, had already showered and was intending to spend the day getting everything ready: giving the house a last clean, prepping food for the evening meal, making sure she had the Christmas feast fully planned and hadn’t missed anything.
‘Nic.’ Harriet’s voice was strained, urgent. ‘Look, I don’t want you to panic, but there’s been an accident.’
‘Oh my God.’ Adrenaline forced Nicola to her feet, her heart pounding. ‘What happened? Is everyone all right?’
‘Everyone’s OK, I think. Dad hit some black ice just outside Hatfield and we skidded into a lamp post. Car’s totalled. We’re in A his blood pressure was a little high, but Mum says that’s normal for him.’
Gabi padded into the bedroom, blissfully unaware of how the day had taken a terrible turn.
She jumped up on Nic’s lap, paced out three tiny circles then settled into a purring, fluffy ball.
Instinctively, Nicola reached out a hand and touched the little kitten’s back, feeling the softness of her fur, her tiny fragility.
A lump formed in her throat. An accident. She imagined her whole family in that car, skidding into a lamp post. Those terrifying seconds when nobody would have known what the outcome might be. It could have been so, so much worse.
‘And are you OK?’
There was a pause. ‘It was pretty bloody scary.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Life flashed before my eyes and all that.’
‘Sounds awful.’
There was the sound of a voice in the background. ‘I’d better go, they want to give me the once over now.’
‘OK. Keep me posted, won’t you?’
‘Course. Love you.’
‘Me too.’
When the call ended she sat staring at her phone for a minute, imagining worst-case scenarios. She’d wait for updates but if anything was wrong, she’d be straight on a plane home. What if Dad had a heart attack from the stress? Or if Mum’s arm was broken and she needed surgery?
It was early; but if she was lucky, Steven would probably be on his break around this time. Her hands shaking, she rang his number.
No answer.
She looked up the number of the hospital – surely this was reason enough for her to call direct? – and tapped it into her phone. She entered the extension number for the paediatric medicine department and waited as the phone rang out. A harassed-sounding female voice answered. ‘Paeds!’
‘Hi, sorry to bother you. Can I speak to Steven Smith? It’s quite urgent.’
‘Of course. One moment.’
There was a rustling in the background, the sound of distant voices. Then footsteps as someone approached the phone. ‘Hi, I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. Can I take a message? Or can someone else help at all?’
‘No. It’s fine. Thank you.’
She’d try his mobile again. Steven might have left early, or even changed his shift patterns. It was always a little unpredictable, and even more so at this time of year. The phone rang once, twice and she was bracing herself for her call to be declined when it was suddenly answered.
‘Hello?’ The voice wasn’t Steven’s. And it was female.
‘Hello. Can I… Is Steven there?’
‘He’s not, I’m afraid. Can I take a message?’
‘Who are you?’
The woman laughed. ‘I could ask you the same question!’
‘It’s Nic, his wife.’ There it was again, the increase in heart rate, the clamminess on her hands. Her senses suddenly alert to danger.
‘Oh.’ There was an odd pause. ‘Sorry. I’m just one of his colleagues. Looks like he’s left his phone here. Occupational hazard!’ She gave a false, high laugh. ‘I’ll let him know you called when I see him!’ And the line went dead.
Nicola walked to the window, opened the curtains and pushed open the glass pane, breathing deeply and feeling the freezing air hit the back of her throat.
She looked out over the garden and beyond, to the tree-covered hillside in the distance.
Everything was covered in a thick layer of white – the distant tree branches scattered like ornaments on a Christmas cake.
The snow was still falling and it was freezing, but the air seemed to help slow her breathing.
Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding. But her mind wouldn’t let go.
Nicola thought back to Steven’s original phone call.
How he’d cancelled Christmas after agreeing his leave in plenty of time.
How she’d struggled to get hold of him. How distant he’d felt and sounded on the phone.
How understanding she’d tried to be as he told her once again how important his job was, how there simply wasn’t anyone else who could fill his shoes.
And a horrible certainty crept over her.
She was filled with a restless energy suddenly. Flinging off her dressing gown, she quickly pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, pulled her hair back in a band. She’d go downstairs, book a ticket home. Look after her parents, and Harriet, and spend Christmas in the UK. Confront Steven. Then come home.
Even though it occurred in her own mind, the certainty she felt when she thought about coming back, continuing to make a life for herself here, surprised her.
It was the first time she’d thought of this place as her home; the place she’d need to come back to to restart her life in whatever form it took.
