His eyes met mine blankly.
I nodded down at my plate. ‘There’s more than enough here for two if you’ve changed your mind.’
His blue eyes looked curiously bright whenever he smiled, and right now they were positively dazzling. ‘Not about the ice cream,’ he said, lowering his voice, which was probably unnecessary because Holly’s attention was entirely on her gelato.
‘I’ll do it,’ Nick said, his voice practically a whisper. ‘If you still want me to, I’ll do the photographs.’
‘What? Why?’
His eyes went back to Holly and then locked meaningfully with mine. He held my gaze for a very long moment.
‘Because I owe you.’
‘No, you don’t,’ I said, shaking my head vigorously in denial.
‘Yes, I do,’ Nick said, reaching across the tabletop and laying his hand over mine. Something peculiar happened in the region of my throat, tightening my vocal cords, so that my reply – when it came – sounded as though I’d inhaled helium.
‘I only did what anyone would have done in that situation,’ I squeaked. ‘I certainly don’t want you to help me out of some misplaced sense of obligation. Or worse, because you now feel guilty about saying no.’
‘You’re really rubbish at negotiating, aren’t you?’ Nick said with a smile. ‘I’ve just agreed to do exactly what you asked of me and now you’re trying to talk me out of it.’
He withdrew his hand and somehow that made breathing a little easier. I sat back in my seat, gnawing on my lower lip. ‘But you don’t think it’s a good idea,’ I said, unable to stop being the devil’s very best advocate.
‘That’s not important. What matters is thatyou do. That’s all that counts.’
‘But you’re so busy. You’ve got the practice to look after and Holly to take care of…’ My voice trailed away.What the hell are you doing?demanded an incredulous voice in my head. Just say ‘yes’ and ‘thank you very much’.
‘If you’d still like me to do this thing, Lexi, then I’m all in. If you still want me, that is.’
I was vaguely aware that anyone overhearing this conversation was likely to totally misinterpret it.
‘Then yes. Yes please,’ I said, my voice surprisingly shaky. ‘I do still want you.’
13
The doctors had asked us both to be there. That in itself was a worry.
‘Do you really think she’s ready to hear what happened yet?’ Mum asked, for what had to be the fifth time since I’d picked her up. The drive to the hospital seemed to be taking even longer than usual and for once I didn’t mind. I was in no hurry for this visit. In fact, I was dreading it.
‘I’m just worried about how it might affect her AF,’ Mum said, dropping easily into the medical abbreviations that had become part of our daily language. Unfortunately.
‘I’m sure they’ll have considered all the implications of telling her. And it’s not fair or reasonable to keep her in the dark forever. And besides, the atrial fibrillation is something Mimi may have to live with for the rest of her life.’As well as all the pills, I added silently. The doctors had explained that Amelia’s daily cocktail of drugs was likely to remain necessary to support her heart after the trauma it had experienced. And today was the day they’d decided Amelia should be told what had happened to her on that fateful January night.
‘We’ll get through this, the three of us,’ I said, taking my hand from the wheel and squeezing Mum’s tightly. ‘We’ve been through worse than this.’ I didn’t need to say any more nor take my gaze from the road to know that my words would have brought tears to her eyes, just as they’d done to mine. Even after all this time, the shock of losing Dad never got easier, not for her or us. Perhaps if we’d had answers all those years ago, if we’d known exactly what had happened to Dad on that fateful day in the cove, it would have been easier to move on. Or perhaps not. I blinked my vision clear and flicked on the indicator before turning into the road that led to the hospital.
*
Dr Vaughan and a colleague – who looked, unbelievably, even younger than he did – were waiting for us at the nurses’ station. I caught the tail end of their conversation as we were buzzed into the ward. They appeared to be discussing the latest episode of a reality TV show that I’d never watched. The trivial nature of their conversation shocked me more than it ought to have done. I wanted my medics to be clichés; I wanted them forever ‘on the job’ and obsessed with their patients. I wanted them to be exactly likeHouse M.D.I shook my head as the men turned around at the sound of our footsteps. My fascination with fantasy television was almost as bad as theirs.
After a polite round of greetings, we headed en masse towards Amelia’s room, our steps falling automatically in sync as we travelled the corridor, like four reluctant executioners.
‘Whoa. This looks serious,’ joked Amelia as she set aside the magazine she’d been flicking through.
There was a beat when someone was probably supposed to say something light-hearted. Except nobody did.
‘Shit. Thisisserious.’
I still hadn’t got used to hearing my sister swear so often, but that wasn’t why I flinched. Almost as though we’d choreographed it, I went to one side of Amelia’s bed and Mum went to the other. We both reached for a hand, threading our fingers through hers. Looking down, you’d be forgiven for thinking we were about to conduct a séance, which, given what the doctors were about to reveal, felt like the darkest of black humour.
