The Stationmaster’s Daughter. Kathleen McGurl
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he stood with it, not seeing, not hearing, doing nothing.
And then as his senses returned he registered screams of horror, followed by the sight of that broken and twisted body lying at the foot of the stairs. How had it happened? Annie was screaming, lung-bursting screams of pain and terror. His instinct was to rush to her, gather her up and hold her, but would that make things worse? There was no going back now. No returning to how things used to be, before … before today, before all the horrible, life-changing events of the day. It was all over now.
The screams continued, and he knew that the next minutes would alter his life forever. He knew too that even without the broken body, the screams, the fall, his life had already changed irrevocably. The door to a future he had only dared dream of had been slammed shut in his face.
He allowed himself a moment’s grief for what had been and for what might have yet been, and then he shook himself into action, hurrying down the stairs to deal with it all. Not to put it right – that wasn’t possible – but to do his best. For Annie.
It was her dad’s voice that Tilly Thomson could hear, outside the room she’d been sleeping in. Her dad. What was he doing here? She rolled over and buried her face in her Disney Princess pillow. She didn’t want to see him. No, that wasn’t true, she did want to see him – she wanted nothing more than to be scooped up in his strong arms, and for him to take all the pain away. But she didn’t want him to see her like this. Broken, sick, deep in a pit of despair. No parent should see their child in this sort of state. Even if that child was 39.
There was a tap at the door, and then Jo entered. Jo was Tilly’s best friend, the person who’d saved her life and given her a place to stay. She’d moved her two little daughters into one room to make space for Tilly, after she was discharged from hospital.
‘Tils? Your dad’s here.’ Jo stepped into the room, her face taut with worry. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to worry him, but listen, mate, he’s your dad. So I phoned him. Don’t be cross at me. Let him help.’
Before Tilly could summon the energy to answer, Jo stepped aside and Tilly’s dad, Ken, entered the room. He looked stressed, much older than when she’d last seen him. That would be her fault, she supposed.
‘Hey, Dad,’ she managed to croak.
‘Oh, pet. What’s up? Jo said you were in a bad way?’ He looked about for a place to sit down, and pulled out a small stool upholstered in pink to perch on.
‘I’ll, um, leave you two to talk,’ Jo said. ‘Did you want a cup of tea, Ken?’
‘Thanks, Jo. I’d love one.’
Jo closed the door quietly behind her. Tilly took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes. The pain on her father’s face was too much to bear.
‘What’s up?’ he said again, his voice hoarse. He was fighting back tears, she realised.
‘Just … all got a bit much for me, I suppose,’ she whispered. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth. Not now. Not yet.
‘You should have talked to me! I’d do anything for you, you know that, pet? Jo said you were … having a breakdown of some sort. God, when I heard …’
Tilly didn’t want to think about how he’d have felt. A pang of guilt coursed through her, adding to the pain, pushing her deeper into that dark pit of misery. ‘Sorry, Dad. I … didn’t want you to be worried.’
‘Of course I worry. Just want my girl to be happy again.’
She forced a weak smile to her face and reached for his hand. Her lovely dad, just trying to do what was best for her. But he wouldn’t be able to fix everything. ‘I know you do. Thanks.’
‘Look, pet, we have a bit of a plan. I think you should come home with me. Down to Dorset. I’ll sort out the spare room for you, and then you can rest and relax as much as you need. Jo’s been so good, but you can’t stay here forever. She’s got her own family to look after.’
Tilly tried to imagine life with her dad in his bungalow by the sea. He’d lived on his own since her mum died nearly three years ago. He spent all his spare time helping with the restoration of an old railway. He’d probably try to get her involved in it too, but right now, she couldn’t imagine doing anything other than lying in bed, under a thick duvet to insulate her from the rest of the world.
‘It’ll be good for you, pet. Sea air. The views from the cliff top. Getting away from London and all … everything that’s happened.’
‘He’s right, Tils.’ Jo had come back in with a couple of mugs of tea. She handed one to Ken, put the other on a bedside cabinet then perched on the end of the bed and took Tilly’s hand. ‘Listen, mate, you know you can stay here as long as you want. I’m not chucking you out. But have a think about it. New surroundings, living by the coast in Coombe Regis, a slower pace of life a long way from Ian and the rest of it. Might help get your head straight.’
‘I’m not sure it’ll ever feel straight again,’ Tilly said, but regretted it when she saw Ken wince. He didn’t know all of it. Unless Jo had told him.
‘It will, in time. Believe me.’ Ken put his tea down on a plastic toy crate and slid to his knees beside the bed. ‘Come here, pet. Let your old dad give you a cuddle. Can’t promise to make it all better in one go, but the Lord knows I’ll give it my best shot.’
And then he scooped her up into a sitting position, wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Tilly held on to him, letting his strength seep into her, resting her head against his shoulder and finally giving in to the urge to cry – huge, ugly sobs that shook her body and wracked her soul, but which somehow he seemed to absorb, so that when she finally calmed herself and pushed him gently away, she felt just a tiny bit better, just a touch more able to face the world. Perhaps he and Jo were right. Perhaps a stay on the Dorset coast with Ken would help. It certainly couldn’t make her feel any worse.
*
Ken slept on Jo’s sofa for the next two nights, until Tilly felt ready to face the journey. She felt scared to leave the cocoon of Jo’s house, that comforting little pink bedroom in which she felt like a child being cosseted as she recovered from a bout of chicken pox. But 5-year-old Amber deserved to have her bedroom back.
At last it was time to leave. After dropping her kids off at school and nursery, Jo had made a trip to the house Tilly had once shared with Ian, and filled a suitcase with clothes. ‘I picked up mostly jeans, T-shirts, fleeces,’ she said. ‘I guessed you wouldn’t want your smart work clothes. If you need anything more I’ll go and fetch it, and bring it when I come to visit.’ She hugged Tilly. ‘Which won’t be too many weeks away, I promise.’
Tilly’s eyes filled with tears. Jo had been such a good friend to her through all this. There was no way Tilly could have faced returning to her old marital home to pack, even when Ian wasn’t there. And although Ken had offered, Jo had insisted he stay with Tilly rather than risk a confrontation with his son-in-law, which would almost certainly end badly. ‘Thanks, Jo. I can always buy anything else if I feel I need it.’ Though right now all she felt she’d need was a few pairs of warm pyjamas and maybe a dressing gown.
With effort, she dragged herself into the shower, washed her hair, and dressed in some of the clothes Jo had fetched. When she came downstairs, she found her father and Jo sitting in the kitchen, talking seriously. About her, no doubt. They cared, she reminded herself, even if she no longer cared about herself.
‘There you are. You look better for having that shower,’ Jo said, with a smile. ‘Cup of tea before you go?’
Tilly shrugged. Recently she’d found it impossible to make even the simplest decision.