‘Sounds a massive job.’
‘Yes, there’s a lot to do, and I’m probably too old to be starting a project like this, but…’ She broke off. Then she said, ‘I think you ought to take Leah into Cambridge this morning. I don’t think she has seen the city or the colleges.’
‘Sure. I can do that.’
‘I’ll wake Leah. You’ll need to get going. Easter Saturday, the place will be heaving.’
It was nearly twelve o’clock by the time Marianne had shooed Jake and Leah out of the house. She poured a cup of coffee and took it to her desk in the sitting room. Jake has grown into himself, she thought. For years in thrall to his headstrong twin sister, he seems a confident young man now. His interest in the diaries had given him a definite boost in her estimation.
As for Leah – well, she couldn’t help sounding Australian, although Marianne had observed that her accent was far less noticeable after a term at school in London. Also, unlike her mother, she seemed enthusiastic about all she had seen and done since coming to England. She was either a great actress or she was genuinely excited about visiting Cambridge with Jake.
‘Milton was at Cambridge, wasn’t he?’ she had said. ‘And Newton – which college was he? And Rupert Brooke was at King’s – I remember ’cos we’re studying him. And we have to go on a punt! Can we go on a punt, Jake? I’ve seen so many pictures – under that bridge… Oh my God – this is so cool.’ Yes, the girl had promise.
Easter Sunday tomorrow, she thought. Easter has never been quite the same to me after that escapade to Georgia. Perhaps that’s why I have always felt something ominous about spring. That reckless optimism, that certainty I had everything nicely balanced, a carefully constructed tower of hubris – before it all crashed in flames.
9
Strange, incoherent thoughts. The same scene, the same sensations. Unable to move. Pain. Fear. It’s my punishment, she thought. I will burn to death because I have done wrong. Come on, admit it to yourself, a little voice was saying. You have sinned. And you thought you had got rid of that funny old word. By the time you were fourteen you had disposed of sin; thrown it in the garbage bin of childhood terrors, no more demons, no more devils with pitchforks. So what’s it doing dancing around in my head now? How did it sneak back in?
The light was shining in Marianne’s eyes and now she knew she was awake. A nurse was standing over her, saying something. Her heart seemed to be racing. She tried to concentrate on staying awake. The nurse was gone now but she was still awake – there seemed to be numerous tubes coming from her body. I must clear my mind, she thought. She heard a woman’s voice say, ‘You were on the plane too?’ She turned her head and saw a figure lying on a bed not far away. She answered with a small grunt. ‘Don’t talk if it hurts, dear,’ said the woman. ‘There are a lot of us here – I mean, who were on the plane. Where are you from?’
England, she replied, though no word came out; then she thought, I used to say America, curious that. Then she fell asleep again.
The next time Marianne woke up she was immediately alert to her surroundings. A curtain had been drawn around her bed and there was a man sitting beside her. It was Larry. No, she thought, that’s wrong, wrong man. Where’s Edward? Where’s Izzy? Of course, they are back in England – but I need them here.
Larry was talking to her. He was telling her that she had made it. Thank God, he was saying, thank God you made it. He had telephoned the embassy when he heard the news. At first it had been chaotic but they had found out eventually that she had survived. He had got the next available flight to Moscow. Larry said a lot of good things to her and she listened. He told her he felt guilty – that if he hadn’t persuaded her to go down to Georgia… She asked for a drink and he put the feeding cup to her lips. Then she said, ‘It’s over, Larry.’ He stopped, looking surprised.
‘Don’t think about that now, Marianne. You need to concentrate on getting better. You know you have had major abdominal surgery.’
She didn’t know but she allowed her mind to bypass this information. She said, ‘I mean it, Larry. It’s over for us. I want Edward.’
‘Yes, of course, and he is on his way from London. That’s one of the things I came to tell you. We managed to track him down and tell him that you had been on the plane. He is already on his way here. His flight gets in at six this evening. I’ve arranged for an embassy car to pick him up and bring him here. After all, you’re still a US citizen.’
‘And Izzy?’
‘Ah – I don’t know whether she is with him.’
‘I do hope she is.’
Larry promised to try to get her moved to a more private space. He told her about the crash. One of the wings had touched the ground on landing.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I saw it.’
‘You saw it?’
‘Yes, it was on my side.’
‘Oh, anyway, there seem to have been about a dozen fatalities but most of the passengers survived. The ground crews managed to extinguish the fire. Fortunately, there was no explosion.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, fortunately.’
Larry said his goodbyes, kissed her on the forehead, and left. Soon afterwards she was moved to what she later discovered was the part of the hospital reserved for foreigners. She found herself in a cubicle separated from the corridor by a large glass panel and half walls each side, with glass partitions to adjoining rooms. At the back of the room was a lavatory, bath and basin. Soon after she had been moved from a trolley to the bed a young male doctor appeared together with a nurse. The doctor peered into her eyes and asked her how she felt. He then started to tell her about the surgery. Some of the medical terminology was beyond her knowledge of Russian but she detected an apologetic tone. It seemed that some metal – perhaps some of the fuselage – had sliced across her upper leg and lower abdomen. By a miracle it hadn’t severed her femoral artery. Her pelvis was fractured. There was reference to surgical repair of her bladder and some other tricky procedures. Gradually it dawned on her what he was saying: she would never again give birth to a child.
The nurse squeezed her hand. ‘You have a daughter, I think? Your American friend said so.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a mercy.’
‘Yes.’
At first there was just numbness, a matter-of-fact acceptance. So, this was it. There had to be consequences. She was alive but something inside her was dead. Then she thought of Edward and a whole new sensation swept over her – shame for herself and misery for him. What of their plan to have at least one more child and perhaps two? And his unspoken desire for a son. How to tell him that her stupid frolic had deprived him of the chance of being a father again? That is, assuming he stays with me, she thought.
The afternoon passed in alternating phases of fearful sleep and miserable awakening. There were no tears, but self-pity was having to compete with a latent anger at what had happened to her. I’ve been in an accident, she told herself. This has nothing to do with Larry. You can’t expect a plane to crash. I need to clear my head of all this guilt. But the guilt wouldn’t let her go.
She was asleep when she first heard the sound and it didn’t seem quite real. Then she heard it again. The high notes of a child, and suddenly it seemed to her that no voice had ever before sounded so sweet. ‘Mummy,’ Izzy cried, ‘Mummy.’ And that was enough; huge sobs began to shake Marianne. Painful sobs, if she could have felt the pain. Izzy pressed her face to Marianne’s cheeks. ‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’