Previously…

Then I did the bravest or, perhaps more accurately, the stupidest thing that I would ever do: I went to the front door, put the chain on and cracked the door open. I expected to see some heavy bruiser there, perhaps shotgun in hand, ready to blast away and end my life. I recoiled as the wind and rain hit my scantily clad body. Shivering, I peered out. There was nobody there. I sighed with relief and was just about to close the door, when I heard a faint moan. Was that a cat making that noise? No cat should be out on a night like this, so I took the chain off the door and opened it up a bit more. It wasn’t very light outside, the nearest lamp post being about fifty feet away. I could not see a cat but then I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a foot, by the side of the path. Someone was lying, just out of my sight, behind the low brick wall that bordered the front of my small garden.

Could it be a trick? Did someone want to lure me out to attack me? No, whoever it was; was lying on the ground and I could hear more moaning. Someone was in trouble and I had to help. With no more thoughts of personal safety, I ran out in my thin nightie and slippers–shivering in the wet and cold–down the steps and out into the lane.

Someone was lying there face down–a woman with long blond hair who was lying in a foetal position and moaning. I got on my hands and knees and tried to turn her over.

“Let me help you,” I called, trying to make myself heard over the howling of the wind.

My hair kept getting in my eyes and the rain wasn’t helping any either, but I finally managed to turn her over. I nearly screamed when I saw who it was–Olivia!
 
 
And now the story continues…
 
 
I was unable do anything–she was too heavy for me to lift her. She didn’t seem to be aware of my presence. In desperation I searched about me but the lane was empty.

‘I won’t be long.’ I shouted in her ear, but there was no response.

I ran back up the steps and into the cottage.

‘ABBY!’ I screamed at the top of my voice. I few seconds later I heard a bump and then a dishevelled Abby was standing at the top of the stairs, blinking in the light.

‘Thank God. Look, don’t ask questions, call for an ambulance and Marcia. Olivia’s outside in the rain and she’s collapsed. Then come and help me bring her indoors–’

‘But––’

‘I said don’t ask questions, she needs help now!’

Abby gave me one more puzzled look then seemed to wake up a tad and disappeared–I hoped to do what I had asked her.

Quickly, I put on my yellow anorak; it wouldn’t do Olivia any good if I died of exposure. Abby’s thick mac was on a peg by the door. I plucked it up and ran back outside. Olivia hadn’t moved and was just lying there moaning. My heart went into my mouth as I could see beneath her thin coat, some blood splattered on her dress. I covered her with the mac and then sat down beside her, cradling her head.

Was it all too late? I wondered.

‘They won’t be long,’ I shouted, ‘the doctor’ll be here soon. Hang on!’

I became aware that she had stopped moving and I was terrified that she had died or something. Time seemed to stretch and I was cradling her head and rocking her. Once again, I wondered about the fact that there was a lot of blood on her dress and was fearful that the baby might be dead and Olivia could be bleeding to death here on the soaking wet path. I felt helpless as there was no way, in this deluge that I could do anything more than hold her until help arrived. I started sobbing and then jumped as I felt someone grab my arm. Glancing up, I could saw Abb, her wet hair falling over her face as she looked down on us in horror. With difficulty, I stood up and the two of us tried to get Olivia into the cottage. I had virtually no strength, still being weak from my illness, but incredibly, we managed.

Olivia appeared to revive slightly and was able to stand with our support, but she was gasping for breath and clutching her tummy. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to realise that she was starting to go into labour.

Somehow we got her into the sitting room where the heat from the fire was still evident from the glowing embers in the grate. As she was just wearing the thin, blood splattered summer dress and a long thin coat , she was soaked to the skin. Across her shoulders was a bag, so we quickly removed it and then all her clothes. Her teeth were chattering and she looked a bit blue around the lips.

‘Oh God Samantha, look at the blood!’

I was very concerned as apart from the fact that she was obviously contracting regularly, she was shivering and might get hyperthermia or something. Abby fetched some towels and dried her as she lay there on the sofa, moaning deliriously, not making any sense. I was puzzled because I couldn’t see any sign of blood in the area of her groin, but in our hurry to get her warm and dry I thought nothing more of it.

I vaguely heard Abby say something about help being on the way as I struggled to get Olivia into a cotton nightdress.

There was a bang on the door and Abby went to answer it. I couldn’t do a thing as Olivia was holding my hand in a vice-like grip and repeatedly saying sorry for some reason.

All this might sound disjointed, but that was what it was like. I had felt virtually numb with shock finding her here of all places. She must have come to me for some reason and I had no idea why. I would have thought that she would come anywhere but here.

Marcia entered the room in a hurry, took one look at Olivia and immediately buckled to. I was at the head end and Marcia was down the other end, checking what was going on in the baby department. Abby was pacing up and down asking if we needed boiling water and lots of towels and did anyone want a cup of tea. I would have laughed at that, had things been any less serious!

It could have been a minute or an hour later–time had flown out of the window–when I heard, in the distance, the faint sounds of sirens and then the room was full of uniforms, shouting and in seconds, Olivia was whisked away. I yelled that I would come straight away as she left in a wheeled stretcher thingy.

I wasn’t dressed, so after pulling on some jeans and a top, I found myself being driven in my car by Abby at what seemed like a suicidal speed through the lanes and out on the main road into town.

