A Hopeless Romantic Part 41

"Oh, I know it is," said Laura impatiently. "But you just said yourself, there's a big part of you that's you, just yourself, and that's the bit you need someone to share with you." His eyes searched her face; she looked at him, imploring him to understand. "And here-this room, all these people. They're the bit that complicates everything. They're the reason we can't be together."

She lapsed into silence, still holding his hand, not knowing what to say next.

Nick laughed suddenly in the gloom of the room, a warm, comforting laugh. "Laura, oh, Laura." He stroked her collarbone, and she s.h.i.+vered at his touch.

"What?" she said.

"You're right, you know, but I think you're taking it too seriously."

"I-"

"Look," said Nick, with the air of one trying to be reasonable. "I want to talk to you. Properly, about all of this. But I want to kiss you first. You're right, this room's a bit daunting. So. Let's go somewhere else."

"Just like that?" said Laura. "It's as simple as that, is it?"

"Absolutely," he said. "The trouble with you is, you overthink everything. I like you, you like me. Let's go and sit on the steps and talk. Without great-grandmothers A, B, and C watching us."

He bent his head and kissed her, quickly, hard on the lips, and then said, "Okay?"

"Okay," said Laura. "Okay."

"Come on," he said, holding her hand again, and they walked back up the length of the room and paused near the doorway. Laura could see Charles, circling in the background of the great hall. She was sure he was looking for Nick, and she didn't want him to come, didn't want them to have to separate, wanted to stay like this forever.

"Well, I'm glad I've seen this room, anyway," she said. "I don't want you to think I didn't like it. It's-er, it's lovely."

"What a polite guest. My pleasure," said Nick. "All mine."

"All yours," she said, laughing at the absurdity of it all. "I'm glad you found me here."

"I was looking for you, Laura," he said. "And now let's go."

The gallery doors were flung wide open; Charles strode into the room, his phone in his hand. "There you are."

"Hey," said Nick, but Charles wasn't looking at him, he was walking toward Laura.

"Laura, my dear," he said, with the same kind face he always had. Laura smiled at him, but her blood froze as she looked into his eyes, saw their expression. "Your aunt's looking for you. You're going to have to go. It's-it's your grandmother, Laura. She's had a ma.s.sive heart attack. She's in the hospital. It's not good. She's asking for you. Laura, your mother needs you to go back to London. Tonight."

chapter forty-nine.

A s long as Laura lived, she would never forget that journey. Bizarre details. The mints Aunt Annabel had in her car. The travel atlas; half the cover was torn off, so unlike the Sandersons. The way Annabel drove, wildly, hunched over the steering wheel, her face pale in the darkness, her makeup like a mask. Those things that Laura had unpacked so carefully, painfully, a few short hours ago, now flung randomly into the suitcase. They should have just left, should have asked the others to send things on, Laura realized afterward as the journey went on, deeper into night, as Annabel drove in silence and they both had time to think.

Yes, Laura had time to think; hours of time. It was over three hours from Chartley Hall to the hospital in town; but what could she think about? Nothing. Her mind couldn't concentrate, couldn't consider what she might find there, what might not be there. She didn't understand, couldn't process it all. When she tried to think about it, it was as if her brain had short-circuited. Nick had offered to drive; Annabel had practically pushed him away, racing to the car, roaring away from the house in a frenzy that Laura had never seen before.

They tried to talk at the beginning of the journey, but both of them were so overwrought and worried that conversation was hard.

"Where are they?" Annabel asked, as Laura finished a call to her mother. They had been driving for over half an hour. Laura glanced at a sign; they were still in Norfolk. Oh, hurry, hurry, she thought, please hurry.

"Still at the hospital. They're all there."

"Who?"

"Mum, Dad, Simon. Cedric and Jasper. And Fran and Robert."

"Where's Lulu?" said Annabel instantly.

"I don't know.... I didn't ask."

"Why isn't she there?" Annabel said. Since she had no way of knowing or finding out, Laura said nothing. "What did they say?"

"They said she's unconscious now. But she has been talking. I think-" Laura's voice faltered; she wasn't used to saying things like this, didn't know the language. It was too easy to default to cliches from hospital television shows or books. "I think she's worse."

"What's she been saying?" said Annabel sharply.

"I don't know," said Laura. "Mum didn't say. Except-she was-except she was asking for me. She wanted to see me and Simon. She recognized him."

"Just Simon?" Annabel hunched over the steering wheel even higher, peering at the road ahead as if willing the car to take flight and soar across the countryside, take them back to Mary.

"I don't know," Laura said again, feeling helpless. "I don't know."

"Well, you're her grandchildren, not Fran, I suppose." Annabel cleared her throat. "And if Lulu's not there-perhaps she's waiting for her to get there."

"I'm not sure," said Laura. "Aunt Annabel-I don't think she knows what's going on."

