Lydia looked at Theo now, thinking of all the promises they’d made, and kept, over the years, some serious and some more tongue in cheek. But it was the promise she’d made to him that he’d never be hooked up to machines like this that made her hold his hand tightly and whisper the words ‘I’m sorry.’ Never for one minute had she expected to face this situation. Then again, did anybody ever think it would happen to them?
She reached out and stroked his head. She hadn’t broached the subject of Christmas with Anita yet. She knew Graham would be heading back to New Zealand soon with his wife due to undergo a heart operation, but Anita would still be here and already Lydia was wondering whether she should be inviting her over. If she did, it was likely to be torturous looking at one another across the turkey, silly hats on their heads, whiling away the minutes, the hours until they could get back to the hospital and see Theo.
Lydia kissed Theo goodbye, as she always did, and nodded an acknowledgment to the same consultant who’d talked to them about Theo’s wishes when she passed him in the corridor. Since the day he’d mentioned the living will and asked them to consider what Theo would want, the tension between Lydia and Anita had been palpable. But the consultant had been tasked with the impossible. He had to manage the delicate balancing act of doing what the patient would want in the circumstances, respecting the family’s wishes, and making decisions in the light of the evidence they had from the barrage of tests and observations. The nurse had told Lydia today that Theo was stable but there was no change. Nobody could make any promises and that was sometimes the hardest part in all of this. If they knew what the outcome would be in a week, a month, a year, then they could get their heads around it and make plans. But the uncertainty was what was made this all so unbearable.
*
Lydia bundled her suitcase into the back of the company car and climbed into the driver’s seat. It was only one night away but after the last few weeks, it was still an escape, and one she needed very much. Graham would be at the hospital now and it felt good to know Theo had company, but with only five days to go until Christmas day, she desperately needed some kind of break in her routine. She’d braved sending a text to Anita that morning, asking her if she’d like to stay for Christmas but crossing her legs, arms, hands, anything else that could physically be crossed, that she would say no. And the reply had come back less than half an hour later to say that she would be spending the time with Grace in a cottage in Castle Combe. There was no ‘would you like to join us?’ or ‘what will you be doing now that your boyfriend is in a coma?’ Of course Lydia didn’t want her to say those things at all, but still, it would’ve been nice to be acknowledged.
The winter sun was low in the sky and necessitated the use of the visor and some decent sunglasses as she drove up to Hertfordshire, but it was a relaxing drive. She’d already checked the weather forecast that morning, glad to see that for now at least the mild winter weather would last. It was a blessing. She loved the look of frost as it hardened branches on trees and twinkled in the sunlight, and she’d always loved the first snowfall of the year, bringing everything to a sense of peace, a lull in the busyness of everyday lives. But since Theo’s accident had rocked her world, the beauty of the winter season would forever remind her that it could also be brutal, it could take you by surprise when you least expected.
As Lydia drove she allowed her thoughts to drift to the research she’d already done on Jonathan Maynard last night, her iPad resting on her knees in bed. She liked to be prepared before she interviewed a subject and he was no exception. It seemed he wasn’t a professional skier, as she’d first thought, but a well-known name in the philanthropic circuit. A man who’d trained as an architect before giving it all up to go travelling, teach skiing and run charity events, this was his fifth fundraising project and all of those previously had drawn excellent media coverage, often in major newspapers both nationally and internationally.
After she’d parked in the hotel car park she checked in and found her room. She propped her washbag up on the bathroom cabinet, hung up the few clothes she’d brought with her and plugged her phone in at the charger. Checking her watch, she had enough time for a quick shower and freshen up before she was due at the snow centre. And it was when she was beneath the warm water jets, lathering her hair with the hotel’s surprisingly tangy smelling shampoo, that she realised how much she needed this. Normal actions in a totally different environment and finally she felt like an ordinary thirty-something again, at least for a while.
She stepped out of the shower, wrapped her hair in a turban and pulled on the fluffy white bathrobe that was folded and waiting on a shelf. She slipped her feet into the awaiting white slippers and as she was busy wondering whether Ian always put his employees in swanky hotels like this, her phone grabbed her attention and caller ID told her it was Sally.
‘How’s the hotel?’ Sally asked.
‘I’ve only just got here but it’s nice.’
‘I’ll bet it’s good to get away.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.’ She usually saw her best friend at least twice a week, but since Theo’s accident she’d not been in the mood for socialising unless it was at work, where she could pretend to be carefree and happy.
‘Don’t apologise, Lydia. You’ve got one hell of a fight on your hands with Theo and I admire how strong you are.’
She decided to lift the mood by changing the subject. ‘How’s Gerry?’ Things between Sally and her latest boyfriend had turned serious very quickly and they had already moved in together.
‘He’s fine, still lovely.’
Lydia smiled. It was good to see Sally happy. Gerry was the first boyfriend of Sally’s Theo had actually liked. Greg had turned out to be a bit of a tosser, and that was a pretty polite description. No wonder Sally had kept smoking while she was with him, the stress would’ve driven her to it. But Gerry was different. Sally gave up the fags the second they met and hadn’t looked back. He was good for Sally and treated her right. Just the way Theo treated Lydia.
‘I’m phoning to ask if you’d like to come to us for Christmas,’ Sally said and Lydia silently berated herself for not having been much of a friend lately. ‘No pressure at all. I’ll totally understand if you would rather go to your parents or you’re spending it with Theo’s mum.’
