A crash leaves Martha’s high-flying daughter in intensive care and reveals that all is shockingly far from well in her life…
Later, Martha realised she couldn’t remember a thing about the car journey to the hospital – the windows left open at home, the frantic call to Oscar who’d been away on a medical conference, the way she’d run out to the car still in housework clothes.
Well, who would expect something like this? When their children were safely grown, steered through adolescence and into the still waters of adulthood? It wasn’t supposed to happen. Couldn’t be real.
She would never forget, though, walking into Intensive Care. Seeing Lizzie – her wavy, golden hair spread out across the starched pillow, and lily-white hands lying small and childlike by her sides – a car-accident victim. Like so many before her, she lay cut, bruised and broken.
“Lizzie?”
The ventilator pumped and hissed as behind, the blue light of a brilliant winter’s day darkened, and the waiting began.
Lizzie… wake up!
Chris, Martha’s husband, was already there. Red-eyed, his greying hair dishevelled, he’d finished his operating list and rushed to Lizzie’s side – checking charts and demanding information.
It helped that he was a consultant in the same hospital, she supposed. Perhaps it also helped him to take on a professional role instead of an emotional one?
It didn’t help her, though. In fact, holding her daughter’s pale, cool hand in her own, it occurred to her she barely knew him. Perhaps that’s what came from marrying a busy NHS doctor.
“You need to know something,” he said, after he’d finished cross-examining the staff.
Denne historien er fra September 24,2016-utgaven av My Weekly.
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Denne historien er fra September 24,2016-utgaven av My Weekly.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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