A Cornish Christmas (21 page)

I laughed, shaking my head. ‘Terry, you know you get more Scottish as the night wears on?'

He grinned. ‘Ah missus, that or the whisky,' he winked.

I shook my head, with a chuckle. ‘Ah, that explains it. Okay, you can have him... just so long as you bring him back before the countdown.'

Stuart gave me a sweeping kiss, bending me backwards. ‘That should hold you until then.'

I laughed. ‘Not even close – hurry back,' I said, and went to join my dad and his date, who were standing rather awkwardly by the punch table, like a couple of shy teenagers.

It turned out that Dad's date was rather fabulous: she was a piano teacher who'd lived in Paris for most of her adult life. I spent the next forty-five minutes amazed as she told me about being a teacher at the Sorbonne, and what her daily life had been like. As a Francophile myself, I was a little bit in awe. Most of this was news to Dad, of course, but as the night wore on he seemed to really loosen up, so I filled up both their punch glasses and retreated to let the liquid courage do its magic.

Just then, someone called, ‘One minute, everyone!' and the whole party stood to attention for the countdown. I turned, looking for Stuart, but couldn't see him anywhere. I scanned the room, and saw Terry standing with one of the waiting staff chatting, so I hurried over. ‘Terry, have you seen Stuart?'

He shook his head. ‘Ah no, I thought he'd be back by now. Sorry, love. Maybe try his cell?' he said, concerned, before another waiter came past to catch his attention. ‘Sorry, love, got to go sort the champagne,' he added, leaving me staring at his retreating back.

‘What do you mean – back from where?' I asked, confused, but it was too noisy, he couldn't hear me.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder and I turned with a relieved smile and said, ‘Finally.' But it wasn't Stuart. I frowned to see Catherine standing there, a stricken look on her face. Two tracks of black mascara trailed down her face and she was cradling a phone to her chest.

I blinked. ‘What's wrong?' I cried.

‘Oh Ivy, I'm so sorry. There's been an accident.'

My eyes widened in fear. All around me people began to shout ‘
ten, nine, eight
...'

‘An accident?' I said in shock. ‘The kids... has something happened to them?' I asked, touching her arm, frightened.

A tear escaped from one green eye. She shook her head, swallowed.

‘It's Stuart.'

‘But he's at the back in the kitchens,' I said. Though I knew, with awful, sick fear, that this was what I'd been fighting all day. This feeling that something horrible was going to happen.

I blinked and Catherine closed her eyes for a split second to shake her head.

‘No, he's not.'

I blinked again.

‘He's been in a car crash. It's... very bad.'

Her words seemed to come from a tunnel. I was staring at her blindly, losing all feeling in my limbs, as my world started to spin out of control, my knees gave way, and a wild guttural howl escaped my throat and split me in two.

R
ichard caught
me before I fell. I hadn't noticed him standing next to Catherine, looking smaller than I'd ever seen him, his eyes full of sympathy.

‘He's stable, Ivy. They've taken him straight into surgery, but he's alive, that's the main thing,' he spoke in soft tones.

I looked at him through my tears. Surgery? What was he saying? Through the fog of emotion, my brain zeroed in on the other word.
Alive
. I clung to that word, like I'd never clung to anything in my life. Even as I wondered how it could be... How just an hour ago we were dancing under a canopy of twinkly lights and now... now he'd been in an accident and he was going into surgery. My brain refused to process it.

I blinked while trying to breathe – through the tears that threatened to consume me – painful, wrenching breaths.

‘W-w-what happened?' I stuttered, gasping. My lungs felt like they'd been injected with lead. Like I'd suffocate from my fear.

Catherine's lip wobbled. ‘He went home to fetch something apparently. There was a... a truck... it didn't... didn't stop,' she said, collapsing into tears.

I started screaming. Deep feral screams, tinged with blood. Someone was holding me back.

I tried to get away, to get to Stuart. I needed to get to Stuart. I didn't notice the crowd that had gathered. Or the fact that the music had stopped. But while the world stopped turning, I saw Dad, his grey eyes wide, distraught. Together he, Richard and Catherine helped me into the car and we raced to the hospital. I sat bent over, clutching my chest, sobs painfully wracking my body. I didn't know what I'd find when I got there; I just knew that every second away was a second too long. Finally, we arrived. I flung open the car door – tearing fingernails in my haste – and raced inside, into the bitter, cold air. I wasn't the only one.

As soon as we skidded inside the hospital doors Dr Gia rushed over, her face almost translucent. I could only blink at seeing her there. I didn't have time to be polite; she was in the way and she needed not to be. Before I could rush past her, she reached for my arm and said, ‘I came as soon as I heard. Peter got paged onto the scene, thank God. He's taken Stuart into surgery now.'

