Читать книгу Emergency: A Marriage Worth Keeping - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

‘YOU look nice, Mum!’ Luke, as blond and as sunny-natured as his mother had once been, smiled up from the table as Isla poured milk over his cereal, lisping the words through the huge gap where his four front teeth used to be.

‘It’s my new uniform,’ Isla answered, glancing down at the navy trousers and pale pink polo top, a far cry from the starched white dress that had been the order of the day seven years ago, the same white dress she’d worn on her occasional casual shift to keep her nursing registration up to date. And even though Luke was completely and utterly biased and thought that his mother, no matter how she looked, was absolutely gorgeous, this morning Isla half agreed with him.

She felt nice.

OK, the blonde silk curtain hadn’t survived her evening run and two showers, but she’d piled it high in a ponytail on her head, added a dash of rouge to her pale cheeks and, given it was her first day, had gone the whole hog and put on mascara and a slick of pale lipstick. The image that had greeted her when she’d stared in the mirror had for once been pleasing.

She looked thirty.

OK, most thirty-year-olds didn’t want to look thirty, but for Isla it was as if she’d knocked off a decade in one hit. The agony of the past months had left their mark. Her natural good looks seemed to have faded into the shadowy greys of grief—not that it had even entered her head as appearances were way down on her list of priorities when it was an effort just to breathe, a physical effort to prepare the twins’ lunches, to paint on a smile when she got up in the morning, the endless hours between four and seven when her grief was put on hold to give the twins the mother they needed. But finally, after all this time, despite the agony of her personal life the proverbial silver lining was if not shining through then glowing on the edges occasionally. The odd spontaneous laugh at something on television, even managing to listen without drifting off when her friend Louise banged on about the war against cellulite. Tiny milestones perhaps, but to Isla they were monumental—and now she was wearing make-up.

‘What do you think, Harry?’

Harry didn’t answer, his dark hair sticking up at all angles. He merely scowled into his cereal and carried on eating, a mini-version of his father in both looks and personality, though fortunately at this young age he was a lot easier to read than the larger version.

‘I’m only going to be working three days a week, Harry,’ Isla said, picking up her coffee cup and taking five minutes she really didn’t have this morning to sit down at the breakfast table. ‘Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays—and even on those days I’ll be finished in plenty of time to pick you up from school.’

‘But you’re not going to take us to school,’ Harry pointed out, managing somehow to load a simple statement with a hefty dose of guilt. Another wave of panic seemed to rush in. If even this small change to his routine was causing his little world to rock, what would it be like if—?

Not now!

Forcibly Isla pushed that thought out of her mind. There was enough to be dealt with this morning, without dwelling on the bigger picture.

‘But Daddy will take you!’ Isla responded in a falsely cheerful voice. ‘Won’t that be fun?’

‘Not if he has to go to work as well,’ Harry said accusingly. ‘Then we’ll have to go to Louise’s.’

‘You like going to Louise’s,’ Isla said, feeling as if her face might crack, and realizing suddenly that the words Daddy and Mummy were no longer in the twins’ vocabulary, another sign if she’d needed one that they were growing up fast.

‘I like going to Louise’s after school,’ Harry said with such a dry edge to his voice that Isla half expected Sav to look up from the cereal bowl. ‘I want you to take me.’

‘Harry, I can’t,’ Isla said firmly. ‘Because I have to work.’

‘Why?’

A perfect mum would have answered the eternal question, Isla thought, closing her eyes in exasperation. A perfect mum would have taken yet another five minutes out of an already rushed morning and come up with some impromptu speech about the merits of a work ethic, that even though they didn’t need the money, sick people still needed nurses and that even though Mummy loved him very much, Mummy had a brain that wasn’t quite stretched enough practising her serve at the local tennis club.

Only this perfect mum seemed to have hung up her apron strings, Isla thought darkly. How could she begin to explain to Harry the real truth? Not just about his parents’ marriage, but the long, lonely days rattling around a house that was too big, too empty without a little boy that should be getting ready to go to kinder now? Who could she tell, who would begin to understand the loneliness, the panic, the agony that gripped her when everyone had left? How she lay for hours on Casey’s bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to inhale his sweet pudgy scent, imagining those reddish curls on the pillow beside her, whispering stories into the air and praying he could hear…

‘Why?’ Harry asked again, and Isla took a deep breath, swallowed the tears that were always close and stood up. ‘Why do you have to go to work?’

‘Because I do, Harry.’

Not the best answer, but the best she could do today.

