Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

She hated the machines, even while she knew she must be grateful to them. She wanted Daisy to be able to tell her that she hurt, that she was hot, that she felt sick; she didn’t want her function as a mother negated, didn’t want to be told that all she must do was stand back, be quiet, wait, not interfere. It was wrong, against the natural order of things: and yet she knew that without the machines, and without the skills of the doctors and the awesome power of the drugs, Daisy would most certainly have died by now.

Jonathan came in, stood watching Daisy with her, put his arm round her.

“All right?”

“Yes. I’m all right. Where’s Charlie?”

“He’s asleep in the parents’ room. I mustn’t be long; I promised I’d be there when he woke up.”

“How is he?”

“Oh… you know. Poor little boy.”

Jonathan was being amazing: not just sympathetic, not just supportive, but calm, positive, absolutely unreproachful. She had said she was sorry, that she knew she shouldn’t have sent Daisy out with Charlie, and he’d said nonsense, that she was right, they’d done it countless times, that children couldn’t be wrapped in cotton wool… “But they should be,” she’d cried, tears coming suddenly. “We should wrap them in cotton wool; that’s exactly what we ought to do; then they’d be safe, stay safe…”

“And grow up helpless, unable to look after themselves.”

“They’d grow up, at least,” she’d said, and he was powerless to answer that.

“How’s Lily?” she asked then.

“She’s all right. Your mother’s being so good. She said should she bring her over, did I want her to fetch Charlie, should she bring some food in, all sorts of wonderful things…”

“Should she bring Lily? Do you think?”

“No,” he said, “not unless she really wants to come. And your mother said she was better at home with her. They’re watching movies. Of course, if-”

“Don’t. Don’t say it.”

She knew what he meant. If Daisy got worse, if they had to say good-bye, then Lily must be there too.

“Right. Well, I think that’s about it. Well done, everybody.”

God, this was an effort. It was hard to think the wretched festival mattered. While that poor little girl…

“We’ll go firm on the date then?”

“Yup. Sure. And the dates for the play-offs. No news on a sponsor, I s’pose, Fred?”

“Nope. Sorry. They like higher-profile causes, most of them.”

“Surely not local ones?”

“Well… maybe.”

“Fred, haven’t you tried locally at all? Georgia?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, why not, for fuck’s sake? Jesus, I thought you were going to take all that off us. I suppose I’ll have to do it, like I do everything else.”

“Abi…” said Georgia, “I’m sure Fred’s doing his best; we all are. But everyone’s busy…”

“You’re not.”

“Well, thanks for that. I am, actually-got three auditions this week. Look, I know this was all my idea, but it seems to be getting everyone down; it’s running away with us. Maybe we should rethink-”

“No,” said Abi, “sorry, I shouldn’t have lost it. Sorry, Fred.”

“That’s OK. I should have done more; you’re right.”

“No, you’ve got a lot going on. And you’re not even personally involved like the rest of us. I’ll take that over.”

“Well… if you can pull a few things out of the bag…”

“Sure.”

“I might go then, if that’s all right. Got a lot going on at home this weekend.”

“Sure. Sorry again, I’m… well, I’m a bit worried about something.”

“I’ll see you out,” said Sylvie, standing up. “Georgia, William, want a coffee or anything?”

“I should go too,” said Georgia. “Promised my mum I’d be back for this evening. Thanks, everyone, so much. Fred, wait for me.”

She was going to apologise to him again, on her behalf, Abi thought; perversely, it annoyed her.

“I’ll have a coffee, please, Sylvie,” said William, smiling at her. He quite clearly fancied her, Abi thought. And she played up to it. Bit annoying.

“I’ll have some wine, Sylvie, please,” she said tartly. “Oh, dear.” She looked at William. “I’m a prize cow, aren’t I?”

“I don’t think you’d get many prizes,” he said. “Not at the shows I go to.”

“Don’t joke. I am. I shouldn’t have said that to Fred.”

“Maybe not. What are you worried about?”

“Oh… doesn’t matter.” Of all the things William wouldn’t want to hear about, or be reminded of, it was the Gilliatt family.

“It obviously does. Come on, Abi, tell me.”

“I… That is… Oh, God, William, Jonathan Gilliatt’s little girl’s been run over. She’s in the hospital. In intensive care.”

“That’s very sad.”

“I know. It’s worse than sad. It’s terrible. They don’t deserve that, do they?”

“Well… no. Life isn’t about what you deserve, though, is it? Not always.” There was a pause; then he said, obviously with difficulty, “How… how do you know?”

Jesus, she thought, fuck, he thinks I’m still in touch with Jonathan. How awful is that; he mustn’t, no, no…

“I read it in the paper,” she said, “this morning.” She looked at him; his large brown eyes were thoughtful, doubtful even. “William, I swear to you, I have not spoken to Jonathan, not since that night. You really can’t think that.”

“No. No, of course not. No.”

But he didn’t sound completely sure.

“Look…” she said, reaching for the paper, “it’s here. See? William, please believe me.”

“I… do,” he said, “yes, of course I do. Well… this was yesterday’s news. How is she today?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “How could I?”

“You could ring the hospital.”

“William, it doesn’t say what hospital she’s in even. And anyway, they wouldn’t tell me; they never do unless you’re family.”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

Shock at his clearly still not quite trusting her, combined with anxiety and guilt, suddenly got the better of her, and she started to cry.

“I feel so bad about it,” she said, “so bad.”

“But why?”

“Why? Because maybe what I did-having the affair with Jonathan, going to the house that night-maybe that contributed in some way. I don’t know. Maybe the little girl was upset, maybe her mother was upset, maybe she wasn’t looking after her properly…”

“Abi, Abi,” he said, and he came round the table to where she was sitting, put his arm rather awkwardly round her shoulders. “You can’t go on blaming yourself for what you might or might not have done to that family. It’s a while ago now…”

“Yes, I know, I know,” she said, looking up, trying to smile, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Sylvie had come in with the drinks, and stood looking awkward.

“Thanks,” he said, withdrawing his arm. “Here, Abi, have a hankie.”

“No, it’s OK,” she said. “I’ve got some tissues in the kitchen; excuse me…”

“It’s all right,” he said, grinning suddenly. “It hasn’t been up some cow’s bottom or anything, if that’s what you think. Clean out of my drawer when I left. Where my mother put it.”

“Your mother spoils you, obviously,” said Sylvie. “Abs, I’m off now. See you later.”

“OK. Cheers. William,” she said when the door had shut, “you don’t really think I’m still in touch with Jonathan, do you?”

“No,” he said, and this time he managed to smile back. “No, I suppose not. But I can’t help wondering… well, you know, sometimes…”

“William, I’m not. I swear to you. I still hate him. I just… well, I feel bad for the little girl. And Laura.”