I turned slowly to look at her properly. To digest her words. Peter? Then I remembered. Her husband. ‘Oh...' Then felt my legs begin to shake. ‘Oh. He's a surgeon... that's...' I blinked, feeling like I might throw up. From somewhere in the recesses of my mind I recalled.

Heart surgeon
.

My knees started to shake uncontrollably and I bent over, gripping them, loud, knife-edged tears ripping out of me. Dad gripped my shoulders.

Dr Gia touched my arm. ‘The paramedics brought him in, he's alive. He's in surgery now... Peter said he thinks he'll pull through,' she said gently.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity, I looked up at the ceiling; eyes clouded with my unstoppable tears, and asked the impossible. ‘H-his heart?'

She blinked back tears and nodded. ‘He went into cardiac arrest and one of his lungs collapsed.'

I sank. The world turned upside down. My legs didn't belong to me any more. Dad caught me and led me to a nearby chair as I gasped for a breath that just wouldn't come. Hot tears felt like acid on my face. It seemed fair that I couldn't breathe properly, if neither could Stuart.

Dad tried to speak to me. To reassure me. But I was in that dark place – the place where no light goes, where empty reassurances mean nothing. Catherine laid a gentle hand on his arm, a touch for restraint. I gave her a grateful look and she nodded; she always understood.

Catherine filled out the paperwork. I managed to sign, hands trembling, where she pointed and we waited. The longest, most interminable, agonised wait, unable to take my eyes off the glass doors, because it was through them that someone would come – someone with an update who could tell us something, anything.

Finally, a short, stocky man clad in surgical scrubs, with a dark beard and compassionate eyes, came out. ‘Mrs Everton?'

I nodded, standing on unsteady legs. He continued, ‘I'm Dr Collins. Stuart has had a fair bit of damage.' At my quick intake of air, he carried on in a rush, stepping forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘There's good news. Dr Harris is operating on his heart now. They've restored the lung function and he's confident that the operation will go smoothly. There are no other internal injuries detected at this stage, which is very reassuring, particularly considering the extent of his accident. However, he has a few broken bones, including his left arm and leg. Dr Vram, the orthopaedic surgeon, has set them already. We'll update you as soon as he's through surgery.'

‘He's... he's going to be all right?' I asked, my heart beating out of control. None of what he was saying sounded like good news – quite the opposite. Dr Collins touched my arm. ‘We are encouraged, but Dr Harris will update you as soon as it's over.'

I nodded.
Encouraged
. What did that mean? Wishing I could just follow him into the operating room so I could hold Stuart's hand.

Catherine looked at me as we tried to process the impossible. ‘You had a feeling,' she breathed.

My face collapsed. I nodded – I'd had a feeling. Dad patted my back and Dr Gia placed her hand on my shoulder, a gesture filled with compassion. I bit my lip, grateful for their support.

Catherine clutched my hand and I drew strength. He was alive. That was all I could think, so I thought it over and over, concentrating on just breathing in and out.

A loud commotion in the corridor announced the arrival of The Thursday Club, and six pairs of clacking feet, then the kindest American accent saying loudly, ‘Where is our girl? Oh lawd, look at her!' Followed by wild Italian mumblings and six pairs of very concerned eyes and a cacophony of sound as they all attempted to mould me into their embrace. I didn't know who had called them, but I was grateful for their presence. Especially May's, who pulled a shawl around my shoulders and said, ‘Now back off, you lot! Give her some air, sure she can't get any with the lot of youse in the way. Go get some chairs.' Then she asked me, ‘Have yer phoned his family, my love? Shall I call the battle-axe fer ya?'

I closed my eyes as a new horror washed over me. Genevieve. Smudge. I hadn't thought. I shook my head. Somehow I knew I had to be the one.

I searched for my mobile, as if I were wading through water. Catherine took my bag – I hadn't even realised that someone had brought it – and fished out my mobile and handed it to me.

My hands shook as I dialled Genevieve's number. Through choking sobs, I tried to explain. Suddenly the phone was out of my hands and Dad's voice was calmly telling her what had happened. He must have walked away to finish the call, because a little while later he came back and said, ‘I spoke to Victoria as well. She and Genevieve will be here on the first flight. I'm going to keep this, okay?' he said, indicating my phone. ‘And let them know as we know.'

I nodded, grateful for him, for
all
of them.

Hours later, Dr Harris – Peter – came out and made straight for me. ‘Mrs Everton – Ivy – the surgery went well.'

