Never Too Late (17 page)

“The situation when Mr McTavish was brought in was that he had lost a lot of blood in the accident,” he told them. “We’ve been replacing fluids to stabilise him. Luckily, although there is some internal bleeding, it’s not bad. It will be much better all round if we operate tomorrow morning, when we’ll have the full team assembled and his blood alcohol level has been reduced.”

“Alcohol? You mean he was drunk?” Maggie’s voice sounded cold and distant to her own ears.

“Unfortunately it seems to be an increasingly common thing to do – start a pub crawl at lunchtime Friday and extend it into the evening and night.” Dr Singh was disapproving in the extreme and they understood why. Alcohol was the biggest single cause of Friday admissions.

Chloe was uncomfortably aware of how many of her colleagues started the weekend in just such a manner, how often she herself had done so.

Richard spoke up angrily. “Mr McTavish is a respected businessman, not some yob who goes on a pub crawl.”

Dr Singh looked at him coolly. “He was, however, over the limit to drive. His passenger was even worse. If she had been more sober perhaps she may have remembered to put her seat belt on and be alive tonight.”

Maggie felt a cold sweat gathering. “You mean the airbag didn’t stop her hitting the windscreen?”

“She was propelled straight through their windscreen onto the bonnet of the car they’d just hit,” Dr Singh confirmed. “That driver not only has physical injuries, but is extremely traumatised and may never drive again.”

He looked at them one by one, allowing his words to sink in.

“Is he in dreadful pain?” Maggie wanted to know.

“At the moment he is in a coma,” Dr Singh told them. “When he goes to theatre we will need to operate to remove the bone splinters that are pressing onto his brain,” Dr Singh continued. “Also his right tibia smashed up into his knee so that will need reconstructive surgery, but that’s a minor consideration.”

Maggie felt faint at the prospect but gathered her courage to ask, “Can I see him?”

“Very briefly,” Dr Singh agreed. “Then I will need you to sign the consent form for the op.”

Dr Singh took her through to a stark white room that smelled of antiseptic. It was crammed with a plethora of complicated machinery which was closely monitoring the still, sheet covered figure, with oscillating lines on the screens and steady low beepings. There were five nurses and technicians busy around him and she watched a while in silence, deeply shocked at all the tubes in him. He didn’t look anything like her strong, vibrant husband. Iain was capable of taking on the world, so who was this waxen stranger on the trolley, looking so vulnerable?

She took his left hand in both of hers and raised it to kiss his palm, her eyes burningly dry.

Come on, love. You have to fight this battle, just as you have every other, with every ounce of your being. I don’t understand what’s happening, please don’t die, please wake up and tell me it’s all going to be OK. Wake up, dammit! Tell me they’re all wrong, tell me there’s never been anyone else. Tell me you love me.

But it was too late. The buried seed of doubt had been shown the way to the light. She knew she could not stop the tight buds flowering. She gripped his hand more tightly.

We made love and had children together. We’ve raised a family, built a life together. I know you so well, we have to tell them they’re wrong about us. Iain - wake up! Tell them they’re wrong.

Yet still there was a dislocation between her alternative realities.

Or have I never known you at all?

There was no response from him. Maggie gradually became aware of the nurse at her shoulder, patiently waiting to lead her back out of the emergency room, out of their way so that they could continue his treatment.

Back in the relatives’ room Maggie went to the window and stared out at the huge car park. She thought of the woman who had died. She and Iain had been drinking together, but that didn’t mean Chloe and James were right. It could all have been entirely innocent. Chloe may have jumped to the wrong conclusions about her. She might have been just another client. Surely Chloe had to be wrong. Iain wouldn’t have betrayed her trust like that, would he? And James always backed Chloe up. All his life he’d been looking out for his little sister, getting her out of scrapes. He hated violence but would fight for her. He would certainly lie for her too.

She didn’t know this woman, Natasha, yet she felt sorrow for her. No-one deserved to have their life snuffed out in an accident like that. She felt ashamed of, and tried to silence, the other little voice, the devil on her shoulder, saying it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been trying to steal another woman’s husband.