‘Will it be fun?’ Luke poured himself a glass of orange juice, and managed to get more on the table than in his glass. ‘Working with Dad?’

‘I guess, though I’m sure we’ll both be so busy that we’ll hardly see each other.’

Who was she kidding?

Loading up the dishwasher, not for the first time Isla questioned the wisdom of going to work alongside Sav, especially given the fact that in a few short weeks their marriage might be over, but it had been the only way to get back into nursing. There may well be an impossible shortage of nurses, but nothing had been done to make the shifts more parent-friendly. OK, there was a crèche at the hospital, but because Luke and Harry were way past that now, it didn’t help matters for Isla. Late shifts were out of the question—she could hardly land Louise with two boisterous twins for three evenings a week, and as for night shifts, with the amount of times Sav was called to the hospital in the small hours, it quite simply didn’t even merit a mention.

The emergency room had been the only department willing to offer her three early shifts, and, no doubt, the fact her husband was the consultant there had been an influencing factor. Still, Isla had consoled herself when she had accepted the job, there was a new hospital opening up nearby in a few weeks. Every time they drove past the once massive empty field, another wing seemed to have been put on. They were up to concreting the ambulance bay and according to the local paper they would be recruiting staff within a month. Once her foot was back in the door, once she was earning a wage and had her confidence back, she could put in an application there.

‘OK, I’m off.’ Kissing the boys, Isla forced another bright smile. ‘Dad’s just gone to get dressed and then he’ll be down.’

‘Mum?’ Harry’s single word stopped her in her tracks. She could almost hear the fear behind it, see the confusion in his guarded eyes as Isla threw her mental clock in the bin and walked back over to him. ‘Will it be fun? For Dad, I mean. Do you think you going to work with him will make him happier?’

Oh, God. If Sav heard this it would kill him, Isla thought with a stab of pain that was physical. He tried so hard to hide it, tried so hard to paint on a smile when the kids were around, but seeing the torture, the utter angst in Harry’s eyes only confirmed to Isla that change, however hard it might be at the time, was definitely needed.

This was affecting them all.

‘You make Daddy happy,’ Isla said softly. ‘You and Luke.’

‘And you!’ Luke chimed in, but there was a tiny wobble in his voice that didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Come on.’ Isla smiled. ‘Finish up your breakfast and then you can brush your teeth.’

Darting up the stairs and into the bedroom, she hovered by the bathroom door, watching as Sav ran the electric razor over his morning shadow, a dark towel hung low around his hips, the en suite still steamed up from his prolonged shower earlier. That delicious male scent hung in the air. It still turned her to jelly, and for an indulgent moment she watched the impossibly wide shoulders tapering into lean hips, the dark olive skin, swarthy yet soft, scarcely able to fathom that even after nine years of marriage, even after all they had been through, were still going through, just a glimpse of him in an unguarded moment could have this sort of impact on her.

‘Are you going now?’

Blushing, realizing she’d been caught staring, Isla nodded.

‘The boys are just finishing their breakfast, their clothes and schoolbags are—’

‘We’ll manage fine.’

‘I know.’ She gave a tiny shrug. ‘Luke seems fine, Harry’s a bit—’

‘He’ll be OK,’ Sav broke in again. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘I am worried, though, Sav. Harry’s upset, not just about me working—’

‘Harry’s got too much Mediterranean blood in his veins for his own good.’ Again Sav halted her. ‘He wants his mother home in the kitchen, worrying about him all day long.’

She knew he’d meant it as a joke. Sav was fiercely proud of his heritage, adored Spain, missed it more than he ever let on, knowing Isla felt guilty for all he had given up to marry her. But even if it had been a joke, there was a semblance of truth behind it, and Isla chose to pursue it.

‘What about you, Sav?’

She watched his shoulders stiffen slightly, waited as he splashed some aftershave into his hands and slapped it on before slowly turning around to face her.

‘I’d rather you were at home, too.’ He stared directly at her, dark eyes boring into her, honesty behind every word. ‘But not because I’m a chauvinist, Isla.’

‘Then why?’

‘You’re going to be late.’

‘Sav, please, tell me—’

‘Isla, it’s your first day. If you’re really serious about going back to work then now isn’t the time for an in-depth discussion.’ He was right, and if he’d left it there it would have been OK. But Sav had to get the last word in, had to spoil yet another morning with his own immovable view on things. ‘Anyway…’ He stalked out of the en suite, ripped off his towel and somehow managed to pull on his boxers and still look haughty at the same time. ‘What I think doesn’t really come into it. You’ve made that perfectly clear. You’ve made your choice: you’re doing whatever it is you need to do, Isla. The rest of us will just have to work around it.’

