A Question of Guilt(62)

With one last request to Sam to let them know if he remembered anything else that might help to identify the motorcyclist, they left, and after I’d phoned Bill Turnbull and got his promise of his son Mark’s help with the morning milking, Sam left too. Bill himself was busy with a job he’d been contracted to, and he couldn’t speak for Mark’s commitments in the coming days, but at least I had the immediate problem sorted. Further arrangements could wait until later. For now, my priority was getting to the hospital with some things for Mum and Dad.

I was upstairs packing a couple of bags when I heard someone at the door. I struggled back down the stairs, wondering if it might be the police again, but when I opened the door it was Jeremy who was standing there.

‘I’ve just heard your dad has been involved in an accident, Sally,’ he said anxiously. ‘Is it true?’

Once again I could feel the tears welling.

‘Yes, Jeremy, I’m afraid it is,’ I said.

‘So what’s happened? It was the cows, I heard . . .?’

‘Yes, they stampeded and Dad was trampled.’

‘Is he all right?’ Jeremy clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Stupid question. But you know what I mean . . .’

‘He’s been taken to hospital in Porton, and Mum’s with him. The last I heard, he still hadn’t regained consciousness. I’m on my way there now, so I won’t stop to talk, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh Sally, I’m very sorry to hear that.’ Jeremy looked truly shocked. ‘But how are you going to get to Porton?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to take Dad’s car. Then at least we’ll have transport on hand.’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ He was looking down at my crutches.

‘I’ve been driving it for the last week or so,’ I said. ‘I’ll be OK.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Jeremy said doubtfully. ‘You’re upset, Sally, as well as incapacitated. We don’t want you having an accident too.’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t have much choice, Jeremy. Apart from taking a taxi, and that’s going to cost an arm and a leg.’

‘Hmm.’ Jeremy consulted his watch. ‘Tell you what, Sally. Give me half an hour to do a few things I need to do, and I’ll take you.’

‘Oh, Jeremy, no! I couldn’t put you to that trouble!’ I protested.

‘No trouble,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you, Sally. Get whatever it is you need together, and I’ll be back shortly. And I don’t want to find you’ve taken matters into your own hands and gone already.’

‘OK,’ I said meekly. ‘I’ll take you up on that. To be honest, I don’t really feel much like driving all the way to Porton and back again.’

‘I’m sure you don’t. See you in a bit.’

I closed the door and felt the tears pricking at my eyes again, brought on this time, I felt sure, by Jeremy’s kindness. When something like this happened, you certainly found out who your friends were.

But, apart from the medical team at the hospital, there was nothing anyone could do to help Dad. I felt sick all over again as an image of him lying in the lane, unconscious and covered with blood, rose before my eyes.

‘Please, oh please, let him be all right,’ I prayed.

Then, pulling myself together, I struggled back upstairs to finish packing the necessaries into bags for Mum and Dad.

I honestly don’t know how I’d have managed without Jeremy that night. We’d scarcely set out in his BMW than my mobile rang – Mum, saying that Dad was being transferred to Frenchay Hospital, in Bristol, where they specialized in serious head injuries. When I relayed this information to Jeremy, he took it in his stride, immediately changing direction, and although I felt horribly guilty that his kindness had landed him with a much longer journey than he’d bargained for, I was also relieved that I didn’t have to drive all that way on my own in a car that I was still not completely familiar with.

When we reached Frenchay, he came in with me – with my crutches, I’d really have struggled to carry two bags – and then accompanied me to the wing where Dad had been taken.

‘I’ll wait for you in the car, Sally,’ he said when we reached the nurses’ station. ‘You’ll be all right now, won’t you?’

‘Don’t you want to see Dad?’ I asked.

‘I’d only be in the way, and your mum will want to talk to you alone, I’m sure.’

He was right, of course, but for all that I didn’t want him to go. The company of someone just one step removed from total involvement in this nightmare was somehow comforting.