Postcards at Christmas Page 3

  Today is Good Friday and the gods are clearly smiling on me because I haven’t got any shifts for the entire Easter weekend, so I’ve decided to have a huge clear out and maybe do a spot of decorating, cheer the place up a bit. I might even treat myself to a new sofa in the sales.

  After breakfast, I make myself a huge mug of milky coffee and start on the sitting room, pulling stuff off the shelves and tipping out the cupboards. I have the radio on to keep me company. Samson is no use at all. I think he’s a bit bewildered by the upheaval, so he takes himself off to his basket and goes to sleep.

  I’ve been at it for about an hour when my phone rings. Cara.

  ‘Morning,’ she says cheerfully. ‘What are you up to?’

  I explain that I am up to my neck in the detritus of my former life and she laughs.

  ‘Have you reached the point where you wish you’d never started yet?’ she asks.

  ‘Pretty much,’ I say, ‘But it’ll be as hard to go back as to go on so I’m sticking with it.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  There’s a pause and I know she’s having a mouthful of tea before she asks me the question that is the real purpose of the call.

  ‘So, what did you think?’

  ‘Of Mark, you mean?’ I hesitate before I answer. I have the impression that Cara isn’t entirely sold on Simeon’s best man. He’s not really her type: a bit too brash. So, normally I would let her indulge this dislike for a bit and we would spend some time happily taking aim at his personality before we decided that he was all right really.

  But this is Simeon’s best friend, a person who is likely to figure not only in their forthcoming nuptials but also in their future life. If Cara takes against him now, then it’s going to take a lot to turn the ship at a later point. Better, I think, to go for mild annoyance which is easily morphed into affectionate irritation later.

  ‘I liked him,’ I say, biting my lip as I speak and screwing my face up as I wait for what I know will be Cara’s response.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. He seems nice. I mean, he was a bit cocky at times . . .’

  ‘Yes!’ She says, seizing, as I knew she would, on my critical words.

  ‘But that was probably just because he was meeting us all for the first time,’ I add quickly, before she has chance to get into her stride. ‘And he and Sim haven’t seen each other for a while so that might have been a bit awkward for them. But overall, I reckon he’ll make a great best man.’

  There is a silence on the other end. I’m glad this is a phone call and that she can’t see my face.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she concedes reluctantly.

  Now I feel bad. I need to give her a little bit of wriggle room, so I say, ‘Do you not like him?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she says. ‘I’m sure he’s a great bloke. Sim certainly thinks so. It’s more that when he’s here I can feel a little gap opening up between me and Sim. It’s like he’s a different person with Mark. They have all that shared past together and it sounds as if Sim was different back then.’

  ‘Well, of course he was,’ I say. ‘He was young! We were all different when we were young. You and I have masses of shared past but I don’t think that’s put Simeon off me!’

  She ignores my levity.

  ‘I just felt like Mark knows him better than I do.’

  Aha, I think. There we have it. Cara is a little bit jealous. Up until now she’s had Simeon to herself and because she’s always led such a small life with just me, Michael and her Dad in it she’s invested almost everything she has in their relationship. So, finding out that Simeon has more than just her must have knocked her for six.

  ‘Well, I’ve known you longer than Sim has,’ I say. ‘So, Mark kind of evens things out. Really, Ca, don’t worry about it. Mark is a bit smug but underneath I think he’s sound. Sim clearly thinks the world of him and I’m sure you’ll get used to the idea of sharing. Just like Sim has to share you with me!’

  She laughs then, agreeing with me.

  ‘So,’ I say, shifting the subject on to less controversial ground, ‘Did they get off on their epic ride?’

  ‘Yes. God knows what they find so appealing about riding up hills for hours on end.’

  ‘They are pretty beautiful hills,’ I say. ‘I can see the attraction although I can safely say that I won’t be getting my bike out any time soon.’

  ‘Do you even have a bike?’ she asks.

