Page 143 of The Love Letter

‘I’ll be fine.’

Simon looked up and saw Joanna had appeared beside them. She slumped down next to Marcus, the few steps she’d taken exhausting her.

‘I’m running to the car to call for help. Stay with him . . . keep talking to him . . .’ Simon disappeared into the darkness.

‘Marcus, it’s all right,’ she said softly.

‘Tried to save you . . .’ Marcus coughed and groaned as more blood trickled from his lips.

‘I know. And you did. Thank you, Marcus, but try not to talk.’

‘So-sorry for everything. I . . . love you.’

Marcus smiled up at her, before his eyes closed once more.

‘And I love you too,’ she whispered. Then she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder.

Check

When the king is under threat of capture on the opponent’s next turn

34

North Yorkshire, April 1996

Joanna sat stiffly on the coarse moorland grass. She looked up at the Yorkshire sky and knew she had, at best, half an hour before the blue above gave way to the grey clouds coming in from the west. She moved gingerly, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in. It was still painful to breathe or move much – the X-rays had revealed she had cracked two ribs on her left-hand side in her fall down the stairs. She was also covered in huge purple bruises. The doctor had assured her that as long as she rested for a while, she would make a full recovery. Joanna felt a sick lurch in her stomach at the thought. She couldn’teverimagine recovering fully.

Images of the night she had so very nearly lost her life assailed her day and night – memories that had come filtering back in no particular order and which haunted her dreams. It was only in the last couple of days she’d had the mental strength to begin to contemplate what had happened and try to put the facts together.

The few hours after Simon had saved her life were still a blur. The paramedics had arrived and given her a large pain-dulling injection, which had knocked her out on the drive to the hospital. There were vague memories of X-ray machines, faces of strangers peering down at her, asking if this or that hurt, the prick of a needle as a drip was inserted into her arm. And then finally, when they had left her alone, a blissful sleep.

And then, waking up disorientated the next morning, hardly able to believe she was still alive . . . And – despite the pain she was in – feeling euphoric that she was, until Simon appeared by her bedside, looking grave. And she’d known there was worse to come . . .

‘Hi, Jo, how are you?’

‘I’ve been better,’ she’d quipped, studying his face for a glimmer of a smile in return.

‘Yes. Look, this whole thing . . . well, it’s not for now. We’ll discuss it when you’re stronger. I’m just so very sorry you ever got involved. And that I didn’t do enough to protect you.’

Joanna had seen Simon’s hands clenching and unclenching. A sign of agitation she knew from years back, when he had bad news to break.

‘What is it, Simon?’ she asked him. ‘Spit it out.’

Simon cleared his throat and looked away. ‘Jo, I need to . . . I need to tell you something difficult.’

Joanna remembered wondering ifanythingcould be more ‘difficult’ at this moment. ‘Go on then, shoot.’

‘I don’t know how much you remember from last night . . .’

‘I don’t know either. Justsayit, Simon,’ she’d urged him.

‘Okay, okay. Do you remember Marcus being there?’

‘I . . . vaguely,’ Joanna had replied. And then a snapshot of him lying on the ground, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. ‘Oh God . . .’ She’d looked up at Simon’s expression as he shook his head and put his hand over hers.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jo. He didn’t make it.’

Simon had continued to tell her of the fatal internal injuries Marcus had sustained, that he’d been pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital, but she wasn’t listening.