The Girl Who Lied. Sue Fortin
dismissed the small beacon of hope with his next thought. Half an hour earlier and one of the doctors might still have been there. Now, though, they would all have gone home. As far as he was aware, neither of the GPs lived in Rossway. It wasn’t as if he could get one of them here to help. There was, of course, Diana Marshall. She used to be the local GP, but he dismissed the idea pretty much straight away as well. She lived on the edge of the village. It would take over ten minutes to get there and back. The ambulance would be here by then. Besides, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have been drinking tonight. From what Roisin had told him in the past, her mother more than liked her sherry.
Eventually, there came the reassuring sound of an engine turning at speed and blue lights bouncing off the walls of the High Street. Kerry ran out to the main road and flagged the ambulance down, pointing to the service road.
With an assured confidence and professionalism, the paramedics examined Jim, wrapped his head with a temporary dressing and manoeuvred him from the ground to the back of the emergency vehicle. It took less than five minutes.
Kerry stood with his arm around Marie’s shoulder as they watched.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Marie asked.
The paramedic pushed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. ‘We need to get him to hospital straight away,’ he said. ‘Are you coming with us?’
‘Oh, but I haven’t locked up,’ said Marie, looking anxiously back up the steps to her flat.
‘Don’t be worrying about that now, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry. ‘Give me the keys. I’ll do it for you.’ He was aware of the undercurrent of urgency and had registered that the paramedic had offered no comment to Marie’s question of Jim’s prognosis.
Marie grappled in her coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. ‘The flat and café keys are all on there.’
Kerry took the bunch. ‘Off you go, now,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to contact Fiona?’
‘Yes please. Tell her to phone Erin too.’
London, England
When the call comes, it strikes me numb with fear. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. Thoughts and emotions are crashing around in my head like bumper cars, bouncing and rebounding, stopping and starting. Confusion reigns.
‘How bad is he?’ A thread of compassion laces Ed’s voice. ‘What exactly did your sister say?’
‘Fiona said it’s serious. He’s in intensive care. Apparently, Dad fell down the steps to the flat and hit his head,’ I reply with a hint of impatience. I was uptight enough that I hadn’t been able to phone Roisin earlier. This is only adding to my agitation. ‘Fiona was in a bit of a fluster when she rang.’ I hit the print button on Ed’s laptop and the image of the document on the screen is sent to the printer.
‘Have you booked a return flight?’ Ed moves behind me as I loom over the printer. He squeezes my shoulders in a reassuring gesture.
‘No, I’ll see how things are first. I need to go and make sure Mum’s all right, really.’ Then more because I feel I ought to, I add, ‘And see how Dad is, of course.’ I silence the voice that also wants to add the need to face Roisin.
‘Okay, I’ll sort out some cover at work.’
‘I’m sure Amber will do my shifts, she’s always saying she needs more hours.’ I take the sheet of paper as it glides out of the printer.
‘Keep me in the loop, though, won’t you? You know what it’s like organising the staff rota.’
Whilst it’s nice being the boss’s girlfriend, it sometimes irritates me that Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa always comes first with Ed.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I say. ‘I’ll have a better idea once I’m there and can speak to the doctors myself.’
There’s a small silence before Ed speaks again.
‘Will you be okay on your own? Do you want me to come with you?’ I can detect an apprehension in his voice. ‘It will be a bit tricky with work, but I could manage a couple of days away, I should think.’
I withhold the sigh that threatens to escape. I know Ed better than he realises. His priority is work and the offer to accompany me is more out of duty than concern. I take care to respond in a conciliatory manner, not wishing to get into an argument.
‘No, it’s okay. Probably best if I go alone.’
‘Are you sure you’re up to it? You were feeling sick earlier.’
‘It was nothing. I’m fine now and I’ll be all right on my own. Thank you, anyway.’
‘Sure? Okay. Look, I’ll organise you a cab home so you can pack and I’ll book another to take you to the airport.’ This time the relief in his voice is very much apparent. ‘I would take you myself but you know what it’s like at work…really busy…I’ve got meetings …’ His voice trails off.
‘Thank you. And don’t worry. I know what it’s like.’ I ignore the fact that Ed actually has the day off tomorrow.
As I climb into the cab, this time I release the sigh unrestricted. Ireland definitely isn’t a place I want to be going. Since moving to England, my visits home have been few and far between. Far too many unhappy memories linger around the coastal village where I grew up. And now I’m being forced to face them. The unease begins to transform into fear.
Once the cab turns the corner, leaving Ed and his apartment behind, I take my phone from my pocket and find the email Roisin sent me. Her number is highlighted blue and I double-tap. After a few seconds the call is connected and I hear the sound of the phone ringing.
The phone goes to voicemail.
‘It’s me…’ I hesitate. I need to be careful what I say. I’m not paranoid, merely cautious. Maybe overly, but it has stood me in good stead all this time and I’m not about to get caught out now. ‘I’m coming over. I’ll ring you again when I’m in Rossway.’
County Cork, Ireland
Looking at my father lying in his hospital bed, crisp white linen and a cellular blanket surrounding him, his face seems to have taken on a grey tinge. He looks older, frailer and smaller, somehow, as if he has suddenly aged without me noticing. His chest rises and falls as he lies motionless in a medically induced coma. He’s hooked up to a ventilator, which wheezes up and down, helping him to breathe as the heart monitor bleeps a steady beat.
‘How is he?’ I ask Mum who, having embraced me, is now settling herself back into the plastic bedside chair.
She puts her forefinger to her lips and whispers, ‘They’re going to give him a brain scan in the morning. They want to see if the swelling will go down first.’ She gives me half a smile, which I suspect is supposed to be reassuring. ‘It’s all right. Your dad’s a fighter. Don’t go getting yourself upset now.’
I turn my gaze away from the ashen look on her face. The guilt weighs me down. Guilt I feel because I cannot summon as much sympathy for my father as I know I should.
Our relationship has always been a strained one, with any feelings of compassion finally quashed ten years ago. I swallow down the anger that always accompanies the memory. This time I am able to meet Mum’s eyes.
‘What exactly happened?’ I fiddle with my necklace. I need to keep my hands busy. Nerves are making them shake.
‘I came out of the café and found your father at the bottom of the steps,’ says Mum. ‘That’s it, really.’ She sniffs and when I look up, she’s fumbling with her sleeve and finally produces a tissue. She dabs her eyes