  ‘Well, no,’ I admit. ‘Right, I need to get on with my mess. If you find yourself at a loose end, then come over and help.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she says. ‘Don’t hold your breath. I’ll ring later.’

  ‘Call yourself my best friend!’ I laugh.

  ‘And, Beth,’ she adds quietly, ‘thank you.’

  I can almost hear a little kiss coming down the line.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I say.

  7

  CARA

  I should have checked with Simeon what time he thought they’d be back. I have no idea how long it takes to ride eighty-four miles on a bike. I don’t know how fast he rides either so I can’t even do a rudimentary calculation. I settle on it being around five hours. The two of them left the house at ten, all kitted out in their Lycra with bananas stuffed into the pockets on their backs. There’ll be a stop for lunch, I imagine, and maybe a couple more to take in the views, although I have no idea if view-observing is something that happens on these long rides. Either way, they’ll be gone a while.

  The day passes slowly. I tidy up from the night before. Then Lily and I go to the shops to pick up a few bits and pieces because the shops are going to be shut for a whole day over the Bank Holiday weekend and we don’t want to accidentally starve to death. I make a casserole for that evening, having decided that slow food is the way to go when dinner is a moveable feast.

  Lily is crotchety. She won’t be put down for long but when I pick her up she won’t sleep and just wriggles in my arms. She feels a little hot and her cheeks are flushed. I try some Calpol but she flails her arms around at precisely the wrong moment and we both end up covered in the sticky pink medicine. I’m tempted to ring Angie just to see what she thinks but then I decide against it. I can’t always go running to her at the first sign of trouble.

  Where is Sim? At this moment I want nothing more in life than to ask him what he thinks might be the matter with our baby. I need a second opinion, reassurance that there is nothing seriously wrong and that this is just an everyday childhood complaint. I’ve not been a mum long enough to tell these things for myself yet and I still lack confidence in my gut instincts.

  But of course, Simeon is out with Mark. My irrational resentment towards him grows a little more. He’s starting to feel a bit like a cuckoo in my nest even though I know I’m being unfair and ridiculous.

  I check myself. The fact that it’s the long Easter weekend with no hope of a doctor’s appointment is probably making me over-anxious. It’s hardly Mark’s fault, I decide grudgingly.

  Then I have a brainwave. A tooth! Lily doesn’t have any teeth yet but perhaps this is the first one trying to stab its way through her soft little gums. This seems both plausible and likely and I immediately feel better. I even have a plastic teething ring waiting in the freezer for this very eventuality. I dig it out, give it a quick anti-bacterial spray and then give it to Lily who puts it straight into her mouth. This seems to offer her some relief and I congratulate myself on my growing maternal instincts.

  Five o’clock comes and goes and there’s no sign of the jolly cyclists. I’ve texted Simeon and rung too but my texts are unread and my call just rings out. I give Lily her bath early just to give me something to do.

  Six o’clock and still nothing. I’m starting to get bored now. I’ve been in all day by myself and I’m tiring of my own company. I could ring Beth again, invite her round. There will be plenty of casserole to go around.

  She answers on the third ring. ‘God save me from tidying. Whoever it was that sai
d each possession should spark joy clearly had a screw loose. There is nothing joyful about a box of old, but not yet finished, toiletries.’

  ‘Then aren’t you supposed to throw them away?’ I ask, grinning at her down the phone.

  ‘And how do you propose that I clean my teeth, or wash my hair?’

  ‘Fair point. Listen, are you busy? The boys still aren’t back from their adventure and I’m bored on my own. I have food!’ I add, hoping to tempt her with the offer of not having to cook.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ she says. ‘I’m not getting changed, though. You’ll have to deal with my decorating tee shirt.’

  ‘You’ve not been decorating as well as sparking joy, have you?’ I ask.

  ‘God no! I thought I might do some when I got dressed but I was obviously being ludicrously over-optimistic. On my way.’

  By the time Beth arrives I have Lily in bed and there’s still no sign of Simeon and Mark. It’s not dark yet, though.

