‘You don’t say.’
‘All right, all right. I take your point. I’ll go …’
‘Get a life? Stop hanging around your multi-million-dollar penthouse being a total loser?’ I suggested.
‘Yes. Both of those things.’ I could hear his smile and imagined his eyes crinkling, which made my stomach flip. ‘Thanks, Abbey.’
On Wednesday night, he rang me at six. We spoke on the phone until my battery ran out a couple of hours later. The conversation was mostly about work, but it flowed easily as he filled me in on what he had been doing the last few days, playing tourist in Sydney. He sounded so happy and relaxed, and I wished he was in front of me so I could see it.
On Friday, I’d planned Oliver’s last meeting to finish at eleven so I could get him to the airport, in a car, for his flight to Brisbane at one. The two senior EAs I’d sorted to assist him were already up to speed, with very strict instructions on how to best support him.
The meeting with Mike and the finance team finished on time. I’d had a running text commentary from Mike throughout, letting me know he was feeling serious,seriousheat for the new CEO. He wasn’t the only staff member to notice Oliver’s appeal, not by a long way. Women were fanning themselves in lifts and offices, and he had groupies everywhere, several of them unnecessarily making their way to the top floor in the lift to catch a glimpse of their new, hot, single boss.
Oliver had been a tremendous success in week one of flying solo. I picked up my phone to text Nick, but then had the thought that I might call him that afternoon instead, or maybe even catch him for a drink the next day.
Oliver came out of his office after sending a few emails and asked me to walk with him downstairs to the car. I took his laptop bag, leaving him free to carry his luggage. He stopped several times to say hello to some employees whose names he had memorised.
When we were in the lift, he looked at me directly. ‘Why are you smiling at me?’
‘I’m super proud of you this week. It was a fantastic start. I think you are going to be great at this, Ollie.’
He smiled a chuffed, dorky grin, and I could tell he was pleased with my praise. ‘Thanks, Abbey.’
‘Hmm …’
‘What?’
‘It just occurred to me that you set us up.’ His grin deepened. ‘On the holiday. Nick and me.’
He inclined his head, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’m amazed you didn’t realise that earlier. You were both pathetically sad, but I also thought you were similar in ways. There was certainly some manoeuvring to be done to get you both to the restaurant and especially to keep other couples off that bloody trip to the island. You both insisted on not being around couples. Weirdos. He is my brother and I love him. But he needs someone like you in his life, Abbey. The only person who doesn’t know that, is him.’
I moved on from that, as it was stirring up feelings that I didn’t want churned up.
The lift doors opened, and we crossed the lobby. I shielded my eyes against the sun as we walked out onto the busy city street. His car was ahead, the driver waiting by the door to open it for him. My phone vibrated in my hand and, seeing Nick’s name flash up with a message, I stepped back out of the sunlight to read it.
Oliver kept walking to the car. The driver opened the door, standing behind it.
A high-vis shirt caught my eye, and it seemed as if everything slowed down. I saw the bike rider, who was wearing a black helmet and a lime-green high-vis jacket, jump up onto the curb to avoid a bus and then swerve to avoid the opening of Oliver’s car door. As he did so he hit Oliver, careening into him at speed.
The cyclist flew off the bike through the air like an acrobat, with his head, protected by his helmet, clattering as he hit the footpath. But Ollie’s head wasn’t protected by anything, and he crumpled, after hitting it first on the open car door and then on the concrete path as he fell backward.
Fuck.
I ran forward, screaming at the driver to ring an ambulance, which, thank God, he was already doing. I ripped off my navy-blue cardigan to stem the blood coming from Ollie’s head, applying pressure, and cradling him in my lap. He was in and out of consciousness. At one point he looked me straight in the eye and called me, ‘Sad Abbey’.
It was clear his leg was also broken, given the weird angle it was at and the strange limpness of it. I avoided looking at it, not wanting to add vomit to the mix. Several pedestrians were assisting the cyclist. I sat there holding on to Oliver, feeling the urge to sob at how long it was taking for actual professionals to arrive and take over.
Minutes felt like hours. My heart was pounding in my chest. There was so much blood that my cardigan was wet, the little mother-of-pearl buttons red. I became fixated on weird details, like the driver’s name being Keith and that Keith had a tattoo of a spider which appeared on his wrist every time his cuff rose.
It felt like a lifetime before I heard sirens and then the paramedics were there, taking him off me.
I wanted to ride in the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let me. So I grabbed our things and jumped in the back of the car, and Keith and I followed the ambulance to St Vincent’s.
I called Kate first, knowing she was in the emergency department. Then I called Nick.
He picked up on the second ring, as if he had been waiting for a call.
‘Abbey.’
