The Love of a Family Page 12

  Chapter 9

  The police rang Graham at his office because Myra was incoherent, so he was at the hospital almost as soon as the ambulance taking Myra and Piers. She saw him arrive and tell the A&E desk that he had a message telling him a family member had been brought in after a traffic accident. The receptionist pointed at Myra and he turned to look at her. Words could not describe the anguish in his face. Myra felt the same, she was horrified by what she’d done.

  ‘Myra! What was he doing out of school, had he run away?’

  ‘No.’ Myra sobbed out the whole story alternately crying and sniffing, standing aloof, untouchable in her guilt. ‘It’s all my fault. Whatever shall we do? I knew I wasn’t up to the task.’

  ‘Is he OK? Where is he hurt?’

  ‘They’re examining him now. He’s hurt all over. Somehow he got thrown on the bonnet of the car and then he fell on the road. The driver must have had good brakes because she didn’t run over him. Oh Graham, the screams! It was terrible.’

  Graham’s Adam’s apple bobbed furiously up and down as he tried to swallow. ‘You don’t mean . . . Piers’ . . . screams? Do you?’

  ‘No, the driver’s. He was completely silent.’

  ‘He’s not unconscious . . . is he?’

  ‘No, he’s been talking to me and . . .’

  A nurse came. ‘Mrs Butler?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ve examined Piers and the doctor would like a word.’ To Myra the doctor appeared fresh out of primary school, never mind medical school.

  ‘Your son is very lucky. He’s broken his right arm, it appears to have taken most of the shock when he fell back on to the road. It’s a tricky break, we think it will need an operation. As for the rest, general severe bruising especially round his rib cage, but no cracked ribs by the looks of it. He has a bad bruise on his head too which is coming out now rather spectacularly, but all told nothing that a good rest and lots of TLC won’t put right. We reckon he must be made of rubber, full of bounce you know. So he’ll be staying here tonight and we’ll operate first thing tomorrow morning. He’s still in shock, we’d rather wait till he’s feeling better. You can go see him now, but we’ve given him a sedative to ease the pain so he’ll be feeling sleepy.’

  Myra thanked him profusely. ‘We’re so grateful, doctor, thank you very much.’

  ‘Grand little chap, he’s a credit to you. So brave.’

  When they walked towards Piers’ bedside Myra thought she would die. The two of them stood either side of him tenderly looking down at him. The doctor was right: he was sleepy and didn’t seem to realise they were there.

  Graham touched his shoulder. ‘Piers? We’re here now.’

  Mercifully, to their relief, Piers opened those wonderful blue eyes of his and smiled. ‘Hello, Dad. Thanks for coming. I’m going to sleep. I hurt.’

  ‘You must I’m sure,’ Graham didn’t miss a beat despite Piers’ slip of the tongue. ‘But the doctor’s well pleased with you.’

  Piers nodded.

  ‘Myra’s here, too.’

  ‘OK.’ Long pause. ‘Don’t leave me will you, Myra?’

  Myra couldn’t believe that he wanted her to stay. The pleasure of his words flooded over her like a vast gush of hot water, enfolding her, succouring her. It washed away the paralysing guilt. She’d never felt so needed. All these years doing anything she could to avoid hospitals, and now within weeks she’d not only been a patient again herself, but was volunteering to stay in with this brave little lad. ‘Goes without saying, Piers, of course I won’t leave you.’

  She took hold of his good hand to reassure him as his eyes shut again. She turned back to Graham.

  ‘There’s Oliver to think about, too. We mustn’t forget him. He’ll be home soon.’

  ‘Look, if you’re staying . . . you are, are you?’

  Myra nodded emphatically.

  ‘I’ll ring the office, go home, wait for Oliver and explain it all to him, then I’ll arrange things with Viv, get you some overnight things, see Oliver gets fed and has got her to keep an eye on him. Then I’ll pop back to check on the two of you here, but I won’t stay long. I’ll need to be at home with Oliver tonight, he’ll be feeling bad when he hears.’

  ‘He might want to see him.’

