Nurse Petra gives me a searching look. “He needs rest, and he’s asleep at the moment. But I can tell him you were here.”
I open my mouth as I realize she’s not going to let me in. “Please, I... Just five minutes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“My dad said she can see him.” I turn. Olive’s standing in the doorway. “Shall I ask him if he can pop back in?” She doesn’t bat an eyelid as she looks at Petra, holding up her phone inquiringly.
Is she lying? I can’t tell. If so, Olive has the perfect poker face. There’s certainly no one better at intimidating stares. All the same, I’m pretty certain that’s not why the nurse nods—she just wants to get rid of us.
“Fine.” She looks back at me. “But only five minutes. He’s on strong painkillers and has to rest.”
“Thank you.” I look at Olive. She turns away before I get the chance to speak.
“Just head through the back there,” says Nurse Petra, indicating a door. I step into a dimly lit room with several beds, curtained off from each other. Henry’s in the first on the left, but nobody else seems to be here.
When I approach his bed, I see that his eyes are shut. His left arm is bandaged and resting on a pile of pillows.
I don’t know what I was expecting. For him to wake up as I sat down beside him? But he doesn’t. His face is scarily pale. The worried frown I’ve seen between his eyebrows so often lately has vanished. His forehead is smooth, his mouth relaxed, but he still looks utterly exhausted. I should let him sleep, but I have to apologize. I have to tell him how sorry I am about everything.
His head twitches in my direction as I take his right hand. His fingers are cold, his eyes disoriented, roaming around the room, and then he sees me.
He’s clearly drugged up to his eyeballs. He can’t even open his eyes properly. My stomach lurches, and then he gently squeezes my hand.
“Hello,” I whisper as Henry shuts his eyes again.
His lips form an almost soundless “Hi,” but he’s gripping my hand.
The lump in my throat grows, I have so many things to tell him, but suddenly, everything seems way too trivial.
“Everything OK?”
I laugh joylessly when it’s actually him who asks that question. Henry opens his eyes again when I don’t reply. There’s only a bedside lamp on, but the light seems too bright for him. He squints as he studies me.
“How are you?” I ask quietly.
“Been better,” he mumbles.
“What did the doctors say?”
“No idea. Dr.Henderson talked to them. They knocked me out to put my shoulder back in. Don’t remember the rest.”
“Got it. But there’s nothing broken?”
“No, thank God. Just the dislocated shoulder and concussion.” He blinks hard. “I think I need sleep...”
“Yes.” I should leave him in peace. He clearly can’t take much in. But I can’t go back to my room and lie down without having got a few things off my chest. “I’m sorry, Henry,” I say quietly. “For everything. For... for what I did. I hate us fighting. Please can we stop? We have to. I’m so sorry, and I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
“Stop,” he whispers. “I’m sorry too.”
“I was so scared. I thought...”
“It’s all good, Em,” he murmurs.
I start to cry. “So we’re not fighting anymore?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“I wish I could take it all back,” I blurt. “I wasn’t thinking.”
