Come Running

“But it is true, Darrell. I assure you.” Matthew drew a steadying breath. “How do you think the family feel? How do you think my mother feels? My father …” He shook his head. “Well, he’s getting good and drunk, but my mother …” He paused. “Will you come?”

Darrell nodded, pressing trembling hands to her cheeks, feeling the prick of tears behind her lids. Matthew looked at her, as though to assure himself that she was all right, and that direct stare was the undoing of her. Unable to prevent herself, she burst into tears, feeling the salty drops wetting her hands as they streamed unheeded down her cheeks. It had all been too much – the tension over the wedding and Celine’s outburst, her own troubled feelings towards Matthew, and now this … Poor Susan! Poor Frank! Not even their wedding night had been spared them …

With an exclamation, Matthew reached for her, pulling her against him, putting his arms around her and pressing her face against his chest. He had unbuttoned his jacket and his shirt was smooth and silky against her cheek. Beneath its softness she could feel the hardness of muscle, smell the shaving lotion he wore, inhale the clean fragrance of his skin. His heart was beating steadily in her ears, and his strength was something she badly needed just at this moment. But alongside this feeling were other feelings, and it was the knowledge of their presence even in these moments of stress which forced her to draw back from him and search blindly for a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not normally so emotional. It was just a such a – such a terrible – shock!”

“I know,” Matthew nodded, buttoning his jacket again as he turned to the wheel. His voice was strangely taut as he commented: “It’s better to cry if you can. Releases tension, isn’t that what they say?”

Darrell dried her eyes. “I suppose so. Could we – that is – I’d rather not go – like this.” She indicated her uniform selfconsciously.

Matthew started the engine and swung the powerful car away from the kerb. “Just direct me to where you live,” he answered. “I’ll wait while you change.”

When they reached the flats, Darrell turned to him. “I – will you come in?” she invited awkwardly.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

Darrell hesitated a moment and then shook her head. “No, please – come in.”

Matthew made a gesture of acquiescence and as she fumbled her way out of the door at her side, he climbed out easily and locked the car.

The cream emulsioned walls of the apartment building had never seemed more drab, the stair treads bare and worn in the centre. Darrell led the way upstairs on unsteady legs, finding her key and inserting it in the lock.

Matthew stood in the centre of the living room looking about him with what she felt sure must be feigned interest. He had never been here while Susan was living in the flat, and now that she was dead … Dead! She still couldn’t believe it.

“I won’t be a minute,” she said, flinging her handbag on to a chair and indicating the couch. “Won’t you sit down? I’m afraid I don’t have anything alcoholic I can offer you, but there’s coffee …”

“Thank you.” Matthew was polite. “But I don’t want anything. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

Darrell left him sitting on the couch and entered her bedroom. As she took off her uniform she surreptitiously examined her face in the dressing table mirror. She looked pale, much paler than usual, and there were blotches round her eyes where she had been crying. What a mess! What must he think of her? She sighed, shaking her head impatiently. Don’t do getting the wrong ideas about this, she told herself severely. It had been kind of him to come and break the news, but that was all.

She dressed in a plain navy skirt and a cream blouse, brushing her hair out of the severe chignon she wore for working, and securing it behind her ears with two combs. Cold water had removed almost all traces of grief, and a careful use of a moisturising foundation cream erased the rest. She didn’t bother with any other make-up, she seldom wore a lot anyway, and the result was still very pale, but composed.

Matthew rose to his feet as she re-entered the lounge, a dark blue suede coat over her arm. His eyes flickered over her briefly, and then he said: “You’re ready?”

Darrell nodded.

“Have you eaten?”

Darrell frowned. “Why – no. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not feeling much like eating anyway.”

Matthew thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. “You must eat something. As a nurse you should know that.”

Darrell glanced round helplessly. “It’s all right – really.”

Matthew regarded her for another unblinking moment, then he shrugged. “Come along, then.”

It was amazing how quickly one could reach Windsor Street if one did not have to rely on buses, Darrell thought bleakly, trying to put the picture of Susan and Frank’s mangled bodies out of her mind. One could by-pass the town centre completely, taking the direct route on the ring road. There were plenty of cars about on this warm summer evening and it seemed incredible that for most of these people another plane crash would arouse nothing more than an exclamation of sympathy for those involved. But for Susan and Frank …

She pressed her lips tightly together. She must not get emotional, not now. She had been Susan’s friend, but the Lawfords were her family, her flesh and blood. Somehow she had to be strong enough to bear their grief and absorb some of it if she could.

Matthew, who had been silent on the journey, glanced sideways at her as they turned into Windsor Street. “This is going to be pretty harrowing for you, Darrell,” he said quietly. “But thank you for coming. My mother – all of us – appreciate it.”