  ‘Ah, of course. Yes, he’ll be too sleepy for more visitors tonight but we’ll make sure he can see him as soon as possible tomorrow. Take care, ring me if needs be.’

  Graham turned and spoke to Piers, who nodded vaguely, then Graham kissed his cheek, which appeared to be the only exposed bit of him not bruised, and then kissed Myra’s cheek and she kissed him back somewhere round about his ear, so grateful that despite her acknowledging total responsibility for Piers’ injuries, Graham had not questioned her further or uttered one word of accusation.

  She sat the entire night beside Piers’ bed. Occasionally he woke to find her still holding his hand and he squeezed hers as though saying thank you. Dawn broke with Myra still waiting with him, having eaten nothing, drunk nothing, nor moved one inch away from his bedside. Myriad thoughts had filled her mind, a great kaleidoscope of images. About what, she didn’t really know, what she did know was that something had changed. She was too tired to work out what had shifted, but she felt different. Throughout the night nurses and doctors had come and gone, easing Pier’s pain with tablets, giving him sips of water to freshen his mouth, asking her if she perhaps ought to go home, and all through the night Myra didn’t let on that Piers wasn’t their son. Of course it said it on the paperwork when they’d been admitted, but she found she was happy to let anyone new assume they were mother and child.

  There were voices outside, the door opened and in walked Oliver and Graham. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so glad to see Graham, but she knew this was Oliver’s moment.

  ‘Oliver! Come up close to the bed and speak to him, he was talking a moment ago.’

  But Oliver couldn’t. He was afraid he’d make a complete fool of himself by bursting into tears, and in any case the horror he felt at seeing Piers bundled up in bed with that awful rainbow bruising on his forehead and his face, and his arm strapped up, was more than he could bear. He shook his head and declined without even opening his mouth. He thought about his little brother dying in the car accident like their mother did and he couldn’t think what on earth he would do. It was all too much.

  ‘He won’t bite you know. Come on.’

  But Oliver was having none of it, and Myra couldn’t understand.

  Graham interrupted the awkward moment by suggesting she went home and showered and had a rest while he and Oliver stayed. She was reluctant to leave.

  ‘I want to be here when he comes back from the operation. In any case, I can’t get home, there’s no bus for ages. I’ll have to stay.’

  ‘There are plenty of taxis, just go. You need a break. Plus I saw Viv last night and she said she’d pop in, too. I’ve switched my phone off, so leave me a message if you need me and I’ll ring you to let you know when he goes in to surgery.’ He handed her two twenty-pound notes and opened the door for her. ‘Come back the same way, by taxi, when you’re ready, but there’s no rush.’

  He almost reached out a hand towards her in sympathy, but changed his mind and withdrew it. ‘Take your time.’

  Myra stalked like an automaton out towards the taxi rank, gave her address and sat frozen clutching her bag, hating herself. To make up for what she had done she’d have to . . . well, she didn’t know what she’d have to do. Be kinder? More understanding? Get back to the hospital as soon as possible? Well, that would be a start. But she couldn’t let things slip at home, either. First, get meat out of the freezer for Graham and Oliver ready for tonight. Scrape some potatoes, clean some vegetables . . . they could have ice cream to finish that would be easier.

  She was so deep in thought she hadn’t realised the driver was holding the door open for her. ‘Are you OK?’

  Myra nodded and gave him a big tip which she
would never normally have done. Once home she felt so grubby she stripped off all her clothes in the utility room, dumped them in front of the washing machine and went stark naked up the stairs and into the shower room. The wet room shower Graham had insisted on really came into its own that day. She let the water pour over her without a thought as to cost nor global warming. Sometimes there were more important things. Finally, having wasted gallons of water she stepped out, dried herself on a luxuriously hot towel straight off the heated towel rail and went to find clean clothes. She found herself surprisingly disappointed. Did she really wear such drab clothes? This dark lifeless navy suit. This charcoal one with the pinstripe? This awful skirt in a kind of dreary mock tartan. This beige blouse that went with it? And that polo necked jumper in a terrible bottle green.

