Swimming Pool Sunday Page 9

  ‘Cassian wanted to have a look at the swimming-pool,’ put in Ursula.

  ‘But I’m afraid I’ve got to go now,’ said Cassian smoothly. ‘Thank you very much for your kindness.’

  He held out one hand to Ursula. She hesitated, then took it, smiling falteringly back at him with the foolish gaze of a fascinated rabbit. Meredith watched Cassian distrustfully, and felt a sudden obscure need to protect Ursula. But against what? A young man with mesmerizing eyes?

  They all watched as Cassian made his exit out of the kitchen door, and listened in silence as his feet crunched away on the gravel of the drive. When the sound had faded to nothing, Ursula looked at Meredith with an animated expression on her face.

  ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said. ‘We should give all the donations from yesterday to Katie, and we should start an appeal.’

  ‘Good idea, Ursula,’ said Meredith vaguely, but her face was still wary. ‘What exactly did that guy Cassian want?’ she asked.

  ‘To look at where poor Katie had her accident,’ said Ursula. She frowned. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Who is he?’ said Alexis. He screwed up his face in thought. ‘I’m sure I know him from somewhere.’

  ‘Louise Kember’s lover,’ said Meredith succinctly.

  ‘Now, Meredith,’ chided Ursula, ‘we don’t know that.’

  ‘But why do I recognize him?’ said Alexis. ‘Have I met him?’

  ‘Well,’ said Meredith, ‘he’s a lawyer. Maybe he hangs out in the same joints you do.’

  ‘A lawyer?’ said Alexis. He looked at Ursula’s innocent expression and his face darkened slightly. ‘Did he tell you why he wanted to look at the pool?’

  ‘Well,’ began Ursula, ‘no, not really. He just said that it was because he hadn’t been here yesterday. I thought he was probably very upset.’

  ‘He didn’t look very upset to me,’ observed Meredith. ‘He looked …’

  ‘You didn’t say anything to him,’ interrupted Alexis, ‘did you, Ursula? Anything about the accident?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Ursula. ‘I mean, yes.’ She looked from Alexis to Meredith with puzzled eyes. ‘What do you mean? Is anything wrong?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ said Alexis, quickly. ‘I hope not.’

  Later on, as Meredith came up the stairs, she heard a voice from Hugh’s study. It was a subdued voice, and it was saying, ‘Shit.’ She gently pushed the door open. There was Alexis, standing at Hugh’s open desk, holding some sort of brochure open in front of him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Meredith lightly. ‘Hugh owe you money?’ Alexis whipped round and gave Meredith a rather hesitant smile.

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ he said, in a voice that wasn’t quite cheerful. He quickly put the brochure back in a drawer and shut it. Meredith stared at him sternly.

  ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it? What? Is Hugh’s business in trouble?’

  ‘No, honestly, Meredith,’ said Alexis. ‘I was just … just checking something.’ He began to move towards the door. ‘Now,’ he said, giving her a charming crinkled smile, ‘how about some Meredith-strength coffee to set me up for the rest of the day?’

  He took her arm, and as he did so, she felt a sudden foolish tingle of pleasure. But even as she allowed Alexis to lead her down the stairs; even as she glimpsed, with a pang of delight, the reflection of the two of them together in the landing mirror, she could feel a faint web of anxiety anchoring itself throughout her body, tugging gently at her thoughts and causing her face to wrinkle with an unspecified alarm.

  Cassian arrived at the hospital at four o’clock. He had spent much of the day loitering in the village grocery store, the post office, outside the church and in The George. And by the time he arrived at the hospital, he had talked to over twenty people in the village about the accident, carefully taking notes and writing down names after each conversation.

  As he entered the ward where Katie lay, he adopted a sober expression and looked around gingerly. It was a very small, very quiet ward, with only four beds, all shrouded, to some extent, by floral curtains. One bed was completely shrouded, and from it came the sound of murmurings, then a small cry of pain. A nurse in a blue uniform appeared from behind the curtains, carrying a bowl of something. Cassian averted his eyes.

  ‘Cassian!’ A faltering voice attracted his attention. It was Louise, looking up from where she was seated beside Katie’s bed.