There was a dull stabbing pain behind her eyes, like something crawling, scratching them. This was all wrong. Mary wasn't someone in a hospital, dying! She was the most alive person Laura knew. Her place in the world was so sure. She knew what she knew, was so certain of everyone and everything, which was why she was the most rea.s.suring grandmother one could possibly have.

"Come on, come on," Annabel muttered. She bit her lip. Laura looked at her. She looked awful; it was as if she had aged about twenty years, but there was something more than that. Her composure was the first thing that struck one about Annabel; it was her most noticeable quality, more than her glossy brown hair, her perfect makeup, her glamorous, determined air, her rather braying voice. It was the quiet certainty that her world was right, that she was right. Now, looking at her aunt, Laura felt she was seeing a tiny bit of the other Annabel she might be for the first time, and it was a strange experience.

They were on a main road finally, thankfully, and the electric strip lighting overhead bathed their faces in a ghostly green light. It was one of those endless, featureless roads, its only characteristics of interest blue signs, chevrons, traffic cones. Nothing else was visible from the road. They could have been anywhere in the country. Laura blinked, trying to remember where she'd been; but already the memory of Chartley, of Nick and what he had said, what it had all meant-it was racing far into her mind, already framed and deposited in a memory bank, a lovely pure snapshot of something in the past. She couldn't connect it with this.

Laura shunted down in her seat, wrapping her slightly-too-big-for-her jacket around her for warmth. She looked down. She was still wearing Nick's jacket, the one he had put around her in the picture gallery-that was this same evening, wasn't it? Her mind scrabbled to remember, and the creatures pinching behind her eyes grew more frantic.

"Are you cold, Laura dear?" said Annabel, her voice quiet and hoa.r.s.e. "Perhaps we should stop here and get some coffee."

"No, no," said Laura, feeling a wave of panic at the suggestion. "No, please, Aunt Annabel, please-just keep driving."

"Of course," said Annabel. She flicked a look at her niece, very briefly. "Darling. You mustn't get too upset, you know."

Don't say it, thought Laura. I'll be fine if you don't say it.

"She's eighty-five, you know. She's had a good life. A very good life."

"Shut up," said Laura quietly, ferociously. "Don't, Aunt Annabel. I mean it, don't."

"Laura!" said Aunt Annabel, but her voice was still soft. "Listen to me. It's not a cliche with your grandmother, you know. She has had a good life. One of the best. Wonderful times she had with-with Xan, and everyone. She's been everywhere. She knows everyone. She hasn't had a moment's illness."

"That's not the point!" Laura cried. "She wasn't ready! It's not her time, it's not. Why couldn't she-"

"Laura, Laura," said Annabel. She reached across blindly for Laura's hand, took it with her own, and squeezed it. "Do you really think that's true? That she wasn't ready to go? Because I don't."

"How can you..." Laura began, and her voice trailed away as she remembered Mary only that day, wincing with pain and then her face clearing, as if she wasn't in pain anymore.

"I love your grandmother very much," said Annabel. "She's like my mother. I don't remember my mother at all. So Mary brought me up when she married my father." She spoke as if she were talking to herself. "She was so in love with Xan. Always. He was the love of her life. When he died, she wasn't the same. Of course, she's been fine these last few years. But she misses him. And lately-oh, I don't know..." She shook her head, arched her back, as if trying to stretch herself, shake herself out in the confined s.p.a.ce. "I think lately, the last couple of months, she's-changed. Well, we know she has. She's wanted to go. I think she knew it was time."

"Time?" said Laura, not believing her. "How can she have known it was time? How can she have given herself a heart attack, Aunt Annabel? It's not possible."

"It is, if you just give up," said Annabel, "and, darling-I think it's time you called me Annabel, you know. You're not fourteen anymore."

Not knowing what to say to the twin points of this last sentence, Laura lapsed into silence, counting the miles again, willing the journey away. And then she remembered saying goodbye to Mary-was it only a few hours ago, in the hallway of her flat?-and she knew that her grandmother had known it was the last time, and the blood in her veins froze.

It was around four in the morning when they reached the hospital. Neither of them said anything, but jumped out of the car, hurrying, almost running, trying to find their family, looking for the signs to lead them through the gla.s.s and concrete building. The wards were deserted. Laura and Annabel raced in step, following the directions they'd been given.

"Here," said Annabel, clutching Laura's arm in a viselike grip. "It's this one. They said, down this one. At the end."

There was Angela, walking down the corridor toward them, Laura could see her, was nearly there; she could see her mother's face, the tears running down it. Angela was holding something in her hand, and she was shaking her head, shaking her head and crying out loud.

"Laura, oh, Laura," she said, as Laura reached her and enfolded her in her arms, surprised to find that her mother was smaller than she, shocked at how vulnerable she felt.

"Is she-" Laura said, not able to finish the question.

"Yes," said Angela, sobbing into her shoulder. "She's down there. Just a while ago. Too late, you're too late. And she-oh..."