  ‘It looks like Mark isn’t as fit as he made out,’ I say as Beth takes her jacket off and hangs it on the bannister. There is a tiny note of triumph in my voice which Beth raises an eyebrow at but doesn’t comment on.

  ‘They’ve probably stopped for a pint,’ she says. ‘There are loads of country pubs between the Dales and here.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘No. There’s no way that Sim would go to the pub when he was out on his bike. It’s dangerous for one thing and I’m not even sure he’s got any money with him, not much anyway. No. It’ll be Mark not being able to cope with the Yorkshire hills. He’s probably had to get off and push up them all.’

  Beth does grin now.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Softie southerners!’

  ‘Watch it! I’m a southerner, remember?’

  ‘You came here when you were two, Ca. I think you can count yourself northern by now.’

  My stomach growls. Not knowing when they would be back, I haven’t really eaten since breakfast and now I’m ravenous.

  ‘Shall we eat?’ I ask. ‘We could be waiting forever.’

  So, we sit at the kitchen table and I dole out ladlefuls of casserole which we eat with hunks of fresh bread. We chat about what Beth has managed to throw out in her purge (not much), whether I should have bought Lily an Easter egg (I haven’t) and where would be good for a honeymoon with an infant in tow until the light drops and the road is lit only by the sodium-orange glow of the street lamps.

  I’m starting to worry now, my stomach twisting as I go over the possible scenarios in my head. There are no lights on Simeon’s bike and those roads are very dark and narrow.

  ‘Perhaps they took a wrong turning,’ suggests Beth.

  This hadn’t occurred to me and I feel instantly better. That’ll be it. They will have accidentally turned a long ride into an epic journey and will be crawling home using every last ounce of power in their battered legs.

  Then, finally, the doorbell rings.

  ‘This’ll be them,’ I say as the relief spreads through me. I leap up to let them in. I throw open the door, all ready with my teasing comments.

  But it isn’t them.

  There are two policemen on my doorstep.

  8

  ‘Miss Cara Ferensby?’ the older of the two men asks. He has a gentle face, like he should be someone’s favourite uncle and not a policeman. His uniform doesn’t sit well on him either. It’s like he’s in fancy dress and for a second, I wonder whether this is a practical joke that Simeon has set up.

  I nod cautiously.

  ‘Can we come in, please, love?’ the other, younger, man asks.

  I nod again and then lead them into the kitchen. Beth is stacking the dishwasher and she doesn’t turn around when she hears us enter.

  ‘You had us worried then, Simeon,’ she says. ‘We thought you might be dead in a ditch.’

  ‘Beth,’ I say, and something about my tone makes her look up. The younger of the two men seems to recognise her and gives her a tiny nod of his head and she throws him a wide smile in return. Then she realises that there is something very wrong here and her smile drops like a stone.

  ‘I’m sorry to inform you, Miss Ferensby,’ the uncle one says, ‘that there has been an accident.’

  My heart stops beating for a second. An accident. Somewhere deep inside me I’m not surprised. It is the obvious, but unthinkable, explanation for their lateness. Let it be Mark, I think. Let it be Mark.

  ‘I understand that Mr Simeon Blake is your boyfriend.’

  ‘Fiancé,’ I correct, as if it could possibly make any difference.

  ‘I’m afraid that he has been in a collision with a car on the B6160 between Burnsall and Bolton Abbey.’

  I hear the words but I can’t speak. I need to know what has happened but I can’t bear to ask.

  Beth steps in.

  ‘Is he okay?’ she asks.

  ‘He has sustained serious injuries to his head and the left side of his body,’ the policeman says.

  ‘But he’s not dead?’ I ask.

  The younger one of the two shakes his head.

  ‘No, but his condition is serious. We’re to take you to the hospital. Perhaps you could gather some things.’

  ‘But what about Lily? She’s in bed. She’s got a new tooth coming . . .’

  Beth comes and puts her arm round my shoulder. ‘I’ll stay with Lily. You go. Does she need things for her or Simeon?’ she asks the policeman that she seems to know.

