The Inn On Bluebell Lane — Episode 15
The Inn On Bluebell Lane
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- 1. The Inn On Bluebell Lane — Episode 15
With a sigh, Gwen rose from the table and went to the garden.
Now early September, it was past its most glorious bloom, but there were still late-fruiting raspberries to pick, and the old, knotted tree was laden with apples not quite ready to harvest.
All her guests had loved this garden, its deliberate, artful wildness, although admittedly this summer it was less artful and more just wild.
Gwen had tried to entice her grandchildren out here – she’d had vague visions of them feeding the chickens and building dens – but only Ava had been interested, and only in the old rope swing which needed replacing.
Gwen sat down on the wrought-iron bench Seth had given her for their 25th wedding anniversary.
It was quieter in the back of the garden, so Gwen could hear the birdsong, the cluck of the chickens, even the whisper of the wind through the trees.
If only she could stay like this for ever. Not wondering. Not knowing.
Because of course she did know. The oncology department didn’t ring when it was good news. They sent a form letter.
Or could she hope, just a little bit, that this phone call was nothing to worry about?
That life could go on, the same as always?
Except of course it couldn’t, because things were already changing.
The homely bed and breakfast that had been her and Seth’s dream wasn’t viable any more.
Already all the fixtures and fittings they’d lovingly installed were being ripped up and discarded like rubbish.
Gwen understood it had to be that way. She wasn’t so sentimental or foolish not to realise that.
And yet it still hurt, because life felt so precious and fragile and fleeting, and she still had to ring the hospital.
She was just getting up from the bench when an almighty racket came from the upstairs, a most alarming, crashing sound, as clouds of dust flew from the open windows.
Gwen hurried back towards the house, her heart starting to pound as Ellie appeared in the back doorway.
“I think the roof might have fallen in,” she said, her face pale and eyes wide.
“There’s plaster and dust everywhere, and I can’t find Matthew.”
Ellie sat on a hard plastic chair, staring into space, a paper cup of cold coffee cradled in her hands, forgotten.
It had been an hour since Matthew had gone into surgery after being rushed to hospital.
An hour of worry.
“He’ll be all right,” Gwen said quietly, although her face was pale and drawn and she hadn’t drunk her coffee, either. “And at least it’s his arm, not his head.”
Ellie just nodded.
They’d had the same brief conversation three times already, since the paramedics had found Matthew in the rubble of the guest bedroom, the floor of Ellie and Matthew’s attic room in broken pieces all around him.
They’d dragged him unconscious from the mess, appearing lifeless and frightening Ellie terribly.
Fortunately, on the way to the hospital, he’d woken up and started speaking, and the doctors weren’t as concerned about his head as they were about his right arm, which had been at a horribly awkward angle.
In the hospital, they informed Ellie and Gwen that Matthew needed surgery on his elbow, and Ellie had numbly agreed.
Now she was waiting. Hoping that despite everything, it was still all going to be OK.
“Mrs Davies?” The surgeon stood in the doorway of the waiting room as both Ellie and Gwen stood up.
“Yes,” they said at the same time. The surgeon looked from one to the other, and Gwen sat down.
“Sorry,” she murmured, and Ellie wondered what she was apologising for.
They both were worried out of their minds.
“Is Matthew . . . is he out of surgery?” she asked.
“Yes, he did brilliantly. It was a nasty break, but we’ve secured the bones, and as long as he takes it easy it should heal well.
“It’s in plaster, and will be need to be for the next six weeks.”
Six weeks. But he was all right, his arm was all right, and suddenly Ellie had to sit down because she felt faint with relief.