Sixty-three

“I bought some fish from the new place in the Lanes—apparently they get a delivery straight from Grimsby every morning so it couldn’t be fresher. Would you like it just plain grilled?”

“What is it?”

“Dover sole.”

“Oh, Lizzie, what a treat, you are good.”

“No, it’s fun. You know I like cooking—sometimes.”

“I feel completely useless.”

“Right. Can’t stop you feeling what you wanna feel.”

Helen laughed and winced.

“Hurt?”

“Laughing does. Sneezing does. Coughing does. Moving does. Breathing does. If I keep off those it’s fine.”

“Well, you can’t have any more painkillers until half past five so you’ll have to practise mental diversion.”

“I didn’t realise I’d brought you up to be so hard.”

“Yup, you did. Tea?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Helen was propped up on the sofa with the French windows open onto the garden. It had been a beautiful day to come out of hospital, she thought, a beautiful day to be thankful that you were alive when you could so easily have been c

“Lizzie, how many people have died now?”

“Morbid.”

“No. I want to know. I was incredibly lucky—how lucky was I?”

“Nine people, and four with serious injuries. But out of danger. So yeah, lucky. Too true.”

A squirrel leapt into the ash tree at the bottom of the garden, scrambled down the trunk and bounded across the grass. Beautiful, Helen thought. That is the most beautiful squirrel I have ever seen and the tree is the most beautiful and the sun is shining more beautifully than it has ever shone. I have done nothing to deserve life just as the others did not deserve death. But I am going to revel in it and every moment I am awake I am going to be grateful for it. Her ribs hurt. Her shoulders hurt. Her neck was excruciatingly painful if she tried to turn it so much as a millimetre and none of it mattered, it could be borne. It was the pain of getting better and how different that must be from any other pain—the pain of getting worse.

She remembered very little of the accident. It was like a film flickering through her mind from time to time, in which parts had been removed and parts elided with others so that the time was muddled and the scenes made no sense. She remembered the noise of screaming. The lurch as they tipped or fell. She remembered the feel of the man’s strong grip on her wrist as he found her and then his face. “OK, love,” he kept saying, “you’re OK.”

How Phil had simply crawled out and walked away virtually unscathed was another matter for wonder, though she had not known about that until she was at the hospital and he had turned up with Lizzie. He had not taken a day off but been in school as usual first thing the next morning.

She shifted to try and get comfortable. The squirrel was back, nibbling at a conker among the fallen leaves which Tom had promised but failed to sweep up. It didn’t matter. Nothing so small could possibly matter ever again.

She closed her eyes and dozed and was wakened by the sound of the doors being closed. Phil looked round. “Good to sleep,” he said. “Lizzie’s in charge next door. How do you feel?”

“Stiff. Sore. Very happy.”

He came over and sat beside her. “Are you going to be able to get upstairs all right later?”

“Oh yes. I can’t sleep on a sofa, that’s what invalids do. How was your day?”

“Busy. I had a bit of running round to do.”

“They should be keeping you on light duties—I said you should have a week off.”

“I know.”

“Why running round?”

“I had to go into town. Shopping. Bought you this.”

The door opened on Lizzie bearing a tray so she put the package to one side while they set up a table and cloth and helped her to sit up. Moving to an upright position was painful enough to make her catch her breath. Four cushions at her back. Her left arm was in a sling.

Eating was slow but the fish was the best food she had ever eaten, the vegetables perfectly cooked, the bread and butter manna. She wondered if the painkillers were making her high but knew that it was relief, the high of having cheated death. She had said prayers of thanks in her head several times. Phil would laugh. “No such things as miracles,” he had said.

Perhaps it didn’t matter.

She had thought she was hungry and Lizzie had given her only a small piece of fish but she couldn’t manage it all. Some reflex made her throat close as she tried to swallow, though she knew there was nothing wrong. She drank tea, ate some bread and butter, expressed great thanks, refused a date slice. Felt faint with exhaustion.

And then Phil handed her the package again. It was the size of a box of chocolates. She hoped it was not. Chocolate was not what she needed.

But inside an empty chocolate box was another box and, inside that, another and another and then the smallest box.

“Will you marry me?” Phil said.

Helen began to cry.

An hour later she was still crying but upstairs in bed. Phil had gone home. Lizzie was lying on top of the duvet beside her.

“I can’t stop grinning,” she said.

“So I see.”

“If it hadn’t been for me pushing you onto the Internet c”

“True. You’ll have to wear pink satin, you know.”

The front door slammed.

“He won’t,” Lizzie said.

“God, don’t make me laugh please, it’s so painful.”

“Mum?”

“We’re here, talking about pink satin. Where have you been?”

“Giving out leaflets.”

Lizzie groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. She steered clear of what she called Tom’s religious mania but when he went into bars and cafés or shops handing out Jesus leaflets she wanted to curl up with embarrassment.

“Shut up. You OK, Mum? Sure they ought to have let you out?”

“Quite sure. Very sure. And I’m fine, thanks, love, never better. Sleepy and sore and never better.”

Tom looked at Lizzie.

“It’s OK, it’s not the drugs, she’s just going to get married. Isn’t it great? He brought a ring all hidden inside lots of boxes, I think it was the most romantic thing in the world, I’m really jealous.”

Tom stood half in the room. He did not look at either of them. He looked straight ahead. He seemed hardly to breathe.

“Great news, Tom,” Lizzie said.

Nothing.

“Tom? Don’t stand like that, come here.”

Nothing.

“Oh God, if you’re going to be childish c” Lizzie got off the bed and started towards him. “If you are, then bugger off before you upset her. You make me really angry, Tom.”

But as she neared him he turned away. He went across the landing, back down the stairs.

“Lizzie, don’t, leave him, it’s fine, he’ll be fine.”

“Tosser!” Lizzie yelled.

But the front door banged shut over the sound of her voice.

Sixty-four

“Tell out, my soul, the glories of his word!

Firm is his promise, and his mercy sure.

Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord

To children’s children and for evermore!”

“Alleluia!”

“Alleluia!”

“Praise Jesus’ name!”

“Praise the name of Christ Jesus!”

The band struck up, two guitars, two flutes, the electronic keyboard, and Combo on the drums. Tom had backed out. He usually took part playing something but tonight he couldn’t face it. He stood towards the back.

“Allelluia, Ay-men!”

The pastor raised his arms. Tom closed his eyes as they began to sing again, sing and wave their arms and sway, row after row. He could feel the woman next to him swaying against him.

“Jesus, sweet Lord,” she moaned.

He opened his eyes. There was a woman with two young boys in the row in front but where the backs of the boys were, one with a blue fleece, one with a red, he saw only his mother’s face, lit up with happiness, hers and Lizzie’s. Lizzie was grinning at him.