The Black Path (24 page)

‘See you tomorrow, Owen,’ Siân pipes up as they leave the room. ‘Sweet dreams.’

It isn’t until they’ve left the trauma ward and are halfway along the corridor that Helen has a realization. In all the time that Siân had been talking to Owen, she hadn’t introduced herself. She hadn’t given her name. Not once. It was if she somehow expected him to know who she was. It was if they’d already met.

‘Siân?’ Helen begins.

She’s interrupted by someone calling her name. ‘Mrs McGrath!’

Turning, she sees Sue Blackwell pursuing her along the corridor. ‘Mrs McGrath, come quickly!’

Helen feels her stomach lurch. ‘What is it? Has something happened?’

‘It’s your husband. I think he’s waking up.’

‘See!’ Siân smiles triumphantly. ‘I told you talking to him would help!’

Helen doesn’t respond. They rush back to the ward. Mister Croft is already there. A nurse is checking the readings on the monitors. As she moves away, Owen sits bolt upright in bed – his eyes wild, his face contorted with panic. He screams. ‘Man down! Man down!’

‘Owen!’ Helen cries. ‘You’re awake!’

She steps towards the bed but the nurse blocks her way. ‘Give him room, please!’

Owen stares at the man in the lab coat. ‘It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!’

‘What does he mean?’ Helen asks.

‘He’s in shock,’ the nurse replies. ‘Stand aside, please.’

Helen does as she is told.

The doctor’s voice is firm. ‘Owen, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re in the military hospital in Birmingham. Your left arm is broken, but apart from that you’re fine –’

‘And the others?’

‘I can’t say, I’m afraid.’

‘The boy?’

‘He means Collins,’ Siân says.

Collins
, thinks Helen.
Who the hell is Collins
?

She wonders if it’s the lad killed in the explosion, wonders why Siân didn’t mention his name before.

‘Yes, Collins,’ Owen says. ‘Where’s Collins?’

Mister Croft turns to the nurse and gives a nod. ‘We’re going to give you a sedative, Owen. Nothing too strong. Just something to help you to relax.’

The nurse busies herself with one of the drips.

‘What are you doing?’ Helen asks.

‘It’s just a mild barbiturate,’ the doctor replies. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’ He turns his attention back to Owen. ‘You’ll feel better in a few minutes. Get some rest and we can talk again in the morning.’

This seems to satisfy him for the moment. He lies back on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.

As the nurse moves away, Helen walks over to the bed. ‘Owen, thank God you’re okay!’ She reaches out to touch his hand.

He flinches and turns to look at her. His eyes are wide and blank. A frown forms on his face. ‘Do I know you?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

‘He didn’t even know who I was,’ Helen sobs. ‘How could he not recognize me?’

‘Ssh!’ Siân slips a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘You heard what the doctor said. He’s in shock.’

It’s almost eight-thirty and they’re in the back seat of a taxi, heading towards the hotel. Helen’s first instinct was to spend the night at the hospital in case there was any change in Owen’s condition, but Siân managed to convince her that what she really needed was a good night’s sleep. ‘You look exhausted,’ she said as they left the hospital. Then, with a cheeky grin, ‘It’s no wonder he didn’t recognize you!’

‘But I’m his wife,’ Helen says now. ‘Supposing he doesn’t remember we’re married?’

‘Of course he will.’

‘What if he doesn’t love me anymore? You hear about that, don’t you? People waking up from a coma and falling in love with someone else.’

‘That only happens in soap operas,’ Siân says.

‘No, it doesn’t. It happens in real life, too. I don’t know what I’d do if he stopped loving me.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous. That’s not going to happen.’

‘How would you know? You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve never been married. You said you’d never had a serious relationship.’

Siân removes her arm and smiles tightly. ‘Things will look better in the morning. They always do.’

‘Do they? Or is that just something people say to console themselves?’

Siân doesn’t answer. Miserably, Helen turns her head and stares out of the window. The lights from oncoming cars flash past the glass, illuminating the inside of the cab and making her fears seem more real somehow.

‘What if he never remembers me?’

‘He will.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Trust me.’

‘So you’re a doctor now, are you?’

‘You need to calm down a bit,’ Siân says. ‘Working yourself up like this isn’t helping anyone.’ She arches an eyebrow. ‘You don’t want me to slap you, do you? Cos I will if I have to. A good slap works wonders with hysterical women.’