‘You’re impossible, Sav. You make it sound as if I’m off to a nightclub, or abandoning you all for a week in Bali to have massages and facials and lie on a beach, while I leave you all to fend for yourselves. I’m going to work, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Then go.’

Without another word she turned around, marched down the stairs, absolutely refusing to look back, determined not to make this wretched morning any worse.

‘Isla.’ Sav was at the top of the stairs, and slowly she turned to face him. ‘Good luck.’

Damn!

Why did he have to go and do that? Isla thought. Why did he have to go and do the right thing, say something so nice, when they both knew he didn’t want her to go back?

‘Thanks.’

They met halfway down the stairs. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘I hope so.’ Isla sniffed.

‘I know so.’ He picked up the name tag that hung around her neck, staring at the security photo for a moment, and Isla felt her breath catch in her throat as his fingers dusted over her chest, the sudden intimacy unfamiliar and unexpected. ‘You were Isla Howard last time we worked together. Isla Howard, a grad nurse with an attitude.’

‘And you were the visiting overseas registrar that the whole department promptly fell in love with.’

‘Good times,’ Sav said softly, and she nodded, dragging her eyes up to meet his.

‘Very.’ Isla gulped, terrified of saying the wrong thing, pushing too hard, not wanting this fragile moment to end, relishing this tiny, unexpected tender moment. But just as the past caught up, just as she glimpsed again the man she had once known, the shutters snapped closed, just the briefest of kisses brushing her cheek as he took a step back up the stairs. ‘You’d better go.’

‘Bye,’ Isla said quickly, darting out of the door, trying for both their sakes to escape the horrible gap in their conversation, the parting ritual that had fallen by the wayside fourteen months ago.

Drive safely.

They’d always said it, always hugged each other at the door as one of them had been leaving, whispered the words to whoever had been driving. But like so much else it was another thing out of bounds.

Sav, no doubt, felt he’d lost the right to say it, Isla thought as she climbed into her car and started the engine, and in turn how could she say it to him? Sav would take it as a warning, an accusation even.

It hadn’t been his fault.

None of this was anyone’s fault, Isla knew that, knew that, knew that!

She had told herself over and over and had begged, begged Sav to accept that fact.

‘The wrong place at the wrong time’ had been the coroner’s exact words.

No one could have foreseen, least of all Sav, that the car heading towards them had been a time bomb about to explode. Even the poor driver couldn’t have known that as he’d headed along the dual carriageway, the heart attack he’d been dreading since his last cholesterol check was about to ensue, that in a split second two families’ lives would impact with a force that was devastating.

That two families’ lives would be torn apart for ever.

She’d been playing tennis.

Trembling fingers pushed the key into the ignition as for the millionth time the day replayed itself in Isla’s mind, the engine idling as she relived the awful events that had brought her to this point.

Sav had taken a long overdue morning off so she could take an extra tennis lesson. Wow the ladies with her fabulous serve at the comp that weekend!

Had she really been that shallow?

Isla could still see the ball thudding onto the line, hear the kookaburra’s laughing in the treetops, feel the hot midmorning sun blazing on the back of her neck as the police car pulled up, a blue and white car out of place amongst the four-wheel-drives, a stir of interest rippling through the quiet suburban setting. She could feel her hand grip tighter on her racket as two officers got out, could still recall with total clarity the horrible shiver as someone pointed her out to them, taste the bile in her throat as they walked over, her legs dissolving as the news, however gently delivered, hit its mark. That while she’d been hitting a bloody ball over a net, her husband lay trapped in the mangled wreckage of his car, that even now, as strong hands guided her to the waiting vehicle the emergency teams were trying to extricate him.

‘Casey?’

The single question that no one would answer, the appalling wait in some hole of a room as the twins worked innocently on at school, pacing like a caged animal, desperate for answers but silently praying they wouldn’t come.

She could still hear her scream as the doctor came in, feel her friend Louise’s arms around her, even remembered feeling vaguely sorry for Louise that she’d had to arrive at that point, had to witness her friend literally collapse in a heap.

Checking her rear-view mirror as she pulled out of the driveway, Isla’s eyes fixed for a second as they always did on the empty seat, almost willing Casey’s cheeky smile to fill the mirror, for that permanently chocolate-covered mouth to blow her a kiss just as he always did.

Had.