  ‘Louise,’ said Cassian, in smooth sympathetic tones. She looked, he thought, absolutely terrible; her face was pale and suddenly seemed much older than before; her eyes were bloodshot; her hands were wringing anxiously together.

  Then he glanced down at Katie, and his stomach flipped over unpleasantly. Katie’s head had been partially shaved; her tiny white face was obscured by a tube; every bit of her seemed connected to one of several television monitors, along which green lines were merrily flickering. On the wall beside her high clanking metal bed was a laminated chart, labelled Glasgow Coma Scale.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked. Louise swallowed.

  ‘She’s still in a coma, but it isn’t as deep as it was, apparently.’ She ran a hand distractedly through her hair. ‘The blood clot’s gone, and they scanned her this afternoon and, so far, no more clots have formed. They were pleased about that.’ She looked at Cassian beseechingly. ‘It could be a lot worse,’ she said, as though to reassure herself.

  Cassian stared at Katie, unconvinced, and gave a little shiver.

  ‘Perhaps’, he said, ‘we could go and have a cup of coffee? Is there a canteen or something?’

  The hospital corridors were warm and pastel-coloured, and reminded Cassian of the inside of a smart motorway service station. An impression which was borne out further when they reached the hospital’s Four-Grain Eaterie and were given, along with their cups of coffee, a questionnaire to fill in on aspects of the menu, service and decor.

  Louise took a sip of coffee and winced.

  ‘I’ve drunk so much coffee today,’ she said. ‘That’s all I’ve done. Sit with Katie and drink coffee.’ She took another sip. ‘I keep talking to her, and singing to her, and rubbing her feet, and none of it does any good.’ She looked at Cassian. ‘She could be in a coma for weeks!’ Her voice was trembling. ‘Or months! I mean, she could, couldn’t she? What if she never wakes up?’

  Cassian looked at Louise silently for a moment. Then he reached out, put her coffee cup down, and took her hands in his.

  ‘You mustn’t think like that,’ he said. ‘You must think positively. She might wake up any moment.’

  ‘I know,’ faltered Louise, ‘but …’ Cassian interrupted her.

  ‘On the other hand,’ he said solemnly, ‘there’s no point in denying the facts. Katie has been badly hurt. We don’t know when or how well she’s going to recover.’ Cassian clasped Louise’s hands a little more tightly and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘And I believe’, he continued, in a low sincere voice, ‘that it’s up to you and Barnaby – and even me –’ he dropped his eyes modestly downwards, ‘it’s up to all of us to do as much for Katie as we can. Whatever that means.’

  Louise gazed back at him with a worried, uncomprehending expression.

  ‘We’re … we’re doing everything we can,’ she faltered. ‘Barnaby’s coming along as soon as he’s finished work, and then we’re going to the special service they’re holding at the church. And the doctors have said all they can do now is wait. One of the nurses said …’ she swallowed ‘… that Katie’s body has put itself into a coma just because she needs a good rest, and that everything will be healing while she sleeps.’ A tear glistened at the corner of Louise’s eye.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ soothed Cassian. ‘I’m sure that’s right, but, you know, there’s more you could be doing than that.’ He pulled his briefcase onto the table and opened it discreetly. ‘I’ve been doing a bit of research into this accident,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to upset you, but it seems that someone, somewhere, was negligent.’

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nbsp; At those words Louise froze, and her already white face became whiter. Into her tired mind, before she could stop them, flowed the memories that she’d been trying to stave off until now. The vision of Ursula, warning her that the children were overexcited. The picture of herself, ignoring Katie’s shrieks; of her and Barnaby, thoughtlessly arguing while their daughter hurled herself into injury; into what might have been death.

  It was all her fault; her fault. A violent putrefying guilt exploded inside her, making her shudder with nausea. She clutched at her stomach and looked despairingly at Cassian.

  ‘It was an accident,’ she said weakly, pleadingly. She could feel her insides wrenching painfully, and feel a self-loathing rising swiftly through her body.

  ‘Of course it was an accident,’ said Cassian briskly, still head-down in his briefcase. ‘But even so, there may well have been negligence. In fact, I’m almost sure there was. And so …’ He broke off suddenly and looked up at Louise. ‘You’ll have to think about it,’ he said, ‘and, of course, talk to Barnaby.’ He paused, as though for effect. ‘But what I recommend, Louise, is that you go to court.’