Helen meets her gaze, then realizes she’s joking. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.’

‘Forget it. No harm done. Just remember to breathe, okay?’

They drive on in silence, through a series of underpasses and past building works and The Bullring shopping centre. Buses clog the city streets, which are filled with late-night shoppers.

‘Remind me I need to go to The Bullring,’ Siân says. ‘I could do with some new clothes. We could get something for you, too. Cheer you up a bit.’

Helen holds her tongue. She doesn’t need cheering up. She needs to know that Owen is going to make a full recovery. Nothing else matters. Gazing out of the window, she spots a couple dining outside a busy restaurant. They look so happy together. Will she and Owen ever experience that feeling again? She knows how fragile life can be. Happiness can be snatched away in an instant. A life can be snuffed out.

She turns to Siân. ‘Who’s Collins?’

‘Was,’ Siân replies. ‘Past tense. He’s dead, remember?’

‘Yes, but who was he?’

‘Some young private. He served with Owen. They were quite friendly, apparently. But what does it matter?’

It matters to Owen
, Helen thinks.
He woke up asking for him
.

‘Try not to think about it,’ Siân says. ‘You’ll only make it harder on yourself.’

‘But Owen never mentioned anyone called Collins. In his letters, I mean. Not once.’

The corners of Siân’s mouth twitch impatiently. ‘Do you honestly think that he always tells you everything?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He’s my husband.’

‘Men don’t always tell their wives everything, do they? Especially when they’re away from home.’

‘I’m not talking about some men,’ Helen says. ‘I’m talking about Owen. I think I know my own husband.’

But does she? She thinks of all the weeks and months that she and Owen had spent apart. He’d always been so attentive, even when he was thousands of miles away. Barely a day went by when he didn’t contact her. There were letters, emails, phone calls. Until recently. Had something happened to him in Afghanistan? What hadn’t he told her?

‘All men keep secrets,’ Siân says. ‘And Owen’s a soldier, is he? They’re trained to keep their mouths shut.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It’s a dirty job. Do you really want to hear all the gory details? I know I wouldn’t.’

Helen casts her mind back to the time after Owen returned from Iraq, the nights he’d spent tossing and turning in his sleep, the sudden cries in the dark, the sheets soaked with sweat. She’d known then that something was bothering him, that he was reliving some unspeakable horror in his dreams. She’d pushed him a couple of times, but he refused to talk about it. ‘What’s the point?’ he’d say. ‘What difference will it make?’

It would have made a lot of difference to her at the time, knowing that he trusted her enough to share his nightmares, the way she’d shared hers. In the days that followed what should have been a happy reunion, his silence settled between them like a dark cloud. It wasn’t until he finally broke down and told her about the dead boy that she saw any hope for the future. The bitter irony wasn’t lost on her. Her husband had killed someone, but at least he wasn’t pushing her away.

‘Are you okay?’ asks Siân.

‘I’m fine,’ Helen lies.

‘You’re not still thinking about that Collins guy, are you?’

I am now
, Helen thinks. Why has Owen never mentioned him? Is it because they’d witnessed some horror of war together – something so terrible, he couldn’t bring himself to share it with her? Is it worse than what happened in Iraq? How much worse could it be?

Siân leans over and pats her hand. ‘Try not to think about it. The important thing is that Owen’s alive and he’s making progress. He’ll remember you soon enough, you’ll see. You just focus on staying strong. And get plenty of rest. You look like you could use it.’

She unzips one of the pockets of her red bag, reaches in and takes out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ Helen says.

‘I don’t. Not really. Just every now and then.’

The cab driver glances back over his shoulder. ‘No smoking in the car.’

Alright, Osama,’ Siân snaps. ‘Keep your hair on.’

Helen squirms. The driver is Asian, no older than thirty, with kind eyes and a neat little goatee beard. He bears no resemblance to Osama bin Laden.

‘I thought you were dead, mate,’ Siân says. She smiles at Helen and rolls her eyes. ‘Just goes to show, you can’t trust everything you see in the news.’

The driver sighs. ‘My name is not Osama.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘I’m from Edgbaston.’

‘Yeah, but where are your family from?’

‘Edgbaston.’

‘We’ve got a right comedian here.’ Siân nudges Helen with her elbow.