We arrived at the hospital just as Olivia was being trundled inside. I was just able to grab her hand and managed to say something dim-witted like ‘hang on in there,’ as she was wheeled through some doors and I was left waiting outside, clinging to Abby and wondering if she was going to be all right.

As we sat in the waiting room I clutched Abby’s hand. She was just there for me, and I loved her all the more for it, bless her. She didn’t even try to surmise why Olivia had come all the way to Devon in her condition.

We sat there for what seemed like hours. Marcia came in a few times to say that Olivia was holding up but was in a bad way and they were trying to save her and the baby. There was a bit of concern that the baby was only at about 32 weeks and underdeveloped. The contractions had stopped but as Mother was showing signs of pre-eclampsia and seizures, they might have to do something drastic. They were trying to stabilise her with drugs, but if things got worse, the baby would have to be delivered by Caesarean section.

It seemed like the longest night of my life. I was vaguely aware that we had been joined by Jocasta and David and it was so comforting that my friends were rallying round. The hugs I received from them helped to give me more strength somehow.

I had plenty of time to think about the situation and how, above all, I felt about Olivia as we waited–and waited–and waited. I was unable to dismiss the almost ten years of marriage that I had had with her. I had loved her for much of that time, even though I now knew that the love I had was based on a false premise. Had I known the truth about her and the duplicity, I know now that the marriage would either not have gone ahead or we would have been divorced years ago. That apart, we did have some good times and despite everything, I still had a place in my heart for her. And now she and her baby were fighting for their lives a few short feet from where I was sitting–but why?

Why had she come to me? I had no idea and it would be a puzzle until I was able–hopefully–to speak to her. Then I realised with a sinking feeling that Nigel should be told. I knew his home number off by heart but I didn’t want to speak to him–but I had to. Olivia was his daughter and whatever I felt about him, he needed to know what was happening. I reluctantly got up from the seat next to Abby. She was asleep across a couple of chairs and I tried not to wake her. Jocasta was asleep too but David was sitting there, reading an old magazine. He looked up at me enquiringly, a gentle smile playing on his face.

I motioned that we should go outside, so as to not wake up “the girls”.

When we reached the cold, green-coloured corridor, I shivered slightly. I hated hospitals at the best of times, and at this time–the early hours of the morning–it was a bleak and depressing place in extremis.

‘What’s wrong, Samantha?’

‘I—I ought to speak to her father. He has a right to know.’

His kind compassionate face looked at me. ‘You detest him, don’t you?’

‘Yes. I think he made Olivia the way she is. He has never liked me and this divorce thing, well its made thing a lot worse. He despises me for what and who I am. I know that if he doesn’t get his bloody knighthood, he will blame it all on me.’

‘He doesn’t still think he’s going to get that, does he, after all the tricks he’s pulled?’

‘Yes, one of his many faults is that he thinks that he is never wrong and his ego tells him that despite everything, he will be dubbed Sir Nigel.’

‘So you need to tell him about Olivia?’

‘Yes, I must. Anyway, if I don’t, it will just be another thing to hold against me.’

‘What’s his number?’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll ring him. You’re in no fit state to speak to that bully.’

‘David, I couldn’t allow you–’

‘–Yes you could. Look, if I’m able to argue the toss with Dotty Fairbairn and come out alive, I’m sure I can handle a minor thug like Nigel.’

I looked at him and knew that he was right. If I spoke to Nigel, the way I felt at the moment in my fragile state, I would probably turn into a quivering blob of jelly.

I took the little notebook with the phone numbers out of my bag and handed it to David.

‘Right,’ he said, all businesslike, ‘leave it to me.’

He strode off down the corridor in search of a pay phone and I returned to the waiting room and sat down by the gently snoring, but very beautiful, Abby. I wondered how the conversation was going and could imagine the blustering Nigel shouting down the phone, blaming everyone but himself for this disaster.

David was taking a long time and I wondered if he was unable to find a working phone. I was just about to get up to look for him, when he walked back in. He looked as white as a sheet as he looked over at me and motioned me outside. I got up carefully, not wanting to wake the snoozing Abby and followed him outside. There were hard plastic seats lining the corridor and David motioned me to sit on one and he sat beside me.

‘Well, I asked, ‘was he as obnoxious as usual?’

‘N—no.’

‘What’s wrong, David?’

‘Look, I erm, wasn’t able to speak to Nigel. He wasn’t available.’

‘What do you mean wasn’t available; was he away or something?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Look, David, you’re talking in riddles. Please tell me what’s going on?’

‘As I say I wasn’t able to speak to him. You should concentrate on Olivia and the baby.’

I looked at David, He was hiding something, I just knew it––

‘David, you may be the best vicar since Jesus did that neat thing with the loaves and fishes, but you are not a good liar. Please tell me the truth. I’m a big girl now. Did he have a bit of a go at you? He does that, the bully.’

He looked at me, had some sort of internal struggled and just shrugged.

‘When I rang his home, Nigel didn’t answer, it was a policeman––’

‘–So they caught up with the slimy so-an’-so, I knew that in the end––’

‘–Listen, Sam, please. He–they–found him.’

‘What do you mean, found him?’

David, if anything had turned even paler.

‘He was dead–on his bed and had been stabbed several times–’

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.