  Louise looked at him through a blur. ‘Go to court?’ Black shadows were dancing in front of her eyes. ‘Be pro-prosecuted?’ She took a deep gasp of air. ‘I didn’t mean … I didn’t think … I’m sorry, I’m sorry …’

  ‘Louise, what are you talking about?’ Cassian’s voice pierced her consciousness. ‘I’m not talking about prosecution. I’m talking about a civil case. From what I’ve discovered, I think you’ve got very good grounds for suing Hugh and Ursula Delaney.’

  Barnaby arrived at the hospital at five o’clock and went straight to the ward, clutching the piles of cards and toys which had arrived at Larch Tree Cottage that day. The chair by Katie’s bed was empty and he couldn’t see Louise anywhere on the ward. As he gazed around uncomprehendingly, a nurse whom he didn’t recognize saw him looking, and said, ‘I think Mrs Kember went to the cafeteria. With … her husband, is it?’

  Barnaby stared, speechless for a moment. Only when he had recovered his composure could he ask where the cafeteria was. He bent down, stroked Katie’s hair and whispered, ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Katkin.’ Then he strode off down the corridor with a burning face and a thumping heart.

  When he reached the cafeteria, he saw them instantly, sitting back, relaxed, as though nothing was wrong. He was immediately filled with a bleak fury.

  ‘Louise!’ he called.

  ‘Barnaby!’ She looked up and smiled; she actually smiled. Barnaby strode over.

  ‘Katie’s all alone,’ he said, aware that his voice sounded accusing, yet unable to stop himself. ‘She’s been all alone for half an hour.’

  ‘She’s not all alone,’ protested Louise. ‘She’s being looked after by a team of trained medical experts.’ She took a sip of coffee and Barnaby, suddenly enraged, thumped his huge fist on the table with a bang.

  ‘That’s neither here nor there!’ he exclaimed. ‘The doctors said that our voices would help to bring her round! My God, if you can’t even sit and talk to her …’ Louise stood up, her face pink with anger.

  ‘I’ve been with her all day. I’ve been talking to her and massaging her feet and doing everything I can for her. I came here for one cup of coffee! One cup of coffee, Barnaby!’ Her distressed voice rose through the room, and various members of the cafeteria staff began to look in their direction. ‘And anyway,’ added Louise, calming down slightly, ‘Cassian and I have been talking about the accident. You should listen to what Cassian’s got to say.’ She sat back down on her chair and, with slightly trembling lips, took another sip of coffee.

  ‘What?’ Barnaby looked at Cassian with black suspicion.

  ‘Perhaps later,’ murmured Cassian to Louise.

  ‘No, now!’ thundered Barnaby. ‘Tell me what he’s said, that’s so important it’s kept you from being with Katie.’

  ‘All right,’ said Louise. She took a breath. ‘He says we should sue Hugh and Ursula. On Katie’s behalf,’ she added.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not really sure this is the time or place for this discussion,’ said Cassian smoothly. ‘Perhaps the two of you could talk, and …’ He stood up, then flinched as Barnaby roughly pushed him back into his seat. Louise looked anxiously at Barnaby; his face was bright red and his whole body was trembling.

  ‘Talk?’ he roared. ‘Talk about what? Are you serious?’

  ‘Apparently we could prove they were negligent,’ began Louise. Barnaby gazed at her, aghast.

  ‘Hugh and Ursula? Are you saying Hugh and Ursula are to blame? My God …’

  ‘It’s not a matter of blame,’ put in Cassian swiftly. ‘It’s a matter of … compensation.’

  ‘Compensation?’ echoed Barnaby. ‘You mean money! You’re just talking about money, aren’t you?’ Louise looked down awkwardly at the table. ‘Katie’s been in hospital for less than a day,’ Barnaby shouted, ‘and already all you can think about is money!’

  He looked from Louise to Cassian, with an incredulous pent-up expression. All the misery, worry and despair of the last twenty-four hours seemed to be building up inside him like a furnace.

  ‘You’re sick,’ he suddenly shouted. ‘You’re both sick!’ And with an abrupt savage movement, he kicked over a chair. It hit the table noisily as it fell, and the cups and saucers clattered. From the other side of the cafeteria began some interested murmurings. Cassian smiled apologetically in the direction of the staff, keeping one eye on Barnaby.

