by Nicky Wells
Hot tears plopped out of my eyes as I switched on my mobile to call Rick. Rick first, because I needed to know if Mum had said anything else, and to let him know that I would have to go home. He came on instantly and was very sympathetic to my need to get home immediately.
As soon as I rang off, I tried Mum’s mobile, but it was switched off. I left a message saying that I was on my way home and would be there by evening. I had no exact idea just how I would manage that feat, or who would pay for it. All I knew was that I would get to the airport, get on the first flight to London, and then get myself home, somehow.
While I had been talking, Dan had strolled into my room through the ever-present, ever-unlocked connecting doors between our suites, nonchalantly whistling and wrapped in towel. When he saw my face and the tears, he came over immediately, reading Rick’s message over my shoulder and listening to me leaving my message for Mum. When I was done, he turned me round gently and knelt in front of me on the floor.
“Sophie, I am so, so sorry,” he murmured. “Please, let me figure out a way to get you home.” I gave an almighty sob. Oh, for someone to take the burden of organization off me right now.
“You look terrible,” Dan said with palpable concern. “Here, lie down for a minute. Let me get Jack and we’ll sort it all out.” He gave me a big hug, and then he pulled me off the chair to lead me to the bed like a child.
I shivered and trembled uncontrollably.
“Now, now, it’ll be all right, I promise,” Dan soothed, and his concern and sympathy were genuine. But rather than soothing me, they brought fresh tears as I sobbed, “I shouldn’t be here. It’s all my fault.”
Somehow, that was perfectly logical. Dad’s heart attack had to be a punishment for my wanton, irresponsible behavior. I would never be able to tell anyone, but I was absolutely sure of it. Dan, however, read my mind.
“Don’t you go having silly thoughts like that. People have heart attacks all the time, and it’s not your fault. It would have happened had you been safely at home in London writing your news reports.” He rocked me gently and proffered a cup of heavily sweetened tea that he had managed to brew while I was sobbing. “Shh,” he went, “It’ll be all right. Have you thought of calling the hospital?”
I shook my head by way of response.
“All right, then,” Dan muttered, “let me get on to that for you. Give me just five minutes.” He covered me with the duvet and disappeared into his own suite.
I vaguely heard him talking on his phone, and after what seemed only a second, he was back, fully dressed, and with a piece of paper containing the number of Truro hospital. “Are you up to ringing?” he asked gently, and I nodded.
I dialed the number with jittery fingers and eventually was put through to the ICU. The nurse there, however, was unwilling to give me any information whatsoever, as she couldn’t verify my identity. I could feel fresh tears running down my face as I tried to convince her that I was genuine. In the end, Dan pried the phone out of my hands and hung up.
Meanwhile, Jack had appeared, also in action mode. He, too, gave me a big sympathetic hug but, after a look at my tear-stained face, decided that brisk-and-businesslike would soothe me more. “I’ve chartered a private plane that will take you straight to Newquay airport, and I’ve arranged for a taxi to pick you up and take you wherever you need to go.” He stopped to see if the information had penetrated through to my brain. I nodded silently.
“Okay, so the limo to take you to the airport here will pick you up in…about half an hour. You’d better get ready. And you”—he turned to Dan—“better ride with her to the airport.”
Dan agreed and started plucking a few essential things out of my wardrobe, dropping them in my little pink carry-on case as he went. “We’ll take the rest of your stuff with us, don’t you worry. Just let me know what you need for now,” he volunteered as I sat, watching him mutely. “And you’d better have a quick shower, too,” he coaxed.
I still hadn’t said a word, but he lifted me up bodily and deposited me in the bathroom, even going as far as turning the shower on for me. “You have ten minutes,” he said before he closed the door.
Obediently, I stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash over me. My head was whirring and I kept having to swallow hard to suppress waves of panic and nausea. Dad. In a hospital. With a heart attack. The healthiest, fittest person I knew. He had never smoked. He didn’t eat fatty foods. He wasn’t overweight. Would he be all right? Did people generally survive heart attacks these days, or not? I couldn’t remember. Mum had said it had been serious. What the heck did that mean? Intensive care sounded pretty serious, too. Why hadn’t anyone bothered to let me know the prognosis?
