With ear-piercing shriek and
earth shaking explosion the sound of another firework joined
the barrage echoing around the cottage. Emily sat, curtains
drawn, television as loud as she could bear it, but still
the apocalypse raging outside filtered through the barriers.
Wasn’t it time that the Government did something about
it? Banned all but properly organised displays?
In an effort to switch off the sound, Emily let her mind wander
back over the years. She remembered that awful devastating
day they had brought her the news that Mike, her very much
loved husband had died suddenly of a heart attack. It was
in early November and she had hated this time of the year
ever since. They had been friends since school but married
for only ten years. Life was so unfair, 37 was too young to
die. How dare he leave her like that. She could remember the
towering anger that had taken her by surprise, even drowning
out the sadness at times. They had been so happy, she wondered
how she had made it through those first few years.
She had always tried to be as sociable as possible. Gradually
she had started to go out again, joined one or two evening
classes, but there was still that hollow gap. She still had
to return to a quiet house, untouched since she had left it.
Although she had often felt annoyed at Mike’s untidy
ways, what she wouldn’t have given for a coat thrown
over a chair, a mug unwashed and forgotten on a windowsill.
That feeling of knowing he was there, upstairs or in the garden
and would soon be bursting into the kitchen demanding a drink
or asking if she wanted to go out for a meal. How she missed
his exuberance.
Friends had insisted she joined in with their special occasions.
She usually went, putting a smile on, but inwardly wishing
she had Mike there for support.
Was it really two years since the bonfire party? As she sat
trying to ignore the cacophony outside, Emily’s thoughts
drifted back. It had been an informal invitation, a chance
meeting with Susie Donaghue in the post office.
‘We’re having a party as usual on Friday Emily,
do come.’
‘I’m not really too keen on fireworks.’
‘You can watch them from the house. Don’t worry,
you’ll be OK, we’ve got the French windows so
you won’t have to stand outside getting cold.’
‘Well perhaps . . . Yes, I’ll come.’
‘Good, seven for seven-thirty. You don’t need
to bring anything, just yourself.’
With that Susie went outside with her letters for the post
box, leaving Emily wondering why she had said yes. She had
always felt nervous around fireworks and now they brought
back the painful memories of Mike’s death as well. Yes,
the sparkly ones were pretty, but she had sensitive hearing
and hated the shrieks and bangs and they seemed to get louder
every year.
As Bonfire Night approached, Emily tried to think up a good
excuse to back out but couldn’t.
Oh well, she thought, at least Susie would put on a good spread.
It had been a nice sunny day and no clouds marred the evening
of the fifth. Emily walked slowly along the road, clutching
a bottle of red wine. She couldn’t go empty handed could
she?
There was already quite a crowd when she arrived, mostly people
she knew. Friendly greetings rang out as she went into the
living room. Johnny took the bottle from her and urged her
to help herself to a drink.
‘We’re having the food after the display, but
help yourself to the nibbles.’
‘Thanks, Johnny.’
He had gone, eager to start the fireworks, escorted by their
two small sons who couldn’t wait and had been trying
to hurry him out of the door.
Petra Johnson moved from the other side of the room to join
Emily.
‘Thought you didn’t like fireworks, Emily?
’‘I don’t much, but you know Susie, it’s
so difficult to refuse.’
‘That’s true. Mind you I shall watch from the
house.’ Petra gave a shiver. ‘Perish the thought
of standing around on cold muddy ground.’
‘Come on everyone.’ Johnny’s youngest shouted.
‘Dad’s going to start.’
Obediently Emily and Petra wandered over to the French windows
that gave a good view down the garden.
The first few fireworks were the prettier cascade type and
Emily was quite happy to stand close to the window watching
these. One door was open and the sulphurous smell of the smoke
slowly drifted in towards them.
Afterwards everyone had different ideas of how it happened.
Emily had just turned her head towards Petra when a shout
went up from the garden. She hadn’t time to look to
see what the noise was about when the rocket hit her. All
she could remember later was the smell of flesh burning as
the firework exploded on her shoulder and the side of her
face. Then the pain came, wave after wave, until thankfully
she passed out and crumpled to the floor.