But there was no time for this. She opened her laptop and pulled up the page of the airline that did direct flights from Limoges to London Stansted. She filled in her requirements, pressed ‘OK’ and watched impatiently as a little icon spun on the screen, searching for her ticket.
The first available was on the twenty-seventh. She refreshed, but there was nothing available this side of Christmas.
‘Bugger,’ she whispered to herself. A desperate search revealed no flights at any of the slightly more distant airports either.
And there was no way she’d be able to drive in this weather on her own.
A few miles maybe, but not five hundred or more.
For some reason, her brain decided to deliver her an earworm and the song about walking 500 miles by The Proclaimers began to play on repeat in her head.
It was something that happened when she was stressed – although the choice of music wasn’t always the same.
Maybe she should scream. Perhaps she was actually going to scream?
Because everything had fallen apart in the space of half an hour and there was nobody but Gabi there to hear her.
Her mobile rang again and she grabbed it, expecting to see Harriet’s name. Or maybe Steven’s. Perhaps he would be ringing her to explain; perhaps he’d have an explanation that didn’t involve his having an affair and lying to her about his work.
But it was Lucien. ‘Hi,’ she said, hoping that her voice didn’t sound thick with tears.
‘Hello.’ Lucien’s voice lacked its usual intonation. ‘I hope you’re well. All ready for your family?’
She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued before she could.
‘I’m afraid I have to cancel the lesson today. The roads are bad, I’m stuck in my village. I don’t think I would make it. And there is more snow forecast.’
‘They haven’t cleared it?’ The last thing she wanted was to have to teach painting today, but Lucien’s company would be welcome.
Added to the fact that this would probably be the last chance he’d get to complete – and take away – his painting for his wife’s Christmas present.
She’d purchased a frame and a mount to fit around it after it dried, and even some wrapping paper for him if he’d wanted.
‘Yes, they have cleared the main routes, I think. Someone did drive up to our village too this morning, but the snow is so heavy that the roads are covered again and I don’t think they will be back today.’
‘Oh no! What about your picture?’ What about me?
‘Yes, it is very sad. But perhaps I can come and collect it tomorrow if things improve?’ Something cracked in his voice then as if, like her, he was upset, trying to keep his voice upbeat on the phone.
‘Lucien, are you OK?’
He sighed deeply. ‘Yes. It is just my wife. Things are… difficult.’
‘What’s wrong? Can I help?’
Another sigh. ‘I will tell you everything when I see you. We haven’t spoken about it yet and it is… well, it would take some time to tell you it all. But things are not good right now.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you. But of course your family is coming!’ His voice returned to its usual upbeat tone. ‘You must be very excited. I will let you go. I am sure you are very busy.’
The phone went dead before she was able to reply. But in any case, she doubted she’d have told him about her family, how they’d crashed and how she was alone and unable to get to them. Or about Steven, about the call that changed her mild suspicion into something more like certainty.
She shut the window, the room now freezing, and made her way downstairs, checking her phone for text messages from Harriet as she did.
There was nothing. It hadn’t been long since she’d spoken to her sister and she knew things often moved slowly in hospitals, but alone in the house, cold and with no prospect of company, her thoughts loomed large around her.
Perhaps something was wrong with Dad or Mum that Harriet hadn’t mentioned? Or with Harriet herself? She’d been called through to triage; surely she’d be back by now if everything was all right?
She was three steps from the bottom when she refreshed her messages a final time and Harriet’s name popped up.
But before she could open the message, she missed her footing on the stairs and stumbled, falling the remaining distance and landing heavily on her knees.
The pain was sudden and intense, her scream echoing pointlessly in the empty house.
Pain shot through one of her ankles every time she tried to stand on it.
Her phone screen was smashed and when she tried to scroll, the cursor jumped around and refused to follow commands.
There was a little patter on the stairs as Gabi carefully made her way down.
Her little pet took a look at Nic, who’d dragged herself to the wall and was sitting up, inspecting her ankle and wondering just what her next move could be.
Then, seemingly unfazed, Gabi trotted off towards her food bowl in the kitchen as if everything were completely normal.
Nic, her finger scrabbling on the shattered phone screen, caught her finger on a tiny glass shard. It started to bleed.
It was the smallest, most insignificant injury, but something about the stab of pain, the unfairness of it all, became the final straw. She felt tears begin to pour down her face, and didn’t even try to hold them in.
It was 8.30 a.m. and in just half an hour, it seemed as if her life had completely fallen apart. That everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
Then there was a click as the power cut out.