The more rational me took over and I acknowledged that the fastest way to get answers to all of these questions would be to get home. I soaped my body and shampooed my hair, rubbed myself dry, and threw on some clothes in record time. No thought given to make up or drying my hair—let appearances take care of themselves.
I bounded out of the bathroom and found Dan and Jack still in somber conference. I flung myself on Jack first, in a wave of immense gratitude that he had sorted things out for me. Jack was most embarrassed at this show of affection and kept patting my back awkwardly. When I wasn’t going to calm down, he went for offhand and matter-of-fact again. “It’s all right, Sophie, it’s not a big deal,” he muttered.
“Oh but it is,” I retorted. “Without you, I’d probably still be earthbound.
“Nothing’s a problem if you don’t have budgetary constraints,” Jack commented dryly.
“I’ll pay you back,” I assured him. “The whole lot. Just as soon as I get home, I’ll write you a check.” I was absolutely serious and had never for one second expected anything else. But Jack flushed deeply.
“Don’t be silly,” he barked, brisk and businesslike. “All the publicity you’ve garnered for Tuscq has more than paid for that trivial flight home. Don’t you go worrying your head about that now. It’s all taken care of.”
I was so astonished that my tears were temporarily stilled. “I can’t accept that,” I protested, “that must be costing you a fortune.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jack insisted once more. “It really is peanuts to us in the grand scheme of things. Now run along and make sure you actually get that flight. I’ll be very cross if you don’t.”
I flung myself around his neck again, mumbling my thanks and crying on his collar. Then I flung myself round Dan’s neck, holding on as though for dear life—and I really, really didn’t want to let go. How I wished he could have come…but of course that wasn’t possible.
“I’ll call when I have news,” I promised. “And Rick said he’ll help with the column…and if things work out well, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ve spoken to Rick,” Jack interceded, “and it’s all taken care of. Come on, off you go.”
Dan grabbed my bag and led me downstairs. I felt like I was sleepwalking. The past few days had been such a glorious dream that now, everything was utterly unreal.
In the car on the way to the airport, Dan and I talked very little. I kept meaning to say things, but the words were forming only in my head and never reached my mouth. Dan held my hand and squeezed it gently every now and then. My mind was a muddle. Dad was the first of my concerns, but the tour and Dan also wrestled for attention. What would happen now? Would I see Dan again? Should I even be thinking about these things while my Dad lay somewhere struggling for his life?
Eventually, Dan broke the silence. “My Dad had a heart attack, too, a few years ago,” he began hesitantly. “It was pretty serious and touch-and-go for a while. But they got him to hospital quickly, just like with your Dad. He was actually laughing and talking with us like nothing had happened just a few days later.” He looked at me closely to gauge my reaction. I held onto his words like to a life raft.
“Really?” I asked in a small voice that hardly appeared to be my own.
“
Really. They work miracles these days. Obviously, it took Dad a little while longer than just a few days to recover fully, but he was home quickly and that was all that mattered to us.”
Miracles sounded promising. But what if he was wrong? After all, no two heart attacks were the same. And Cornwall wasn’t exactly thick and fast with medical provision. Truro was a half-hour drive from Newquay at least, and that was if you knew the little country roads to take. It wasn’t like there would have been an ambulance for Dad within two minutes of him being in distress. What if there had been a delay?
“He’ll be fine,” Dan broke into my thoughts. “The delay won’t have mattered. The physicians will have known what to do.”
I gulped. I hadn’t noticed that I had started speaking aloud.
At the airport, Dan walked with me to the security check and we held each other for a long, long time.
“I’m sorry I can’t come with you,” he offered, and there was genuine pain in his eyes. “I feel like a loser that I have to let you go through this on your own. But…” he petered out.
“I know,” I said. “I really didn’t expect you to come. Best thing you can do for me is give the performance of a lifetime and let me know how things went. And maybe see me again when all this is over…”
“I’ll see you, don’t you worry, Sophie Penhalligan,” Dan assured me solemnly. “If not in a few days…don’t frown…you might be surprised. If not in a few days, then whenever things are back to normal. I’ll know where to find you.” He winked at me cheekily, trying to cheer me up.
