Chapter 11

Isobel glared back up at him but he never flinched. It was too dark to read his eyes but his tone of voice while brooking no argument had been gentle. All the same, she was not going to capitulate. Her adrenalin was still pumping.

"Not like this we're not."

"Do you promise to be good if I let you up?"

"Yes."

He climbed off her and helped her to her feet but did not let go of her hands which he held gently.

"Your car or mine? I've left my engine running."

She shrugged. He let go of her right hand and led her back to his car. She was shivering now from reaction and he gently settled her in the passenger seat. He got into the driver's seat but left the engine running and turned the heater on. He took her hand again.

"Now then, Isobel, you were going to jump off the cliff, weren't you?"

"Yes." It was almost inaudible.

"Why?"

"It was the only answer."

"The only answer to what?"

"Us."

"I don't understand that. If it's us don't I have a say?"

There was a long silence followed by a sob and then the dam burst. Isobel cried as though her heart would break. It nearly broke Gerry's, the misery she was living with. He took a chance and put his arm round her shoulder leaning over so that she could rest her head on his chest which she did. He held it gently with his right hand being careful to do nothing more. It was not comfortable for him but he held the position until her tears ceased and there was only the odd hiccup.

"I'm ... sorry ... Gerry."

Gerry said nothing, merely squeezed her shoulder gently.

"I ... I was ... selfish."

"Committing suicide always is."

"But, Gerry... ?"

"Yes?"

"I was going to let you off the hook too."

"No you weren't."

"Ye-es. I was going to relieve you of the burden of me always wondering when you were going to drop me."

"Isobel, listen to me. I haven't asked you to commit to me so I could hardly offer to commit to you. That you feel this strongly indicates that you might be prepared to commit to me though."

There was a long silence during which Gerry noticed relievedly that she had stopped shivering.

"I'd like to, Gerry," she whispered at length, "but I'm frightened to."

"I'll bet." He bit back the "I'd like to too". It was still too early; just. "Let it come."

She nodded against his chest. He reached up and turned on the interior light.

"Lift your head," he said, "I suspect you've scratched your face."

She had. There was a big bruise developing on her left cheek which was badly scratched. Her nose looked sore and there were abrasions on her forehead and chin. She was a mess and his heart bled for her. Nevertheless, he maintained authority.

"Right," he said. "Did you leave your keys in your car?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to collect them and move your car a bit more to the side. We'll collect it tomorrow. Then we're going home via Dorchester hospital A & E to get your face sorted out. Is there anything else hurting?"

"My left knee."

"OK. We'll get them to look at that as well. Will you be all right for a couple of minutes?"

"Yes."

"Good girl."

He moved her car and locked it.

"Would you like to flake out on the back seat?" he asked Isobel.

"No." She was shivering again.

He had a rug on the back seat. He took that and laid it across the handbrake. He took off his own jacket and made Isobel put it on.

"Curl up and lie across the middle with your head on my leg."

Isobel obeyed and he squeezed her shoulder comfortingly.

It only took half an hour to get to Dorchester A & E but being a Saturday night it was busy with injuries resulting from people drinking too much. It was another half hour before Isobel was seen. Gerry had to be very firm with the over-stressed nurse who came to collect her.

"I've brought her here because of her injuries," he said, "but she's also in a state of shock. I prevented her from committing suicide. Can you prescribe some form of sedative?"

"Suicide? We need to call the police."

"Is that really necessary? She isn't dead and I'm looking after her. She's in a thoroughly wound up state and a visit by the police at the moment wouldn't help her at all. Look, here's my card. By all means notify the police and they can get in touch with me tomorrow."

The nurse looked doubtful but took the card and said she would tell the doctor.

Half an hour later Isobel emerged. She had stitches in her cheek. They were all butterflies Gerry was glad to note. She was carrying some pills and a small box.

"These are for when I go to bed," she said.

"What about your knee?"

"Keep it moving and use ibuprofen." She indicated the box.

Gerry took the pills and box from her. "OK, my lady. Off we go."

Gerry had had time to think while Isobel was being treated. He was going to take her home rather than to her cottage. Then, in the morning, his mother could keep an eye on her while he and his father collected her car. He told Isobel as he led her back to the car. He was not sure whether she had taken it in.

Isobel resumed her position across the brake and fell asleep again. Gerry had to wake her when they arrived home. The lights were all on and as Gerry switched off the engine and got out of the car the front door opened and his mother ran out.

"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been? We've been worried sick about you."

Gerry enfolded her. "Shsh," he whispered. "Rescuing a damsel in distress."

He released her and went round to the passenger door. "Come on Sleeping Beauty," he said to a groggy Isobel and lifted her out of the car.

His mother gasped. "What's happened to her?"

"Tell you later. Is the spare room bed made up?"

"Yes but..." She ran ahead.

Gerry carried Isobel upstairs and laid her gently on the bed and then knelt beside it holding her hand.

"I want you to get undressed and get into bed," he said gently but firmly.

"Don't leave me." Her grip tightened on his hand.

"Only for a moment. I can't see you in all your naked glory but I'll be back in a few minutes. Promise."

"OK."

"Mum, can you lend her a nighty?"

His mother was already on the move and within moments came bustling back.

Gerry kissed Isobel's forehead. "Back soon," he told her. Isobel nodded mutely. Gerry handed his mother Isobel's tablets and the ibuprofen.

"She's to take these and needs this on her left knee."

He went downstairs where his father was hovering concernedly.

"It's Isobel," said Gerry. "She was going to commit suicide. I'll tell you the full story when Mum comes down."

"Brandy?"

"Yes please, Dad."

His father poured him a stiff one and Gerry took a hefty pull, almost choking on it. He shook his head.

"I had to rugger tackle her," he said, "and her face hit the gravel, poor girl. She's got some stitches but they're all butterflies so I hope there'll be no scarring."

His father patted his shoulder comfortingly. Gerry took another pull at his brandy and then looked anxiously around.

"Mum's taking a long time to put her to bed."

"About two minutes so far. Relax, Gerry. She couldn't be in better hands."

Gerry smiled ruefully and nodded. "She's got a whopping great bruise on her cheek."

"That'll go down."

Gerry nodded again. There was silence.

At last his mother called and Gerry dashed back upstairs.

"All tucked in. You can go and say goodnight to her."

"Thanks, Mum."

Isobel looked like a little bruised waif and Gerry felt a lump in his throat. It was only now, when things had slowed down, that the enormity of the whole saga hit him. He knelt beside her and took her hand.