I breathed out, feeling a heady, heart-stopping rush of relief. Though it was too soon. He took my arm and steered me away slightly from the others, so the fear returned in full awful force. ‘The surgery went well,
very
well. His heart came through fine. We were able to restore function... However, with the stress of the damage to his body, Stuart slipped into a coma. I won't lie: it's serious. He'll be under critical observation... We'll just have to wait, monitor him, and hope.'

‘Coma?' I said aloud, my heart plummeting to my feet as I started to shake, to sob. Catherine, May, and my dad rushed forward.

Dr Harris patted my hand. ‘I know it's incredibly hard, Mrs Everton. You have our sympathy and support.'

I didn't speak, because I couldn't. I didn't trust myself.

Hard?

This wasn't hard; this was unendurable. I looked at him, intolerable pain naked in my eyes. ‘C-can I see him?'

He nodded. ‘He's in ICU. He's been through a lot, so you will need to prepare yourself,' he said, looking at me and everyone gathered around my side.

I blinked. How did you prepare for this? I clutched his arm, eyes wide. ‘Thank you... for everything,' I said, meaning it, knowing that this man was the reason Stuart was alive. This man whom I'd met just hours earlier, unaware that later he'd literally have my husband's life – and heart – in his hands. ‘Thank you,' I repeated, taking a shuddering breath.

He nodded, blue eyes sympathetic. ‘I believe he will make it, I really think he will. He's a fighter... I saw that today.'

I closed my eyes, hot tears sliding down my face, and nodded, swallowing past the claw-like wedge in my throat, grateful for his faith beyond anything else.

Dr Gia touched my back. I looked up through my tears. She gave me a hug before they left. ‘We'll be thinking of you, darling, and praying. Call me any time if you need me.'

I swallowed back the rush of tears, nodding. ‘Thank you for staying with me... with us tonight. It meant so much...'

Her eyes were soft, understanding. ‘Of course,' she said, giving me a last touch of support, then left.

On leaden legs I made my way to the ICU – the longest walk of my life. When finally we entered the ward, I looked up and saw the most painful, casual of cruelties. Like a salted wound, the clock behind the nurses' station read 3 a.m.

Somehow I managed not to scream. Instead, I dragged my eyes away and followed the others, concentrating on putting one step in front of the other.

N
othing can prepare
you for seeing someone that you love in a hospital bed – every part of them battered, bruised, and broken. There were so many machines and wires. The noise that emitted from all the equipment, a cacophony of beeps and low electronic hums. Such an interminable noise. I wondered that he didn't wake, then wanted to turn them up even more, in the hope that he would. His arm and leg were in a cast. His face – his beautiful Stuart face – was swollen, criss-crossed with gashes and dried blood. I sat by his side holding his left hand – the only part of him that didn't seem broken – and sobbed till I thought I would never stop.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because Dad woke me up and told me that he was going to take me home to change. I didn't want to leave; I shook my head. ‘I'm fine here, Dad,' I whispered. He needed to understand. I couldn't leave. What if I left and Stuart woke up?

A kind-faced nurse, with soft brown eyes and a name badge that said Maggie, touched my hand. ‘Mrs Everton, I'm so sorry. I have your number. I promise, if anything happens, I'll phone you. Go home, get some sleep if you can; get changed. I'll be here.'

My eyes stung. While I appreciated the kind words, there was no place I'd rather be. ‘I'd rather just stay, please,' I said.

Maggie bit her lip. ‘I'm afraid, Mrs Everton, unfortunately, the visiting hours are over. If it were up to me, or even Dr Harris...' she said, her words trailing off, eyes wide, sincere, and young – so young to have to deal with this kind of trauma every day.

Dad touched my arm. ‘My darling, they made an exception for us tonight, but it isn't fair if the other families can't,' he said, handing me back my phone. I took it and swallowed, looking up at Maggie. Her eyes were full of pity. I nodded. With shaking hands I touched Stuart's face, gave him a kiss, tears running down my cheeks, and I held his hand as gently as I could.

‘I'll be back... I love you,' I whispered, heartbroken.

Leaving him was the most impossible, unthinkable thing of all.

As I left the ward, I saw Catherine standing outside. Incredibly, she was still there. She stood there in her pretty green cocktail dress, waiting for me, while she had three sons and a husband who needed her. I swallowed, held out my hand for her. ‘Thank you for staying,' I whispered.

She gave me a hug. ‘Couldn't leave you...' she said, her green eyes tired, but full of love.

I nodded, biting my lip to stop it from trembling, and followed them out into cold daylight, blinking, my eyes stabbed by the bright light. I got into the car, more tired than I'd ever been in my life, still in my heels and cocktail dress; absurdly dressed for a party – the final, awful insult.