She buried her head even deeper into her daughter's neck and made a sound almost like a howl, while Laura stroked her hair, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, holding her mother tight, Laura felt closer to her than she ever had, and it was as powerful a feeling as anything she'd ever known. There was a brief moment's calm, and Laura breathed out, not knowing what to say, as her mother blinked into Laura's jacket, and stepped back. She wasn't looking at Laura, though. She was looking past her. At Annabel, standing behind them.

"You knew, didn't you?" Angela said.

"What?" said Annabel.

"You knew she was ready to go."

"Yes," said Annabel briefly. "Angela. I'm so sorry, darling."

Laura had never heard them talk to each other like this. Like they were sisters, rather than polite acquaintances in the same book group, which was how they usually addressed each other. She looked down the corridor, all the way down. She could just see some figures standing there; they were men. Simon was one, she was sure. Dad and Uncle Robert. They were facing them, watching. She couldn't see their expressions. Annabel stood there, turning her car keys over and over in her hand. Again, Laura didn't recognize her. She looked like a little girl. Annabel reached out and patted her stepsister's hand, awkwardly.

The figures were advancing toward them. Simon was first, his hair standing on end, his face hollow. As he approached, he opened his eyes wide, as if he didn't know what to do. He hugged Laura, and George, behind him, threw his arms around them both.

"h.e.l.lo, love," he said, and kissed his daughter's ear. "Glad you're here. Glad you're here." He went up to his wife and put his arm around her, as Laura turned to Simon.

"When did it happen?" she asked him.

"About an hour ago." Simon spoke quietly. "Her breathing was shallow, they knew it was going to happen." He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and breathed in, a hissing sound, and then went on, "Yeah. It was another heart attack, Laura. After it happened, she wouldn't have felt anything. She just-slipped away."

"Did you see her? Did you-talk to her?"

"Yes, but she couldn't say much," said Simon, and his lip curled in on itself, like he was trying not to cry. "When Cedric found her, she was...pretty much gone anyway." He wiped his face on his sleeve, and pulled Laura toward him.

"Let's go home," said Laura. She touched Robert's arm briefly; he was on the outskirts, mutely watching the scene before him. "Robert, I think you should take Annabel home," she said. "She's been driving for hours, she must be exhausted."

Annabel, who had been looking quietly at Angela, turned at this. "Fine," she said blankly. "Fine. Where's Fran?"

"On the phone to Lulu, outside. Come on," said Simon, taking his cue. "Mum-Dad? We're going home."

"We can't just-leave her," Angela said.

"Yes, we can," said Simon. "The doctor said so herself. You can come back tomorrow to arrange everything then. Cedric and Jasper are still here, they're going to stay." He looked at Laura. "Do you want to see her?"

"Yes," said Laura quietly. "Just a minute, Mum. Annabel-you coming too?"

She walked to the end of the corridor. Jasper and Cedric were sitting there, even more incongruous in this setting than any of the rest of them. They stood up, rather creakily, as Laura and Annabel approached.

"Dear girl," Cedric whispered. He kissed her. "She's just in there. Wouldn't have felt a thing. Smile on her face when I found her, you know."

Laura only half heard him. She was opening the door to the tiny room, not at all afraid of what she might see. She knew it was her grandmother; she knew she had been ready to go; and Laura knew she had to see her again, that death was not frightening when it looked like this. Mary was lying under the sheet, one ringed hand resting on her chest. Her eyes, so full of life, were closed. Without its usual animation, her face was solemn in repose. She was not there anymore. Laura kissed her forehead. Mary's skin was cool and smooth, sweet-smelling as always, that old-fas.h.i.+oned powder she used; and Laura turned away feeling as if her heart was breaking. A tear dropped onto the sheet, onto Mary's hand. This was the last time she would see her. But she was not there anymore; Laura had to keep remembering that.

Her parents were waiting for her in the doorway. George put his arm around his daughter. "Let's go home, love," he said. "Time for bed."

chapter fifty.

O f course I'm coming tomorrow," said Yorky.

"But, Yorky-it's a Thursday. How will you get the time off?"

"I've cleared it with my head of department," said Yorky, standing up rather straight. "I explained it to them. Said I had to go to a funeral. They're going to have my cla.s.ses covered. It's only the afternoon, isn't it. No problem."

They were in their kitchen. It was Wednesday, the day before Mary's funeral. Laura had just got off the phone to her mum, and was drying plates in a rather desultory way, staring out the window. Yorky put his arm round her and squeezed her. "Want to be there, to make sure you and Simon are okay," he said rather stiffly.

Laura buried her head in his armpit gratefully, trying not to let him see how very touched she was. She and Yorky didn't do excessive displays of emotion. "Right," she said. "Oh, Yorks. Thanks a lot."

"Not at all," said Yorky. "Jo's coming, she's got the afternoon off, too. She's coming here, she'll drive me."

"Wow," said Laura. "I didn't know that." You know times are serious when your friends are making arrangements about you without telling you about it, she thought. She put down the tea towel and turned around.

"Thanks," she said, taking the gla.s.s Yorky proffered.

"How's your mum?" said Yorky.

"She's fine."