  Standing there beginning to shiver with cold, seeing her clothes as they really were, Myra made a vow. The first day she had a chance to go out she’d buy some new clothes. Definitely. Then Piers’ plight and the guilt she’d experienced filled her mind once more. She snatched the first things that came to hand, and covered them with an old-fashioned mac that made her look like an army recruit who’d been kitted out with a mac two sizes too big.

  She decided to skip the dinner preparations. They could manage with beans on toast for one night. Or even a takeaway. Usually, she frowned on such extravagance, but she was desperate to get back to Piers.

  The taxi driver had given her his business card so she rang the number on it and with money at the ready she leapt out of the taxi at the hospital without a word and went up to the ward. Surely by now the operation would be over.

  He was sitting in bed propped up with a multitude of pillows, looking half asleep, the multicoloured bruise even more gloriously technicolour now, and his arm in a plaster that stretched from his wrist to the very top of his arm. But all she truly saw was the fact he looked glad to see her, even when it was all her fault. What a generous-hearted boy he was.

  He held up his injured arm. ‘Myra! Look!’

  ‘I can see, that’s a plaster and a half.’

  ‘I can’t come home until tomorrow. How did I get like this? I can’t remember.’

  ‘We can always talk about it later. Oliver, are you ready for lunch? The nurses tell me the cafe is excellent. When you’re ready.’

  Graham looked grim, well aware she was avoiding talking to him, not even looking in his direction and he knew full well why, because Viv had told him what she knew about yesterday morning, not realising Myra hadn’t told him about her marching Piers back to school under duress. He wondered how long he would have to wait before Myra told him the full story. Possibly forever.

  The next day, Piers was given the all-clear and discharged home, with instructions for caring for his cast. Myra busied herself making a special meal and getting everything ready to make Piers as comfy as possible. It also gave her ample excuse not to talk to Graham properly. But that night when both the boys were in bed and fast asleep the whole story poured out of her, unstoppable, underpinned with guilt and at the end she begged his forgiveness.

  ‘You didn’t do it knowingly, you did it thinking it was for the best. Both of us have a lot to learn, Myra, it’s sad that it’s turned out as it has, but you weren’t to know. I can see what Viv meant, Piers is still a very scared little boy. The demon that plagues him is fearing he’ll be sent away, he needs enormous amounts of reassurance. And if having a day at home does that very thing then, for now it’s OK, isn’t it?’

  Myra nodded.

  ‘As it turns out he is getting a few days at home now anyway, which is apparently just what he needs.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Graham, so sorry. I know I didn’t want them, don’t really want them now even – when I think of how I’ve messed up already it makes me dread what I’ll do wrong next, but I do know I was stupid and I shall be more careful another time.’

  ‘I know you think sometimes Viv is not quite your kind of person but she has brought up five children of her own, and it might be worth listening to her advice?’

  ‘They’ve not exactly set the world alight, any of her children, though . . . ?’

  ‘It’s not like we’re Mr and Mrs dynamic, are we? Viv’s children are all hard-working, married and what’s more, they sound happy, from what Viv says. Now, you look very tired, Myra, why not go to bed and I’ll bring you a drink up.’

  Rather than their usual cup of tea, he decided something stronger was in order. He broke open a bottle of her favourite red wine and took up a glass of it for himself, too. He sat on the bed while he waited for her to finish in the bathroom. Her nightie lay on the duvet and he thought he remembered it from the days when they slept in the same bed. Surely to goodness she wasn’t wearing the same ones from ten years back.

  ‘Ah! there you are.’ Embarrassed, he got to his feet, ‘I’ll go and get ready for bed and then let’s drink our wine together.’

  Graham scrutinised his face in the bathroom mirror and remembered he’d never got round to that new look he’d promised himself after Oliver’s comments. Maybe now might be the time.

  Myra was coming out of the boys’ bedroom when he crossed the landing.

  ‘Just thought I’d make sure he was all right,’ she whispered.

  ‘And is he?’

  ‘Yes. Sleeping soundly.’

  She sat up in bed with three pillows behind her waiting for him to pass the wine to her. ‘Being a bit daring aren’t we? Oh! It’s my favourite.’

  ‘I reckon we’ve not been daring enough in the past.’