Emily didn’t hear Petra’s frantic shouts for someone
to ring for an ambulance. Still unconscious she didn’t
hear it arrive or feel anything of the breakneck journey to
the hospital in the town five miles away. There she was heavily
sedated until they could get her a space in the operating
theatre.
It was two days before she finally regained consciousness
properly, not knowing where she was or why she was there.
She could not move her arm but could sense the thick wadding
and bandages covering her face and shoulder. At the sight
of her movement a nurse quickly appeared at her side.
‘Don’t try to move yet, Emily. It’s good
to have you back with us.’
‘What happened, where am I?’
‘You’re in hospital. Don’t you remember,
a firework exploded?’
Immediately Emily cringed away, re-living the moment, smelling
again that awful scent of her own burning flesh.
‘I’ll get a doctor to come and have a word with
you now you’re awake.’
Half an hour later the doctor duly appeared at Emily’s
bedside.
‘Hello there, Emily. How are you feeling now?’
‘Not terrific, doctor.’
‘That’s to be expected. Now, the firework has
damaged your shoulder and the left side of your face, but
we can get the plastic surgeon to do some skin grafts and
hopefully you will soon be looking gorgeous again.’
Emily managed a wry smile under the bandages. ‘But why
is my eye covered, is that damaged as well?’
‘Yes, but we are hopeful we have saved the sight in
it. You have had two operations already, but you probably
won’t remember.’
‘When will I know?’
‘The prognosis seems good, but we shall have to keep
the bandages on for a few weeks.’
With that he moved off down the ward.
The weeks went by slowly. Emily had always loved reading,
but this was impossible. Her friends visited often and Susie,
full of anguish and remorse brought in a tape machine and
talking books for her.
‘I feel so awful now, asking you to come knowing you
hated fireworks anyway.’
‘It was an accident, Suse, it was just an accident.
No one’s fault really.’
The weeks were long and tedious, the only bright spot in Emily’s
days were her visitors, but the moment finally came when the
bandages were removed. As they gradually unravelled, Emily’s
fears grew: what would she look like, would she be able to
see? The room was darkened as the doctor finished the task.
He spoke softly to her.
‘Try to open your eyes slowly, Emily.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know, but it should be fine, we are confident and
so must you be. Don’t try too hard at first, your sight
may be a bit blurred but that is natural.’
Tentatively she lifted her eyelids. Gradually in the gloom
she made out first the shapes and then the faces of the doctor
and nurse standing in front of her.
‘I can see you.’
‘Good. Now we will have to start work on your arm.’
‘I can’t move it yet.’
‘We know, the muscle was damaged, but physiotherapy
will help.’
It did, but it took several more weeks of unrelenting torture
from Dave, the smiling physiotherapist at outpatients.
Emily was shocked at how much you could hate someone who was
trying to help. Dave was always exhorting her to move her
arm just that little bit more, squeeze the rubber ball just
a little bit harder.
‘Who were you in a previous life, Torquemada?’
‘Less of the lip, put your energies into moving that
arm, not insulting me.’
The banter helped the sessions and gradually Emily regained
at least 80 percent of the use of her arm. At first it was
difficult to do things at home, but she persevered and gradually
life seemed to get back to some sort of normality.
So that had been her situation two years ago. Another loud
bang brought her thoughts back to the present. How her life
had changed, in ways she never would have expected. Yes, she
still hated fireworks and with good reason, but at the same
time... She looked across the room and smiled. Without the
accident she wouldn’t have met Dave the demon physiotherapist
would she?
Dave who had seen through the frightened individual he had
forced to keep going with the exercises. Dave who had seen
the beauty beneath the scarred face, now nearly back to normal
after several skin grafts. Dave her husband, who she was celebrating
her first anniversary with today, who had insisted on November
the fifth being the best day for their wedding. Good memories
to remember, instead of bad ones.
He walked over to her chair and put his arms around her.
‘You’re doing fine, Emily, just fine.’
She smiled at him. ‘Thanks to you, Dave.’
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