‘Tom?’
‘Dereborn. Your cousin?’
‘I know it’s you but why are you calling me? And where from?’
‘I don’t have my mobile. I need some advice.’
‘Oh dear God. Just let me check.’
‘What?’
‘That the sky hasn’t fallen in.’
‘Very funny.’ Annette’s family is very different from mine. They’re very touchy-feely and supportive of each other. What she doesn’t realise is that she’s always been the bogeyman to me and my siblings. My super-clever cousin who went to Cambridge to do medicine has been held up as the pinnacle of success by my parents. Luckily, she’s also super-nice, so when we do see her, we soften towards her, but I wouldn’t say any of us have made that much effort beyond familial duty to get to know her, which now as I speak to her I regret because she doesn’t hesitate for one second to help.
I explain what’s happened.
‘You’re on a reality TV show. You?’ She giggles. ‘I take it the ’rents have no idea.’
‘What do you think?’ I ask with sigh.
‘And what? You think you’ll get away with it? Although, rhetorical question. I can’t imagine Uncle Nigel and Aunt Barbara would be seen dead watching that “sort of rubbish”.’ She imitates the snobbish tones of my mother perfectly. ‘What on earth possessed you?’
‘Because … because I want to give up insurance and make films and this is a way of getting some capital behind me.’ Maybe spending time with Lydia has made me a little more open. She’s always so direct and says what she’s thinking; it must have rubbed off.
I wait for the inevitable scoff.
‘Tom, that’s brilliant. I always remember that film you made when I had to stay one summer … you shot it on your iPhone and spent two days editing it. You’ve always been creative like that. I tell my mates to follow your Insta account. Shame your dad was so anti you going to Portsmouth to do Film Production.’
I don’t want to remember that. The occasion I broached it was the first time I truly understood the word ‘apoplectic’. That she remembers those silly videos is a surprise. Maybe they were better than I gave them credit for. As a kid, making those was my thing. I always assumed everyone viewed life in images just like I did.
‘So, my friend. I’m really worried about her.’ That’s an understatement. I just want to scoop her up, hold her and make her better. I’ve never felt the need to protect and look after someone like this and I don’t know what to do with the feelings. One minute they’re soaring with elation like butterflies escaping a jar, next minute they’re terrifying me because they feel out of my control. What if I can’t put the lid on them? I’ve always been good at schooling my response so that I don’t give too much away.
‘Where are you?’ My cousin’s soft voice intercepts these far too introspective thoughts.
Luckily there were a couple of letters by the front door and with my brilliant detecting skills I’ve deduced we’re near a place called Sadgill and I tell her this.
‘Did she lose consciousness?’
‘I don’t think so but I think she might have broken her arm or something.’
Annette asks me a dozen more questions. When I tell her that Lydia’s shoulder looks a very odd shape, she makes her diagnosis.
‘It sounds as if she’s dislocated her shoulder. Is she with you?’
‘Upstairs.’
‘Can you take the phone upstairs?’
I go up to the bedroom where Lydia is lying in bed looking pale against the pillows. Against the white cotton she looks young and small and just a little fearful.
There it is again, that need to take her hand, hold it and tell her everything will be okay. I’ll look after her. This time there’s no holding the feelings in. Maybe I can protect myself by focusing on the here and now and compartmentalising things so that they only exist in this place, at this time. The thought reassures me and I give into my need to reassure her.
‘Hey,’ I say softly. ‘I’m on the phone to a doctor. I need to see your shoulder.’ I have to put the phone down to lift the T-shirt and I carefully avert my eyes from her breasts. I don’t want to embarrass her, not when she’s so vulnerable. I put Annette on speaker phone.
‘Lydia, this is my cousin, Dr Annette Dereborn. Lydia Smith, Annette.’
‘Hi,’ says Lydia. ‘Annette Dereborn? You didn’t happen to read Medicine at Cambridge, did you?’
‘Yes!’ My cousin names her college and the years she was there and Lydia informs her they had rooms next door to each other. ‘Lydia Smith. Oh my god. Of course I remember you. What a small world. Tom says you’ve had an accident. How you doing? No, don’t answer that. You’re with my cousin. The international man of mystery. If you find any juicy dirt on him, do let me know.’
Lydia flashes me a suddenly mischievous grin and mouths ‘What’s it worth?’
I give her a reproving look but she ignores it and smiles to herself as if she’s plotting.
‘Tom says you’ve had quite a nasty fall. What hurts the most?’
‘My shoulder and my leg.’
Annette makes me describe what I can see. What I wouldn’t give to have an iPhone right now and be able to snap a photo and send it.
‘Definitely dislocated and it sounds as if that gash needs stitches. You need to get to a hospital. Hang on, I’ve looked it up. The nearest one is Kendal and a taxi there would cost about twenty quid. I can book you an Uber.’
‘We can’t,’ says Lydia. ‘I’m not going to hospital.’ She gives me a recalcitrant glare. ‘I thought you could just pop dislocated shoulders back in. Can’t you talk Tom through it?’
Annette takes her words at face value. ‘I could … but it would be—’
‘I’m not going to hospital,’ says Lydia, her white face tight with tension and her eyes imploring me. ‘Please don’t make me.’ It’s the first time she’s ever asked me for anything.
