Page 49 of An Island Promise

‘You’ve gone the wrong way!’ A woman in her forties wearing white trainers and a smart trouser suit was working her way down the bus.

The road ahead didn’t seem familiar to Belle. She had only been in the job a few weeks but she’d already done this bus journey countless times. They’d never gone this way.

The woman had nearly reached the driver. Through the front windscreen, Belle could see a stone bridge with a height restriction warning in the middle of it. It certainly didn’t look tall enough for a double decker bus. The driver didn’t seem to be slowing down either. If anything, the bus was going faster and veering to the right.

Cold fear inched through her. Belle reached out her hands, ready to brace.

She was thrown forward with the impact, the bang as loud as if a bomb had gone off, followed by the screech and crunch of metal tearing. Her wrists smashed into the seat in front, followed by her forehead. Waves of pain ricocheted the length of her arms all the way to her shoulders.

Didn’t people say that accidents often happened in slow motion? Perhaps that was the case if you were watching from afar, but being involved in one was a whole different matter. The impact was over in seconds, allowing no time to processanything, but the aftermath was fragmented. Vague images twisted around moments of vivid clarity: a young woman across the aisle, her glasses smashed and blood pouring down her cheek; the sound of moaning from somewhere on the top deck, more upsetting than a blood-curdling scream. There was screaming too, lots of it. And shouting, a tense conversation behind her, someone asking someone else if they were all right.

The pain in her wrists was unbearable when she tried to move. Her head throbbed as nausea and dizziness duelled with each other. She remained slumped in her seat, her body achy and tense as she tried to make sense of what was happening around her.

Another scream, commotion outside, sirens. Someone sobbing. The smell of smoke. Her heart raced in panic. The metallic taste of blood. Was she bleeding? Perhaps she’d bitten her tongue. Her vision was blurry as if she’d woken up after a heavy night out. An intense pressure in her head. Every movement painful.

More voices surrounded her, then someone was talking close by. Talking to her.

‘Let me take a look.’

Belle squinted as a light was shone in her eyes, replaced by someone in a dark green uniform. A paramedic. ‘Can you tell me your name?’ he asked.

She opened her mouth but even that was an effort. ‘Belle.’

‘I’m here to help, Belle. Just keep your eyes open and focused on me, okay.’

Everything hurt, everything ached, everything was fuzzy as if she was wading through a distorted dream. Snatches of clarity, yet nothing made sense.

As she was guided into the back of an ambulance, the thought that her London life had got off to a good start vanished. How many lives had been changed? She wanted to rewind time tonever get on the bus. No, scratch that, she wanted to rewind time to July and Ibiza, to Diego’s arms around her waist and his lips on hers. One moment in time that had been perfect.

31

JULY 2023, PRESENT DAY

Caleb had been quiet as Belle told her story. The words tumbled from her because she rarely talked about the crash, and when she did it felt as if she was reliving it, noticing all the details, remembering the smells, the sounds and the emotion. Her heart raced, palms sweated and a tightness crawled across her chest.

‘I still have flashbacks of the driver crumpled in front of the smashed windscreen. A lone white trainer covered in blood. I won’t have a nightmare for months, then something triggers it and I can get the same nightmare a few days in a row.’ She shook her head and sipped her lukewarm peppermint tea. ‘It’ll be ten years ago this September, not that I’m comparing it to your loss in the slightest.’

‘I didn’t think you were. But there’s all kinds of trauma. Mine’s loss and working through grief, but your trauma is physical and psychological. It’s a loss too because it sounds as if it changed your outlook and made you grow up quickly. You’re still healing and it takes time to regain confidence.’

‘I sometimes work through the memories to see if I missed anything. Like, did the driver look unwell when I got on the bus? What if I’d asked him if he was okay? What if I’d takenmore notice of what was going on around me? Just everything. Would it have been possible to have saved anyone? The driver had a heart attack, which was what caused the crash. He died in hospital. A young man sitting at the front of the top deck died instantly on impact with the bridge. The woman who walked past me to check on the driver had life-changing injuries.’ Belle sucked in a ragged breath. It was awful to say out loud the destruction and loss that had been caused.

Caleb lifted her chin with his fingers so she was looking at him. ‘It’s hard when you play over and over what you could have done differently, when nothing you did would have changed the outcome.’

‘Except for not getting on the bus.’

‘People would still have died,’ he said gently.

‘I know, but at least I wouldn’t have had to witness it, however selfish that makes me sound.’

‘Self-preservation isn’t selfish, at least not in this case. You’re not wishing for anyone to have been there or to have got hurt; you’re just wishing that you weren’t. Traumatic events change us forever, both good and bad. They make us who we are, negatively in many cases but sometimes even a little stronger.’

‘I didn’t feel stronger; I still don’t. The aftermath was shocking. The next few weeks were a struggle and the following few months just difficult, frustrating and disappointing. It made me realise how quickly life can be turned upside down and how fragile it is.’ Belle watched the candle flicker in the light breeze that drifted through the open doors. ‘I’d been in a bubble of naivety, living a sheltered life and wasn’t equipped for such big, confusing emotions or to suddenly have no support network. Most of my friends were far away and I didn’t want to admit defeat and go back home to my parents. I had a boss who couldn’t give a shit about a new employee who needed time off for hospital appointments while recovering from two brokenwrists and concussion. After a blissful summer it was a rude wake-up call.’

Caleb drained the rest of his tea and placed the cup on the coffee table. ‘Paloma’s cancer diagnosis was my wake-up call about how short life can be. Because we knew how long she had left, we tried to make the most of it, make memories together. I can’t begin to comprehend the shock and pain of losing someone suddenly and not having a chance to say goodbye or tell them how much you love them.’ He looked thoughtful as he gazed out towards the expanse of moonlit sea. ‘Every morning I told Paloma I loved her, but after her diagnosis I told her every time I left her even for a short while, just in case. I lived in fear of every I love you, every kiss, every hug being our last.’

‘That is a heartbreakingly beautiful way of looking at an awful situation.’

Had they moved a little closer to each other as they’d been talking? Caleb’s arm was still resting along the back of the sofa but not quite close enough to touch her shoulder. The space between them seemed smaller. He didn’t look quite as sad or washed out, just contemplative. His voice had softened as he’d shared his love for Paloma with her, and it seemed a perfect way to mark a sad anniversary of the happiest day of his life.

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