MY husband.

Backwards and forwards, yes or no, guilty or innocent, her thoughts would not be stilled.

Oh dear God, how could it ever got to that stage without me knowing?

No, she chided herself. No more hiding from the truth.

How many others were there?

Her mind raced over all the times Iain was away from home, trying to calculate how many times were for business, how many times may have been for rather more personal matters. Her mind shied away from the word affairs. How many? How had it happened? How had she managed to fail Iain so badly when all she’d ever wanted was to please him?

If her instincts had been right all this time, Natasha would have been the fifth one. Five times there had been that added sparkle in his eyes, that slight abstraction of thought and a sense of almost physical removal from the family.

Admit it; you didn’t say anything because forcing him to choose would probably have meant losing him. A nobody like you can’t compete with these glamorous, sophisticated women he knows and admires.

She felt she was no more than a shadow, falling behind him unobserved and unremarked, while other women had joined him in the brightness of his sunshine. Iain wanted a Margaret, not a Maggie.

“No, oh no!” she whimpered as she slid down into unconsciousness, her mind unable to cope with the thought of the sham of her marriage, of all the years when she hadn’t known any more than he was ‘on site’, as he had been today.

She was unconscious for only a few minutes before coming round to find Dr Singh taking her pulse.

“Just lie there for a while,” he told her. “It’s just the shock. You’ll feel much better in a little while.”

When her colour returned somewhat they sat her in one of the chairs and a nurse brought in a cup of tea for her. Dr Singh suggested they all go and rest until the next morning which, he believed, would be the earliest time that Iain would be operated on. “Don’t rush in either,” he told them. “The operation is likely to take at least 5 hours and then he will be quite a bit longer in recovery before we’ll be able to fully assess his condition. There really is nothing you can do here.”

James followed him into the corridor and asked privately, out of Maggie’s hearing, “You said earlier the bone fragments were the probable cause of the coma.”

Dr Singh agreed that was the case.

“But there could be another cause or causes?”

Dr Singh took James’ elbow to guide him down the corridor and they started to walk together back towards A&E. “Obviously we are closely monitoring the situation but there is always the possibility of a haematoma causing pressure on the brain – he did, after all, have multiple cranial contusions.”

James nodded his understanding. “Or?” he prompted.

“Or it could be the brain shutting down for a while in face of the shock. This is more common in people who are already highly stressed when the accident happens. Was Mr McTavish suffering stress at home or at work?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” James told him. “At least, no more than usual. So when will we know what the situation is, and how long it will take for him to regain consciousness?”

“We know many things in the medical profession, but the workings of the brain remain mostly a mystery.” Dr Singh sighed. “If you are a religious man I’d suggest you pray, for it is really up to God what happens from this point on.”

*

They booked into a hotel for the night, purchasing their necessities at reception. Maggie’s laugh was shaky as she told Richard off for not making her pack bags for them all instead of just Iain, the one person who didn’t yet need it.

“Here, drink this.” He forced Maggie to take the brandy balloon he held. “I’m just going to phone Joanne and Keela – let them know the situation. Come on now – it’s medicinal and I want to see it all drunk by the time I get off the phone,” he said, his voice mock stern.

“Dear Richard,” she said and put her hand to the side of his face. “You’re so like Iain in many ways, so capable and decisive. Thank you for looking after me.”

He plumped the pillows behind her then went out with his mobile in his hand with a final admonishment to her to “Drink!” as he got to the door.

James and Chloe were in the small lounge and he could see from their faces they had been arguing. He wasn’t surprised as their feelings about their father had been very disparate for many years. He himself felt ambivalent about Margaret’s pride in her husband. There were many qualities Iain had in abundance that he admired unreservedly, but as for cheating on Margaret, as he had been doing for so long, well that was unforgivable. Margaret was quite a remarkable woman but was her soul big enough to find forgiveness for the unforgivable?

“Will one of you sit with your mother while I make some calls?” he suggested on his way outside.