  Graham phrased his next sentence very carefully. ‘You know, we have plenty of money in the bank. I earn a good salary now, and always have as you know, so if you feel you’d like to have a splurge on clothes or anything at all then please feel free. Yes, we’ll be needing to buy things for the boys now, too, but it doesn’t mean you have to miss out on anything you might like. You have access to our bank account like I have.’

  She glanced down at her nightgown. ‘You mean this?’

  ‘Well, I seem to remember it.’

  Myra blushed. She held up her glass saying, ‘To you.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘For being so patient with me. You could have blown your top and I couldn’t have blamed you.’

  Graham shrugged. ‘We have to be thankful it wasn’t any worse, thankful Piers is back sleeping in his bed in our house, tonight.’

  ‘About his birthday. . . ’

  ‘Let’s wait and see how he is. You know he might want to go back to school soon with his plaster on. You never know. If the school are happy with it.’

  ‘He hates it, you know, the plaster.’

  ‘He’ll get used to it, but he’ll get bored being at home for weeks. Did you notice when he was doped up he called me Dad?’

  This was a matter to be ignored as far as Myra was concerned. ‘I’m glad he doesn’t remember anything about the accident.’

  ‘He will, in time. But we’ll just tell him the facts – it doesn’t need to be a drama.’

  Myra shuddered. If Piers remembered! How on earth could she explain her behaviour to him? She couldn’t. It was her being pigheaded like her mother always said she was.

  ‘Drink up,’ said Graham. ‘Would you like another glass?’

  ‘Let’s keep the rest till tomorrow night.’

  ‘As you wish. Goodnight, Myra.’ Graham leant forward, and ignoring her retreat into her pillows to avoid him, he kissed her on her mouth. Not a peck, more a lingering kiss with memories of the past in it. She tasted the wine on his breath, and turned away after a moment so he didn’t get any ideas in that direction.

  Graham picked up her glass from the bedside table, and stood looking at her wondering if he gave in too easily . . . should he be more, well, he didn’t quite know the word . . . flirtatious, attentive, persuasive?

  Myra slid down on her pillows, pulling the duvet up around her shoulders to keep out the cold.

  ‘Graham! That’s as far as it g
oes, thank you very much. You remember that.’

  But the tone of her voice was not quite so harsh and forceful as usual and didn’t match the words she used and Graham, in the darkness on the landing, smiled.

  Piers woke twice in the night, thirsty and in pain. Myra saw to him and sat for a while on his bed whispering so as not to disturb Oliver. She gave him some more painkillers as instructed by the hospital, and a drink of that posh apple juice he’d taken a fancy to and waited for him to go back to sleep.

  By morning she was exhausted, being unaccustomed to being up in the middle of the night, but Piers was much happier and eager to go downstairs to eat his breakfast.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded so she said he could, but to be careful going down the stairs. All he needed was another fall and then where would they be?

  The doorbell rang at ten and Myra went to see who was there. She got a shock when she saw it was Delphine standing there dressed to kill, or so Delphine no doubt thought.

  ‘Why, it’s you. Why are you here?’

  Delphine adjusted her scarf saying, ‘It’s almighty cold round here, there’s a gale blowing, is it always like this? I’ve heard about Piers and I’ve come to see him. It was in the local paper. I’m so worried about him.’

  ‘Ah! Right.’

  ‘Well, can I come in then? I’m not getting any warmer standing out here.’

  ‘Oh!’ She had to think fast, she wasn’t having this blasted woman interfering or getting ideas about taking him away. Surely it was best not to let her see him. ‘He’s sleeping.’

  ‘Huh! That doesn’t sound like Piers, that doesn’t. You’re trying to stop me seeing him.’

  ‘Do you care that much?’ Myra thought of mentioning the stick but decided against it. She remembered what Graham had said about getting the police involved, and thought it best to see what Delphine had to say for herself, first.

  Delphine looked shocked. ‘Of course I care, I’ve been looking after him and Oliver since Mo died haven’t I? I miss them. They should be mine anyway, but obviously John wanted Graham to have them. How are you coping?’