His words affected her more than her thoughts had done, and she nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak. When the powerful car drew to a halt at the Lawfords’ gate, she thrust open her door and climbed out before she succumbed to the crazy desire to comfort him as he had comforted her a little while ago.

The next few hours were gruelling ones as Matthew had predicted. The house seemed full of people, and the kettle was constantly boiling to make tea. Relatives from out of town who had attended the wedding the day before and who had been staying overnight before returning home were still there, and there was a lack of organisation that Mrs. Lawford would never have permitted had she not been stricken with her own grief. She gathered herself sufficiently to tell Darrell that the airline was sending all the bodies home for burial, and that Evelyn and her husband had flown out to Palma, at the airline’s expense, to attend to the details on their behalf. Frank’s father had gone too, she said, but Mr. Lawford was in no fit state to go anywhere. Darrell guessed what it must have cost her to tell an outsider this, and respected her for it.

Darrell herself was soon busy in the kitchen, washing dishes and generally making use of herself. There was still a certain amount of disorder left from the night before, and she stacked cakes and pastries into tins and threw out dozens of empty bottles and sandwiches whose edges had curled unappetisingly. Penny, the Lawfords’ youngest daughter, appeared from time to time, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She was no assistance, but Jennifer, the other married sister, remained by her mother’s side. Darrell understood that at a time like this Mrs. Lawford needed someone to lean on.

Susan’s brothers seemed to have taken over the dining room and were keeping out of the way. The majority of people milling around were aunts and uncles and cousins, and one or two of Frank’s relatives. Laura Vincent, Mrs. Lawford’s sister, came to help Darrell with the washing up and it was she who explained how the news had been broken in the early hours of the morning.

“We hadn’t heard any news, you see,” she said, shaking her head. “Not having the television on, or anything. Frank’s family were getting ready to go home when these policemen came to the door.”

“It must have been terrible,” put in Darrell sympathetically, and Laura nodded.

“It was – terrible! Our Margaret just collapsed, and Jim – well, he – he wouldn’t believe it.”

“I still find it hard to believe,” murmured Darrell, with feeling.

Laura picked up a cup and began polishing it absently with the teacloth. “It was just as well our Matt was here. He was a tower of strength. Pulled his mother round, he did. I don’t know what she’d have done if that toffee-nosed wife of his had had her way and they’d left directly after the wedding. That was what she wanted to do, you know. And causing that scene after tea! Conceited, that’s what she is. Thinks herself too good for the likes of us!”

“Oh, please …” Darrell didn’t want to get involved in a discussion about Celine Lawford. “Er – Evelyn left this morning, then?”

“For Palma, yes. Matt would have gone himself, but our Margaret begged him to stay. The funeral’s likely to be on Thursday. Joint affair, so I believe. Susan and Frank. Susan and Frank!”

Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes and she dabbed them away. But it was difficult to remain immune from the awful tragedy of it all.

Darrell was making fresh sandwiches in an effort to tempt the men to eat something at least when the kitchen door opened and Celine came in. Up until then, Darrell had assumed she must have got her way and been installed in some hotel, but it was obvious from the petulance of her expression that this was not so.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she came and perched on the corner of the table, watching Darrell working with a jaundiced eye. “You must like being here,” she commented, grimacing. “Imagine coming back at a time like this.”

There was no evidence of grief in Celine’s bored expression and Darrell wondered that anyone could remain unmoved by what had occurred. Particularly when that someone was so close to the family. But then Celine would probably tell her that she was not close to the family. She probably hadn’t met Susan above a dozen times. They were virtually strangers to her. All the same, even a stranger might find it difficult not to respond to the pathos of it all.

“I hope someone’s hungry.” Darrell avoided any open confrontation. “I wonder if everyone likes cheese with chutney.”

“I suppose, being a nurse, you’re used to situations like this,” remarked Celine, bringing a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her well cut slacks. Although she was small, she was very slender, and the masculine attire accentuated her femininity.

Darrell nodded now. This at least was safer ground. “Yes. Although one never quite learns to accept it.”

Celine lit her cigarette. “Oh, come on,” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean to tell me you feel for every passing corpse that comes your way!”

Darrell didn’t care for her turn of phrase. “Death is always unexpected,” she replied carefully. “I can never quite get over the feeling of loss when two people are in a room together and suddenly one of them –” She broke off. “I’m sorry. That was morbid of me.” She quartered the pile of sandwiches and began arranging them on a plate. “When – when are you leaving? After – the funeral?”

Celine exhaled smoke through her nostrils, looking irritable. “God alone knows, I don’t! Matthew should have left today at the latest. He has a board meeting tomorrow afternoon, and he leaves for New York on Wednesday.”

Darrell turned to rinse her fingers at the sink. “I – I believe the funeral’s not until Thursday,” she murmured.

“I know that. But Matthew’s a busy man, his work is important. He can’t just neglect everything because there’s been a plane crash …”