Fractured (32 page)

But, as ever, his patient persistence was hard to resist. ‘There is nothing there, Rachel. Come and see.’

It wasn’t a long walk to the cemetery, but it was long enough for me to conjure up all manner of horrible outcomes. The one that fought for supremacy, and won by a mile, was what if I got to the plot and actually found his grave there? Would I then turn to look at the man beside me and find him gone? A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the weather. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect Christmas ghost story?

The idea that each step over the crunchy turf of the cemetery was leading me into peril was impossible to ignore.

‘Where was it?’ Jimmy asked softly; possibly the only person in the world to ask someone for directions to his own grave.

‘Over there,’ I indicated, pointing with a finger that visibly trembled. ‘Beyond that group of headstones.’

He led me gently but determinedly in the direction I had identified. I caught familiar inscriptions from the surrounding tombstones as we passed. I shouldn’t know what they said, but I remembered each one vividly:
Dearest husband
,
Beloved grandmother
,
Much loved father
.

My feet were leaden as I walked to the spot where the man I loved had been laid to rest, after giving up his life to save mine.

Jimmy’s hand was firmly gripping mine as I haltingly looked up. For a moment I could see it; I really could, the sparkling white marble tombstone was for an instant so real I felt I could almost reach out and touch it. I blinked my eyes and then saw nothing but an empty area of undisturbed grass.

‘So it was here,’ Jimmy said, his voice strangely humbled.

I nodded, closer to tears than I had realised, as suddenly all the pain of that night threatened to overcome me.

‘The inscription was so sad,’ I whispered. ‘“Lost too soon at 18 years. Cherished son and loyal friend. Our love for you will live on for ever.”’

I hadn’t realised the words had etched themselves into my mind every bit as much as they had been engraved in the marble.

‘It was awful, I felt like my heart was breaking, standing there, missing you, loving you… I just sort of dropped to the ground beside you.’

He moved swiftly then close to me, and for a bizarre moment I thought he was re-enacting my memories by falling to his knees, just as I had done. And then I realised it wasn’t
both
knees he was on… but
one
.

He still had hold of my hand.

Snow fell around us in magical swirls. There was a look on his face that I knew would remain with me until the end of time.

‘Rachel,’ he began, his voice not entirely steady.

‘Oh my God,’ I breathed.

‘Will you marry me?’

The remembered horror of the location disintegrated under the power of his love. The force of his feelings pulling me back from the dangerous memories. Saving me all over again.

‘I can’t believe,’ I began, my voice a mixture of laughter and tears, ‘that someday I’ll be telling our grandchildren that their grandfather actually proposed to me in a cemetery!’

If there had been even the tiniest glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, my words removed it in an instant.

‘Is that a yes?’

I got down on the frozen ground before him, and whispered softly against his lips.

‘Oh yes.’

Six Weeks Later

I descended the stairs slowly and carefully, holding up the hem of my long ivory-coloured dress.

My father was waiting at the bottom tread, trying very hard to hold on to his smile.

As his hand reached out to take mine, a single tear escaped his eye and trickled like a lost diamond down his cheek.

‘Your mum should be here to see this. She would be so proud of you.’

I reached up to kiss him, breathing in the familiar clean smell of his aftershave.

‘Hush now, Dad, you’ll make me cry and undo all of Sarah’s hard work.’

I looked around the hall and living room; from upstairs it had sounded as though there had to be at least a hundred people here.

‘Has everyone left already?’

His glance swept the empty house.

‘They have, my love. It’s just you and me. The car is waiting outside.’

I drew in a steadying sigh. It was time.

‘Nervous?’ questioned my father, handing me my bouquet of deep red roses that the florist had delivered.

I shook my head with a smile. ‘Just excited.’

He took my hand again and led me towards the front door.

‘Time to go, Rachel.’

The six-week engagement had been swallowed up by wedding preparations. I guess there would be some curious glances at my waistline today to see if that would explain our unseemly haste. They would be wrong, of course, but if challenged it was an easier explanation to give than the truth. How would they react if they had heard the conversation between Jimmy and myself on this matter?

‘I don’t want to wait,’ he had confessed, only a few days after Christmas. ‘I’ve already waited far too long for you.’

His words had filled me with a warm glow, but I still had a major concern.

‘I know you think I’m talking nonsense here,’ I began, ‘but let me just say this once and then I promise never to speak of it again.’

He gave a small nod. I suppose he guessed what I was going to say.

‘This thing that happened to me… whatever it was… I think it started when I hurt my head in that car accident, and then got totally crazy after I was mugged and got injured again…’

‘Go on,’ he urged, as I frowned, struggling to formulate what I was trying to say.

‘What if something happens to me again? What if I somehow
go back
? What if something happens and everything changes again?’

He pulled me to him then, kissing me slowly and thoroughly as though to chase the ridiculous notion away.

‘Nothing like that is going to happen,’ he promised. ‘You’re not going anywhere, not without me. I won’t let you.’ It was a beautiful declaration but he could see I was still troubled.

‘There are no guarantees about anything in life, Rachel. Accidents and illnesses happen, we can’t do anything about that. My job can be dangerous sometimes, and God knows you can get into serious trouble just getting out of bed! But we can’t let it rule our lives.’

He was right. Hadn’t the last two months taught me how important it was to grasp onto any chance at happiness and hang on to it for dear life?

‘Although to be on the safe side, I may just get you a hard hat for a wedding present.’

‘That’ll look nice with a veil!’

‘What
I’m
more worried about,’ he said in a different tone, ‘is what might happen if your memory
does
suddenly come back and you wake up and find yourself married to the wrong man. What if you realise it was Matt you really wanted to be with?’