“Of course,” James jumped to his feet and glared at Chloe before rushing to Maggie’s room.

Richard intended to have one of his very occasional cigarettes while he phoned. He felt he’d earned it – no,
needed
it, he admitted. It didn’t matter he’d all but quit, the demon would live with him until he died.

Chloe sat and nursed her scotch. She would have changed her expression if she’d realised how unbecoming her pout was. She watched Richard slowly pacing outside the reception door. His jacket fit superbly over broad shoulders. She liked tall men, athletic men. She liked men who were confident in themselves and knew how to take command. That slight wave in his hair looked so familiar somehow…

When Richard returned to the lounge Chloe stood up, slightly unsteadily. “Bedtime I think,” she said.

He tipped her chin up. “He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Don’t look so tragic.”

To Chloe’s consternation the tears started to stream down her face. “It’s all such a mess,” she hiccupped. “Whatever are we going to do?”

Richard pulled her against him and she cried with her head on his chest, soaking his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind, just stroked her hair and her back, murmuring soothing nothings and gently rocking her like a baby. Chloe heaved a big sigh and gave herself up to the security of his arms. His warm masculine aroma surrounded her and she knew she was safe.

He took out his handkerchief and mopped her eyes. “Come along, now,” he urged her. “You need to sleep. It could be a long day tomorrow.”

He led her to their adjoining bedrooms and opened her door for her. She clasped his hand. “Please, Richard, come and sit with me, just until I fall asleep.” She looked like a little girl, her eyes huge and dark, begging for comfort. He could imagine her clutching a teddy and sucking her thumb, and smiled.

“No, Chloe, that’s not a good idea.” He gently turned her round and pushed her in. “Go on. You’re a big girl now.”

Yes, he thought, a stunningly beautiful big girl, a young woman who unfortunately had still not reached emotional maturity, and he could do without the complications in his life that Iain had fallen prey to, much as he’d appreciated the feel of her curves and softness against him.

*

At breakfast the following morning Maggie looked pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes. Most of the night she had lain awake thinking about the last few years of her life with Iain.

She picked at her croissant but ate very little of it, leaving a devastation of crumbs on her plate. She looked at the three of them and saw in their eyes the truth she had tried to deny. Her husband had been with his lover when they had the accident and the only person who didn’t know about his lovers was herself.

She cleared her throat with difficulty and spoke quietly. “Yesterday I thought it was all just a huge mistake. But I couldn’t sleep last night,” she told them, her grey eyes haunted as she looked up from her plate at them. “I’ve been thinking it all through and it doesn’t matter how much I want to deny it, it’s all true isn’t it?” She glared at them, outrage and anger battling with heart wrenching pain and grief. “Why?” she demanded. “Why did none of you tell me? Why did I have to find out like this that Iain has been unfaithful for so long?”

Chloe jumped to defend herself. “I tried Mummy, but you wouldn’t take a hint and it’s just not something you can blurt out is it? ‘Hi Mum, had a great week at work and by the way Daddy’s taken a new mistress.’”

Maggie flinched as from a blow. “The only hints you gave, as I recall, and those so vague I fail to comprehend how you expected me to understand you, were a couple of weeks ago about Natasha.” She winced as she forced herself to say the name. “Yet you say ‘new’ mistress, so I assume I’m correct in thinking he had others previously.” Her eyes were cold and accusing and bright spots of colour appeared on Chloe’s cheeks. “What’s up? Was she the only one you didn’t like?”

“Mum,” James pleaded. “This isn’t helping at the moment.”

Maggie turned to him. “You knew too!” she accused him. “And you, Richard. I thought you were my friend as well as Iain’s employee. How many lies have you told me for him?”

“Maggie, I have never lied to you except by omission.”

“And that’s supposed to make it all right is it?” she nearly shouted.

“Shush Mum!” James was acutely embarrassed by the looks they were getting from other diners.

She stood up and slowly looked from one to the other of them. “I have never felt so alone in all my life. You’re not the people I thought you were at all.” She left the dining room with her head high.