‘Sally, I’d love to.’ She sat on the bed, resting against the pillows. ‘I’ll go and see Theo a couple of times during the day if buses are running, or I’ll taxi it. So as long as you don’t mind me disappearing, I’d love to come over.’ Truthfully, she couldn’t bear the thought of staying with her parents, under their watchful eye, but neither did she want to spend the day in her and Theo’s home with its grey and white furnishings, filled with reminders which would be so much more painful on the one day of the year where everything was supposed to be that little bit more special.
‘Then that’s settled,’ Sally replied chirpily. ‘Lunch is at two o’clock, and you can come and go as you please.’
Lydia was in good spirits by the time she drove to the snow centre, and even more relieved Anita didn’t want to spend Christmas with her, whether in Bath or Suffolk. Spending Christmas with Sally and Gerry would be a relaxed affair, possibly even a bit of fun if she let it, but Christmas with Anita would’ve been close to impossible. After all, Anita was fighting for her son’s life, whereas in her eyes, Lydia had told them to let him go. And she doubted Anita would ever forgive her.
*
At the snow centre things were already kicking off. Photographers and journalists were everywhere, as well as representatives from the kids’ charity the event was raising money for. The general chatter in the venue was upbeat and Lydia imagined this centre would be a skier’s dream when they couldn’t quite make it to Europe or farther afield. The centre used snow cannons operating overnight to make real snow, and the temperature at the slope was kept below zero to keep the snow in the best possible condition. Right now, it was a blanket of white in front of them all ready for the first tracks from skis to leave their mark.
Lydia lingered upstairs, looking out of the window over the slopes. She hadn’t researched the charity yet but it was on her to-do list, to make the article meaningful, accurate and with a great human-interest angle. She’d queried why cover the charity event at all if the publication was for travel, but Ian was very much into the whole big picture and he said this would appeal to readers, in some way help them to understand this magazine was about people and their wants and needs, not just about holiday companies making money. Lydia could kind of see where he was going and the thing about Ian was that even when you didn’t know him all that well, you tended to trust his instincts and go with it.
She took off her jacket. Dressed in jeans, snow boots and a cream fisherman’s jumper that contrasted against her tanned skin, she was nice and warm and not looking forward to being out there interviewing. She hoped they could at least do some of the talking inside. She took out her notepad and jotted down things she knew would add colour to the article she was going to write: the buzz between people gathering for the event, the chatter she could hear faintly through the glass from where she was sitting in the restaurant overlooking the slope. She could see smiles on faces, hands rubbing together, laughing and cajoling between volunteers and anyone taking part. She took photos of the tables lined with food, the set up for a raffle at the far end of the room. The lighting was soft, it was cosy up here, and the whole environment gave the feeling of being in a real ski lodge, exhausted after a day in the cold and hours of physical activity, when everyone was more than ready for the après-ski.
It was almost time to head down and find Jonathan Maynard and she wondered which one he was. She’d looked him up on Google – of course she had – so she would be able to spot him but everyone was so bundled up in ski jackets, salopettes, helmets and gloves, that she had no idea. She knew he was tall, had a number-two haircut – or at least he had in the newspaper article from two months ago – and he had striking pale blue eyes. But that was a picture and he’d been wearing a T-shirt with well-cut jeans, none of this ski gear.
With enough notes made, Lydia zipped up her jacket and braved the viewing balcony. A group of people had just come inside and were mumbling about hot cups of tea so she nabbed a spot right at the edge where she could look out at the white, unspoiled slope. It didn’t take long to feel the icy blast. It was almost magical, being thrust into a wintry ski environment after the blustery, drizzly outside of England in December. Sheltered beneath a light-grey domed roof with pictures of mountains on every surrounding wall, the centre had created a ski environment that seemed far better than the last UK experience Lydia had had.
A few years ago Theo had surprised her with ski lessons at the dry slope in Trowse. They’d been visiting Grace who lived in Norwich at the time and for some reason Theo took it upon himself to introduce Lydia to a sport she had zero interest in. She argued why anyone would ever want to strap two planks of wood or metal, or whatever skis were made of, to their feet and throw themselves down a mountain! But she’d gone along to the beginner’s class, relieved to find it wasn’t entirely filled with people younger than her who mastered ski skills in an instant. Most participants were older, hesitant and took their time. Lydia was cautious, but by the end of the session she could at least snowplough down a small incline. She’d fallen a couple of times, nothing too bad, but the last time she scraped her cheek against the wretched fake surface, which was like straw except it was nothing like toppling into a hay bale in the middle of summer. It was brutal and sharp and the redness had lingered for the rest of the night.
She glanced around her now as the cold air lingered against her face and the iciness settled through her hair, and when she looked down from the balcony she locked gazes with a man who not only would she describe as incredibly good-looking, but someone she knew by name: Jonathan Maynard.
She almost waved but of course he’d have no idea who she was. Not unless he Googled ‘journalist+Lydia+girl-who-has-no-idea-whether-she’s-coming-or-going’. So instead she went back inside, through the restaurant and made her way downstairs to the doors that would lead outside. She showed her press pass and was allowed instant access. It always made her laugh, flashing the ID as though she were someone famous and not just a regular member of the public who wanted to watch the action.
