‘How are you doing?’ he asks quietly.
‘Oh, fantastic!’ I reply brightly. ‘I’ve had some awesome drugs. How about you?’
He frowns, and obviously doesn’t like the fact that I’m concerned about him. ‘I’m good, Kate. Just worried about you. What did the docs say? They wouldn’t talk to me.’
‘Well, nobody seems overly bothered, Brody, and I haven’t been rushed into surgery – I was told someone would see me later to give me my test results, but I’m guessing it’s just a concussion. Luckily I have a very hard head.’
He looks sceptical, but realises that’s as good as it’s going to get. I know him well enough now to see the signs of stress and tension in the set of his lips, the twitch of his eye, the way he holds himself. If he was scared earlier, he’s now petrified. He runs his hands through his hair, leaving it in unruly tufts. I can tell he wants to say something, that he’s holding back. That he doesn’t want to upset me.
‘Brody, can we forget about what I said earlier? I think I might have amnesia anyway. Who are you again?’
That earns me a little half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. A wave of dread flows over me. Maybe I’d hoped there was a way to retrieve this, to salvage something from the rubble, but looking at him now I don’t think that’s going to happen.
I have a moment of pure regret: regret that I missed my bus that rainy day in London, a lifetime ago. Regret that I found the book. Regret that I came here, and met a man whom I loved. My life before was a dull monotone of slow disappointment. Right now I’d go back to it, exchange it for this rollercoaster of feeling.I was higher than I’ve ever been, and now I’m not just back down to earth, I’m buried beneath it.
No, I tell myself.That’s not fair. Whatever happens with Brody, I must take the positives from this, from the changes I’ve made.
‘It’s nothing we need to discuss now,’ he replies simply. Except it is, I realise. I might not be at my best, but I need to get some of this out there, or it might cause more damage than the fall.
‘Brody, look,’ I say, putting as much conviction into my voice as I can, ‘I broke the deal, I know that. This was never supposed to be about love, was it?’
He shakes his head sadly, his fingers tight around mine. For a second I have hope. Hope that he might feel the same way about me as I do about him. That ends with the next words from his mouth.
‘No, it wasn’t, Kate. I’m… I’m sorry. I’m just not ready for that.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. You were always honest. And if it’s any consolation, I’m sure this is just a crush that got out of hand. I’ll probably forget you even exist as soon as you leave!’
We both know that’s not true, but he smiles and nods, accepting the lie. This is where we are now, it seems – walls up between us, barricades on both sides, both protecting ourselves from the hurts we know are hiding in plain sight.
‘I bet you will. It really doesn’t matter right now anyway,’ he replies. ‘All that matters is making sure you’re okay, and getting you out of here. If it’s just a concussion they’ll send you back to the cottage.’
The fact that he has retreated into calling it ‘the cottage’ instead of ‘home’ does not go unnoticed, and it drives the splinters of pain even deeper into my heart. Brody is a good man, and he would never abandon me in my hour of need. But is thatwhat I want? Pity? Being a duty? I can see the stress on his face, the anguish in his eyes. I know what he has endured in his life, and it is a lot. I refuse to be added to his list of burdens.
‘Probably,’ I say firmly. ‘And I’m sure I’ll be absolutely back to normal by tomorrow, or as normal as I ever am. There’s no need to worry. Everything is going to be fine.’
‘Is it?’ he asks, his tone uncertain. ‘Are you going to be fine?’
‘Of course I am. Seriously, Brody, there is no need at all to be concerned.’
I know he’s not just talking about the concussion, and he looks as though he might be about to argue. At that moment, though, the nurse pops her head through the curtain and eyeballs him.
‘The doctor is coming around to speak to Kate,’ she says before nodding at Brody. ‘Time for you to disappear.’
Brody glares up at her, and her lips compress with the kind of take-no-shit attitude that reminds me of my grandmother. She folds her arms over her chest and adds: ‘Off you go, son! The café is open.’
‘Go, Brody. It’s okay. I’ll fill you in on what the doctor says later. For now, go and get yourself a coffee. In fact, get me one too.’
I glance up at the nurse, and add: ‘Is that all right? Can I have a coffee?’
She ponders this, and nods. ‘Maybe make it a decaf.’
I see the wheels turning in Brody’s mind, and he relaxes a fraction. If I am allowed to have a hot beverage, that means I’m not about to be wheeled into emergency surgery. He nods, scrapes his chair against the floor as he gets up. He kisses my cheek and tells me he’ll be back in ten minutes. The nurse watches him go, and shakes her head. ‘Good Lord,’ she mutters. ‘It must cost a fortune to feed him…’
She bustles around, and when the doctor walks in she stays with us. She stays at my side, actually sitting down – which is not something that nurses often do. I immediately start to panic a little – is this the bit where they tell me I have an incurable brain tumour? Maybe I’m not being wheeled into surgery because it’s too late for all of that!
I fight the urge to call Brody back. If he doesn’t want me when I’m fit and healthy, he’s not going to want me if I’m seriously ill. And anyway, I’m probably overreacting as usual.
The doctor is about twelve, and still has braces. I can only assume that she was some kind of child prodigy.