Embarrassed, Helen edges further over in the seat, until her face is practically pressed against the window.

Please stop it
, she thinks.

‘I need a cashpoint,’ Siân announces loudly. ‘They have cashpoints round here, don’t they Osama?’

The driver takes a deep breath before answering. ‘Yes, we have cashpoints.’

‘Then take me to the nearest one. I’m sure you know where it is. Since you’re from Edgbaston.’

The taxi comes to a sudden stop at a set of traffic lights. Helen lurches forward, nearly falling off her seat.

‘Careful, Osama!’ Siân snaps. She turns to Helen. ‘I told you to put your seatbelt on.

Obediently, Helen buckles up. The lights change and the taxi moves forward. They’ve barely gone a hundred yards when the driver pulls over. ‘The cash machine is there,’ he says, without looking at Siân. ‘Your friend can wait in the car.’

‘What’s the matter? Afraid we’ll do a runner?’

‘It’s okay,’ Helen says quickly. ‘I’d rather wait anyway.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Siân leaps out and leans through the driver’s open window. ‘No funny business now, Osama. She’s a married woman!’

Helen’s face burns with embarrassment. She wants to say something but she’s afraid it will only make matters worse. An awkward silence settles in the car. Nervously, she coughs. The driver catches her eye in the rear-view mirror. He has such a kind face that she feels a sudden urge to apologize on Siân’s behalf.

‘I’m sorry about my friend. I don’t know what gets into her sometimes.’

Before the driver can respond, there’s a knock on the passenger window and Siân is back.

‘That was quick,’ Helen says.

‘I didn’t want to hang about.’ Siân climbs into the car and slams the door. ‘There’s all sorts out there.’

She smiles conspiratorially, ensuring that her choice of words doesn’t go unnoticed.

Don’t include me in this
, Helen thinks.
I don’t share your views
.

But she doesn’t say anything, and her failure to speak up fills her with shame.

They haven’t gone far when Siân leans forward in her seat and taps the driver on the shoulder. ‘See that pub just ahead on the left? Pull in over there.’

The pub is large, sandwiched between two office buildings. There’s a small forecourt with a few parked cars and a huddle of people out front smoking.

‘Why are we stopping?’ Helen asks.

‘Why do you think?’ Siân grins as she takes out a crisp twenty-pound note and hands it to the driver. ‘I fancy a drink. And the bar at the hotel is full of creepy old businessmen.’

Helen unfastens her seatbelt.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ asks Siân.

‘I thought we were going for a drink?’

‘
I’m
going for a drink. You’ll only cramp my style. Go back to the hotel and get some beauty sleep. You look like you could use it.’

Helen flinches. ‘Thanks!’

‘Thank me when you wake up tomorrow looking five years younger. Don’t wait up. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Siân turns back to the driver. ‘That’s twenty quid I gave you, and it’s only eight quid on the meter. Just make sure she gets back safe and sound.’ She winks. ‘That’s precious cargo you’re carrying.’

And then she’s off.

Helen watches her hurry across the forecourt and disappear into the pub. She doesn’t look back once.

‘Your friend is very rude,’ the driver says.

‘I’m sorry.’

He turns around in his seat. ‘Are you sure you want me to keep driving?’

She thinks for a moment. ‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘I’m getting out here.’

The driver nods and begins counting out her change.

‘No,’ Helen says. ‘Keep it. Please.’

Gingerly, she steps out of the car.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

As she watches the taxi pull away, Helen begins to doubt the wisdom of her decision. Siân couldn’t have made it any clearer that she wants to be left alone. So what is she doing, running after her like some annoying kid sister, poking her nose in where it’s not wanted? The poor woman has probably had enough of her emotional demands for one day and needs some time to unwind. She’s entitled to that much, surely?

Perhaps, but Siân’s behaviour was strange, to say the least. Why all those coded words and knowing looks in the back of the cab? The way she spoke to the driver was unbearable, and she seemed to know more about this lad Collins than she was letting on.

But what bothers Helen most is that her friend would choose to abandon her at a time like this. Yes, she was a little hysterical – but given the circumstances, surely that’s only to be expected? And yes, she probably could do with an early night. But she really doesn’t want to be alone right now. She wants company, and since Siân is the only person she really knows in this strange city, she isn’t left with a lot of options.