  ‘Barnaby, don’t be like this,’ said Louise. She looked anxiously around the cafeteria. ‘This isn’t helping Katie either.’

  For a few seconds Barnaby stared back at her. Then he sighed, bent down, and righted the chair. Louise and Cassian watched in a nervous silence.

  ‘I’m going, now,’ said Barnaby at last, ‘to see my daughter, and then I’m going to church to pray for her.’ He looked at Louise. ‘You can do what the hell you like.’

  ‘Barnaby …’

  ‘Leave it, Lou,’ Barnaby said in a shaky voice.

  And before Louise could say anything more, he left; picking his way clumsily between the tables and chairs and customers; barging out of the door without looking back, with his shoulders hunched up and a stray glittery get-well card for Katie sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans.

  The little church was packed when Barnaby arrived. People were milling around, talking and whispering, pulling chairs into line, depositing gifts of toys and flowers on a side-table that seemed to have been set aside for the purpose. The air was tight with uncertain anticipation, and as he surveyed the scene from the porch, Barnaby found himself hesitating like a nervous bride. When he heard his name being called, he gave a startled jump.

  ‘Barnaby!’ It was Frances Mold, coming through into the porch and pulling the door behind her. She didn’t smile, but took his arm and squeezed it. ‘I’m glad you could come,’ she said simply.

  ‘There are so many people here,’ said Barnaby uncertainly. He gazed down at Frances. ‘I don’t know half of them.’

  ‘Lots of them seem to know Katie,’ said Frances. ‘Friends from school, I think.’

  ‘I suppose Louise knows them,’ said Barnaby, scowling in spite of himself. The mere thought of Louise still sent a thudding anger through his body. ‘Is she here yet?’

  Frances looked up at him.

  ‘Louise isn’t coming to the service,’ she said. ‘She phoned from the hospital. She feels she should stay with Katie, just in case she wakes up.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Barnaby dully, ‘I see.’ And suddenly he felt a sense of abandonment. He was going to have to do this on his own.

  Frances looked at her watch and reached for the porch door. ‘We should really be going in. I’ve saved you a seat next to me.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Barnaby suddenly. ‘I’m not …’ He swallowed and looked away. ‘Just give me a second.’ Frances waited silently, watching him compose himself, take a few d
eep breaths and push his fingers through his dark springy hair.

  ‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘I’m ready.’

  As they walked in there was a rippling effect along the pews, as people gradually realized that Barnaby had arrived, and turned to see. Many immediately turned back, but some remained, staring at him with expressions of sympathy ranging from mild compassion to deep distress. Somebody somewhere was quietly crying, and as Barnaby made his way to the front of the church, a baby began to wail.

  Alan Mold was already standing at the front of the church, and he gave a kindly nod to Barnaby as he took his seat.

  ‘Let us pray,’ he said.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then, from behind Barnaby, came a rustling sound, as, wordlessly, the congregation sank together to their knees. And as Barnaby himself slowly knelt down, he felt, through the stillness, the silent support of a hundred people flowing towards him in a single strengthening wave.

  It was a short simple service. Alan Mold addressed the congregation in warm tones, read prayers full of love and hope, and led the singing of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. When the service had ended, Barnaby stood up to leave, but Frances tugged at his sleeve.

  ‘If I were you,’ she said, ‘I’d stay here for a bit. Unless you want to have to talk to everybody.’

  Barnaby looked down at her. Throughout the service he had felt unable to open his mouth; unable to join in the prayers; unable to sing the hymns. Talking to people was unthinkable. So he nodded gratefully and sank back down next to Frances.

  Behind him he could hear the chatterings and murmurings of people leaving; there were many voices that he recognized or half recognized. Several times he heard his name, but he didn’t turn round.

  ‘Barnaby?’ Suddenly somebody was right beside him. ‘Barnaby?’

  He looked up. It was Ursula, peering at him in mild concern.

  ‘Hello, Ursula,’ he managed. Ursula smiled hesitantly at him.

  ‘I don’t know what your plans are,’ she said, ‘but we wondered whether you’d like to come back to our house for some supper.’ She paused, then added anxiously, ‘You really must eat properly.’