He swallowed, unsure if he should cry or scream out loud. ‘I just…’ He tried to find the words but the feeling was unfamiliar. He couldn’t think of how to express what he felt. Fear, trauma, worry, stress.
‘You’re having a response to the incident,’ said Carole, taking the drink away from in front of him. ‘You need something sugary and some sleep. Come on,’ she said and she took his hand.
‘You can lie down in our room; Amanda is in the spare room. I’ll bring you a tea.’
Simon followed dutifully and went into a lovely bedroom of soft furnishings and shutters that dimmed the room enough to nap.
He sat on the bed as Carole turned on the fan in the corner, and a cool breeze blew over him.
Janet arrived with a tea in a mug that read,Honk once if you’re a goose, and he smiled as he took it.
‘You two women are amazing,’ he said, feeling his eyes prick with tears. He hadn’t cried when Anika had betrayed him or Charlie had ripped him off, but now he was ready to weep in the arms of these lovely women who knew exactly what to do to make him and Amanda feel safe.
He sipped the tea, feeling the warm liquid soothe his nerves.
‘We’ll leave you to rest,’ said Janet.
‘Wake me if Amanda needs me,’ he said.
‘We will. Don’t fret, pet,’ said Janet as she closed the door.
Simon put down the mug on the bedside table and looked at a photo of Janet and Carole together, smiling at the camera.
The love was so present between them and he wondered if photos of him and Anika together had ever made people wish they had a love like theirs.
He highly doubted it.
Simon turned onto his back and closed his eyes.
He could feel Amanda in his arms still, hanging on to him, her face so close to his in the car.
Everything that happened before today didn’t matter anymore. None of it. There was only now.
And then he slept.
*
Diana – 1960s
The car gave Diana a sense of independence that not even her mother was able to enjoy.
Her mother had never learned to drive. She was driven everywhere and, despite her general disapproval, she had asked Diana how hard the test was and had even gone out for a drive a few times with Diana, including to Diana’s doctor’s appointment in Newcastle.
‘The baby is breech,’ the doctor had told her. ‘It might turn but if it doesn’t, you will have to have a caesarean.’
Diana had frowned at this news but her mother had patted her hand.
‘You were the same, my dear. You and this baby seemed to want to enter the world standing on your own two feet.’
It was the first time her mother had said anything about the baby in a sentimental way, even a positive way, and Diana was touched.
She was eight months pregnant now and her mother had taken a few things of Diana’s down from the attic. A Moses basket with linen that she had the staff wash, and some small items of clothing, but it wasn’t enough for a new baby.
Diana had asked her father for some money and though he said he would do something to help her, nothing had materialized yet.
She knew she was having the baby in hospital, as she’d arranged it herself, but nothing else had been organised beyond that.
‘Is Father going to help me at all?’ she asked her mother one day when they were arranging Easter flowers for the church at St Cuthbert’s. This was her mother’s contribution to the community every year and the flowers were always lovely – and the only thing Diana enjoyed about attending the service.