  ‘Just her,’ he says. ‘Mr Blake is in intensive care and has everything that he needs for now.’

  Intensive care. The words punch me in the stomach. My beautiful Simeon is in intensive care. In hospital. And I’m not there.

  ‘We need to go,’ I say but Beth steers me towards the door.

  ‘Let’s just get you a toothbrush and a change of clothes. And your phone charger. Where’s that?’

  ‘By the bed,’ I whisper.

  I don’t remember the journey. They take me to the large city hospital rather than the one nearest to us. That is a bad sign in itself. As we fly through the night, the policeman in the passenger seat tries to talk to me, to distract me, I suppose, but I don’t engage. I can’t. All I can do is think about Simeon and what I’m going to find when I get there.

  And then I remember Mark.

  ‘He had a friend with him. Mark,’ I say.

  ‘Yes. He’s at the hospital. He rang the ambulance.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s not hurt,’ says the policeman.

  ‘When did this happen?’ I ask.

  ‘Not sure of the exact timing but I think around seven thirty,’ says the policeman.

  ‘But that’s hours ago. Why didn’t they ring me?’

  ‘Mr Blake’s phone was damaged in the accident and Mr Fisher didn’t have your number.’

  I think of Simeon all on his own without me for hours. Why didn’t Mark just get hold of my number? But then I realise that just as I didn’t know until a few seconds ago that his surname was Fisher, he probably had no idea what I was called. I was just Cara, his mate Simeon’s fiancée.

  ‘And how did it happen?’ I ask, suddenly desperate for details.

  ‘It appears that the car came round a blind bend and Mr Blake was in the middle of the road. The driver wasn’t able to stop in time.’

  ‘But what was he doing in the middle of the road?’ I ask.

  I can’t seem to make any sense of it. Simeon is really careful of his road position, especially where it’s narrow. There’s no way that he would put himself in harm’s way. It makes no sense.

  The policeman shakes his head.

  ‘I’m sorry but that’s all we know at the present time.’

  The journey into Leeds seems to take an eternity, even with the blue lights flashing but finally we reach the Accident and Emergency department and I fly inside without even thinking to thank the policemen. After a garbled conversation at the reception desk they manage to work out what I’m saying and di
rect me to the right place.

  When I get there, Mark is sitting on a chair in a corridor, his head in his hands. He looks out of place in his Lycra and cycling shoes. He is cradling his helmet on his knee.

  ‘Mark!’ I say when I see him. ‘Where is he? What happened? What’s going on?’

  He lifts his head and I can see at once that he’s crying, the tears still wet on his eyelashes. His face is covered in salty streaks from the sweat of the day’s ride but his skin is porcelain white.

  ‘God, Cara. I’m so sorry.’

  But I don’t have time to hear what he’s sorry for because then a nurse is there and takes me to talk to the doctor.

  We’re standing in a little room. The walls are painted a cool blue. It’s a pretty colour, I think, like the sky on a spring morning. The doctor speaks to me in a low voice, her tone concerned. I hear her words but I only register a few of them. Lucky. Coma. CT scan. Brain injury. Helmet. I try and fail to connect them all into something that makes some sense.

  She seems to realise that I’m struggling to keep up with her, so she smiles and starts again.

  ‘Simeon has been hit by a car,’ she says slowly. ‘He is alive, but he has sustained serious injuries, primarily to his head and the left-hand side of his body. We have put him into a medically induced coma whilst we try to control the swelling of his brain. It is too soon to say whether any damage will be permanent. He will have a CT scan and then we will have a better idea of the situation. He has also broken his collar bone, wrist and several ribs. It is good that he was wearing a decent helmet. If he hadn’t been then it is highly likely that he wouldn’t have survived the impact. As it is, we just have to monitor his condition and carry out the scan so that we can see if there are any further internal injuries.’

  It’s so much information that I don’t know where to start with my questions, so I just shoot for the most important one.

  ‘Is he going to die?’

  The gentle smile slips from the doctor’s lips.