Slowly, still on hands and knees, she turned and began to edge away. Come on, she urged herself, you know these cliffs like your own skin! Yes, this was right. The grass was longer here, and the sound of the waves was behind her now, not in front. Relief flooded through her. She stood up and stepped cautiously forwards, then took another step, and another. Yes. Oh, thank God, this was the way…
Then her foot caught, and she tripped, falling flat onto her chest. She slid forwards, downwards, faster and faster. The ground crumbled away beneath her. She tried to grab hold of anything she could: grass, twigs, stones, furze. She felt her fingernails break, the skin on her hands scrape off. But with terrible clarity she knew it was pointless. This wasn’t the way back to the path. It was the edge of the cliff.
CHAPTER TWO
At first the voice was just a whisper, then slowly it became louder and clearer, as if floating up from the bottom of the sea. It resolved into a man’s voice:
‘Wake up. That’s it. Try to open your eyes.’
The last thing she wanted to do was open her eyes. She was tired, and her head was throbbing. She wanted to sleep forever. But the voice was insistent. She forced open her eyes, meaning to tell the voice’s owner to leave her alone. A man in glasses loomed over her head. She could make out that he was wearing surgical scrubs. The rest of his face was a blur.
‘You’re in hospital,’ the man said. ‘I’m a doctor. You’ve injured your head. Can you tell me your name?’
She licked her lips. Her mouth felt as if it was full of sand. ‘Louisa Casson. What… What’s happened to me?’ She couldn’t move her neck, and her right side hurt.
‘Try not to move. You’re wearing a neck brace – just a precaution. Can you tell me what year it is, Louisa?
‘Twenty seventeen.’
‘Good. You had an accident on the cliffs. Do you remember? The top of the cliff collapsed, but you managed to land a couple of metres further down. You’re lucky to be alive. You’ve had a nasty bump to the head, and you might have broken a rib or two. Now we’re going to roll you over and check your spine. Tell me at once if you feel any pain, all right? We’re going to run some tests. But it’s a good sign that you’re awake and lucid. Try not to worry. We’re going to take good care of you.’
‘I think I’m going to be sick…’
‘Nurse!’ Just in time someone pushed a cardboard bowl under her chin, and she vomited into it. ‘That’ll be the alcohol,’ the doctor said. ‘We’ll give you something for the pain and nausea. It’ll knock you out a bit.’
It did. Louisa was vaguely aware of being wheeled to different places. At one point she realised she was going into a CT scanner. She felt like a baby – passive and trusting, depending on other people to know what she needed, a thing without its own volition.
Hazily, she was aware of days and nights passing around her, measured out in the blips of heart monitors and the beeps of machines. She spent most of the time asleep. This was what she needed, she understood: time out of life, cocooned, suspended like a drop of oil in water.
Then, eventually, she awoke, her head clear, her injuries healing. She was in a small, light room. The air blowing through the open window smelled enticing, tinged with sunshine and the scent of wallflowers. Her grandmother had always loved wallflowers, she remembered; Granny had rarely planted anything in her garden unless it had a scent. Then Louisa realised that it was the first time she’d been able to think of her grandmother since her death without crying.
She recognised, too, that being in hospital was making her want to get back to medical school. Of course, she’d have to start all over again, which would be tough, but what other choice was there? Being a doctor was all she’d ever wanted. And it was only when she’d started at medical school that she felt she’d finally found a place in the world she belonged. Perhaps the cliff fall had been a kind of watershed, she thought. Maybe it was fate showing her a way back to life, the path she must tread.
Before anything, though, she’d have to clear out the cottage. Of course, she’d known she’d have to tackle it eventually, but caring for Granny had been all-consuming. Where would she even start? The place was so full of her grandmother’s junk you could barely see out: books, photo albums, antique clocks, china, trinkets and knick-knacks – all amassed over decades of her interminable car boot sales.
As a child it had been Louisa’s treasure trove, and their cottage her fairy castle for hours on end. But that spell had long since been broken, and it was just junk once more – joined now by Granny’s hoist and mobility aids, as pointless and redundant as everything else, already disappearing under the voracious dust and shadows.
A nurse came in and strapped a blood pressure cuff around Louisa’s arm. ‘Well, you look a lot better!’ she said. ‘It’s nice to see you properly awake.’ She smiled.
‘Thanks, I feel much better,’ Louisa said, grimacing as the cuff pinched off her circulation. ‘What day is it?’
‘Wednesday. It’s the twentieth of April.’
‘When can I go home?’
The nurse’s face changed, became guarded. ‘You’ll need to speak to the doctor. I’ll call him.’
A short while later a neat, serious-faced young man came into the room and pulled up a chair. ‘How are you feeling, Louisa?’ he asked. ‘I’m Dr Berrow.’
‘Much better, thanks. I’m extremely grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been, and how much trouble I’ve caused. I’m really sorry. I’d like to go home now.’
He nodded, consulting the file he’d brought in. ‘All in good time. Now your name is Louisa Casson, is that correct? And you’re – let me see now – twenty-three years old?’
She nodded.
‘How much do you remember about the night of your fall?’
‘Not much. Just the ground giving way beneath me, then waking up here.’
‘Do you know you were found by the Beachy Head Chaplaincy? They saw your car on its own in the car park and started a search.’
‘The chaplaincy? Oh God, I had no idea!’
The Beachy Head Chaplaincy was a group of volunteers who patrolled the cliffs for suicidal people. The cliffs attracted jumpers – bodies were discovered all too often on the beach below. Louisa’s face burned with shame.
‘The chaplaincy called the cliff rescue team,’ the doctor continued, ‘who winched you up to safety. Then you were brought here. You don’t remember any of it?’
‘Nothing. I’m so sorry.’ She would be sure to give a large donation to the chaplaincy in Granny’s name.