There was a vulnerability in his eyes I don’t think I had ever seen before.

‘So the amnesia is cured but for some reason I’m going to go completely stupid?’

He tried a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I guess we’re both worrying about something so ludicrous it’s never going to happen.’

The long silver car, decorated with white ribbons, was waiting by the kerb. Some neighbours were watching from their front doors and gardens as my father and I emerged from the house. From somewhere nearby a small child cried out in delight, and someone started to clap, which rippled around the street.

In the back seat of the car, my father reached up to brush away a long strand of hair which had blown across my face.

‘My beautiful daughter,’ he said with a smile, as the car pulled away from the house and began the short journey to the church.

The nurse made very little noise as she entered the small side room. Nevertheless her entry startled the man seated beside the bed. He looked up in concern but seeing she was alone he relaxed a little.

‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked kindly, her hands busy straightening the bed covers that never needed tidying at all.

‘No thank you,’ he replied politely.

She looked down on him sympathetically. He looked so frail and weak, as though
he
should be the one occupying the bed. He hadn’t missed a single day, holding vigil by her bedside. They said he wasn’t even going for his own treatments any more. It was so heartbreaking for the nursing staff to see. They all felt so utterly useless.

She crossed over to the column of machinery located beside the bed, her hand reaching for a dial.

‘I’ll turn this down for you, shall I? It can be a bit irritating.’

‘No, please don’t,’ pleaded the man brokenly. ‘I like to hear it. The louder the better. It proves to me she’s still with us.’

The nurse swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, but did as he requested and turned the dial up instead of down.

The sound of the loud persistent beeping of the life support alarm filled the room.

The car swept up to the entrance of the church. Waiting by the lich-gate was Sarah, resplendent in her deep red maid of honour dress. My dad offered me his hand as I climbed from the car. Sarah immediately swooped in and began to busy herself straightening out non-existent creases from my dress. I looked down at my old friend, busy at my feet, a question in my eyes.

She reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘Of course he’s here.’

I gave a small smile of pure relief.

‘He’s waited his whole life for this moment, Rachel. Where else would he be?’

The nurse left them alone, understanding the man wanted every last precious moment of privacy. He looked down lovingly on his beloved daughter lying immobile in her hospital bed. He didn’t see the tubes and pipes linking her to the machine keeping her alive. He just saw his only child, lying lost in a sleep so deep she couldn’t wake up.

‘Daddy’s here,’ he murmured softly, as tears fell once again down his cheeks.

He reached out to touch her face, scarcely noticing the old white forked-lightning scar that ran from forehead to cheek. With trembling fingers he reached up to brush away a long strand of hair which had fallen across her face.

‘My beautiful daughter,’ he cried brokenly.

The nurse gave a discreet knock upon the door before entering this time.

‘I just wanted to let you know that Dr Whittaker has just arrived. He’ll be here in about ten minutes or so.’

‘So soon?’ asked the man in panic.

It was all happening so fast, there was so little time left.

Alone in the room once more he reached out for the small bottle he kept in the drawer of her nightstand. His fingers shook as he tried to undo the stopper and several drops fell upon the pillow beside her. He dabbed some of the distinctive aftershave upon his hollow cheeks.

They’d told him a long time ago that she might still be able to hear and smell things, even from the depths of her coma. So he wore it always when he was here, hoping somehow the old and familiar fragrance could pierce through the veil and let her know that he was here with her. That she wasn’t alone.

‘You’ve been so brave, my love,’ he whispered close to her face. ‘I know you don’t want to leave me alone. But I’ll be all right.’ He broke off then as the tears choked his words.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ he continued as the door handle turned and quietly the small room began to fill with people.

We paused by the lobby of the church. From behind the wooden doors we could hear that a hush had fallen from within. The guests were waiting, necks craned towards the doorway for our arrival. Sarah fell into place behind me as my father took my arm and linked it with his. He leaned over and kissed my cheek, his aftershave and the fragrance from my bouquet intermingling in an intoxicating aroma.

‘I’m so very proud of you.’

‘I love you, Dad,’ I told him, bringing the gossamer veil down over my face.

From inside the church the organ began a familiar strain. It was our cue. The doors swung open and we began our procession up the aisle.

I knew every eye was on me as we walked, but I saw no one. Just him. He was standing at the altar, his body turned towards me, waiting, as he had been for so long, like a prince in a fairy tale. His eyes were so full of love that it took my breath away.

I wanted to fly to his side; felt almost propelled there by a swell of love from the small assembly of family and friends. Of course I was glad they were here to be part of this day with us, but the only people that really mattered were those standing beside and behind me, as I came to a halt next to the man I would share the rest of my days with.

Dr Whittaker entered the room with two other doctors he had never seen before. The nurse slipped into the room behind them.

‘Good morning, Mr Wiltshire.’

The man had no voice to reply, just looked up at the doctor with red-rimmed eyes awash with misery.

The doctor approached the man and put his hand comfortingly upon his shoulder. From outside an ambulance siren sounded, a continual noise that the man scarcely noticed any more.

‘You understand what we are doing today, Mr Wiltshire? Tony?’

The man looked up at the doctor in despair.

‘And you’re really sure? There are no signs at all? Nothing?’

The doctor shook his head sadly. He turned to one of his colleagues and spoke in a low voice.

‘Is the paperwork all in order?’

The other doctor gave a single nod.

‘It’s just that sometimes I think she can hear what’s going on,’ the man burst out. ‘And occasionally I feel sure she knows I’m here. I think she can smell my aftershave…’

Dr Whittaker shook his head sadly. He had heard this from so many other distraught families, who wanted so desperately to have hope when all hope was gone.