George dropped down on the other side of me. His gaze was trained on Jonah, and I observed the both of them for a while in an effort to distract myself from wondering where Sal was. Hospital visiting hours usually finished around eight o’clock and it was way past that now. Was something wrong? Had Joe deteriorated?
My fretting was eased somewhat when Emma joined the circle around the fire. Joe’s friend Dex was with her. He met my gaze impassively, and I tried not to stare back, remembering what Joe had said about him not liking men he didn’t know. Dex seemed at ease with the Whisper Farm gang, but his presence reminded me that I was still an outsider, and considering that I only had five weeks left on the farm, would probably remain so.
The thought didn’t sit well. I’d woken feeling refreshed, though worry for Joe still gnawed at my insides, but as the chatter around the fire continued without me, I felt like I was crawling out of my skin until Sal turned up, apparently from the bungalow, clutching a loaf of her homemade bread.
She passed it to Jonah without looking at him and came straight to me, nudging Lacey aside. “You’re awake,” she said. “You were dead to the world when I got back.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long few days.”
“I’ll say. Joe was worried when I told him how long you’d been up.”
Joe worrying about me sent another rush of conflicting emotions sluicing through me. That he cared warmed my bones, but I wanted him, for once, to screw everyone else and focus on himself. “How is he? Did you stay with him all day?”
“Until he was awake enough to answer me back,” Sal said with a smile. “The boy doesn’t like hospital food, so I’d imagine we’ll be feeding him until they let him go.”
“Do you know when that will be?”
“A few days. He’s still quite poorly, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so tired.”
The ache in my heart came back. Sal rubbed my arm. “Visiting is at ten tomorrow. I’ve got some shopping to do, and Emma won’t drive to Truro, so I was wondering if you’d sit with him for a bit? I think he prefers your company to mine.”
How she could be so sure of that, I had no idea. After the last few days, snogging Joe on the couch seemed a distant memory, and before that, our interactions had been limited to meal times and awkward encounters in the yard.
It was more than that.But I was distracted from arguing with myself by a steaming plate of the same spicy sausage stew Joe had cooked a few weeks ago. Jonah’s interpretation had more beans and less meat, and as it occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days, it was the most delicious thing I’d ever seen.
The low murmur of voices in the yard faded away as I cleared my plate. The hot food hitting my stomach was like magic, and the jittery anxiety that had plagued me over the last few days began to ease.Idiot. How many times have you lectured Emma on the effect of blood sugar levels on anxiety?Too many, but with a full belly and Sal’s presence beside me reminding me that I hadn’t answered her question, my mind was too full of Joe to berate myself.
Jonah came round with the pot, doling out seconds with hunks of Sal’s bread. I filled my plate again without much conscious thought and nudged her gently. “Of course I’ll sit with Joe tomorrow. Does he need me to bring anything?”
Again with Sal’s slow smile. “Just yourself, I’d imagine, luv. But I’ll leave some breakfast in the fridge for him.”
I rolled my eyes and kept eating.
Chapter Twelve
Joe
I kept missing him. It was like my body knew exactly when he was coming and sent me to sleep on purpose. Two days in a row, I woke up to food parcels and a note on my pillow, and by the third day, I was feeling human enough to be pissed off about it.
A doctor came to see me as I was studying the latest Post-it I’d found stuck to a tub of something that looked suspiciously like lentils. I reluctantly set it aside and let myself be prodded and pressed, glad that I could now get through it without chundering.
“Your latest scans are encouraging,” the doctor said. “How’s your pain?”
“Better.” Understatement. I hadn’t realised how much moving around depended on an abdomen that wasn’t trying to kill you. “Can I go home?”
The doctor smiled, and I wondered if I’d asked him already that day. Tramadol had left big gaps in my head. The only thing I could recall from the last few days with any clarity was gut-twisting pain and the fact that I was pretty sure my mother was hiding something from me.
“You can go home this afternoon,” the doctor said, “ifI’m happy with your bloods from this morning and you commit to an aftercare plan.”
I squinted at him. “What kind of aftercare? I don’t have to take my own blood, do I?”
“No, but you will have to rest for a considerable amount of time. Your mum was telling me that you work on a farm?”
“Iliveon a farm. It’s not my job, it’s my life.”
“Well, it can’t be for the next month. I want you in bed for a week, and then only light exercise for a few weeks after. No horse-riding or heavy lifting. No stress if you can avoid it.”
I want you in bed for a week.I let my eyes fall closed and imagined it was Harry saying those words to me. Heat pooled in my groin—thank God. I’d worried that my dick was broken. “I can rest—probably—but I don’t actually have a bed.”