“I’ll miss you,” I sobbed all of a sudden, aghast at having to leave so abruptly and guilty for feeling this way when all that should matter was Dad’s well-being.
“I’ll miss you, too, my little Sophie,” Dan replied. “But you must go now.” He handed me a tissue and nudged me forward to present my passport to security. When I had cleared the metal detectors and passport control, there was no sign of Dan on the other side, and in a small way I was grateful. Now I could concentrate on getting on that flight.
I had only twenty minutes to spare before I had to board, so I sat in the lounge chewing listlessly on a courtesy ginger biscuit. I was watching the second hand on the big clock ticking by impatiently when my mobile phone rang. I seized it anxiously. Maybe it was Mum?
It turned out to be Tim.
“Sophie,” he exclaimed, “I’m so glad to get hold of you. Are you all right?” And, before I had a chance to reply, “Where are you?”
“Tim,” I stated wearily, too exhausted to pretend to be glad to hear his voice. Tim hadn’t even crossed my mind as I tried to figure out the rest of the day. I hoped that he would put my lack of enthusiasm down to shock. “I’m at the airport in Munich.”
“Good,” Tim responded in that solid, matter-of-fact voice that I had used to find so comforting a million years ago. “Where are you flying to? Heathrow?”
“I’m flying straight to Newquay, Jack’s chartered a plane…,” I trailed off, aware of how weird this would sound to him.
“Jacks’ chartered a plane,” Tim echoed flatly. “Which one’s Jack?”
“The band’s manager, he…,” I tried to explain, but Tim cut in immediately, his voice awash with relief.
“The manager, oh, right,” he exclaimed, then caught himself and rallied. “If you’re flying straight down, I’m going to drive down and meet you there,” he announced.
“You are?” I repeatedly numbly. Tim wanted to come?
“Sure. I can’t let you go through this on your own. We’re a team, aren’t we? I’ve taken a few days off. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
All these pieces of information skittered around my brain like so many fragments of glass. We were a team? He had taken a few days off? He never just took a few days off. He was too busy.
Suddenly I remembered, we were engaged. Of course, he wouldn’t want his fiancée to go through this crisis on her own. My alternative universe had ceased to exist. I was back in the real world with a crash, bang, and a wallop. Only I hadn’t expected to get there quite so fast, or under such circumstances, and I had had no opportunity to prepare myself for re-entry. Now I was burning up as I hit the atmosphere. By the time I reached Earth, there might only be my charred remains. I gulped, this time with self-pity.
My silence had lasted too long and all of a sudden the batteries of my mobile gave out. Before I could say anything at all, the line had gone dead and I stared at the phone blankly. Now what?
As I sat on the plane, I tried to organize my thoughts. Getting to Dad was my first priority, and that was in motion. For the moment, I could put my worries and concerns to one side and resume fretting once I had more information. Once I was there.
That left me with Tim to think about. Tim, who would apparently meet me in Newquay. I was aware that I should be grateful, but I was unable to feel anything. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be held and comforted by Tim, but I kept seeing Dan’s face instead.
But maybe things would resume their normal proportions once I was actually face-to-face with Tim. Maybe things would simply go back to what they had been before, and the alternative universe would be but a dream.
But I don’t want it to be a dream, something screamed inside me. Never, ever had I felt so confused and so lonely and so helpless.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tim was waiting for me just outside the barriers. He looked uncharacteristically pale and worried. Seeing him standing there, looking out anxiously for me, was heartbreaking. But beyond that, I didn’t feel more than a sad affection for this person who had been my lover and friend for over two years. At least Tim’s pragmatic nature absolved me of the duty of saying anything. For the moment, he did all the talking. He had some news; he had been able to speak with Mum just a few minutes ago, and Dad’s condition had stabilized. He was still in intensive care, but he was certain to pull through. Absolutely certain to pull through, Tim reaffirmed.
When it finally sank in, relief washed over me in great waves and I was dizzy, like I had just run a great distance. Tim held me firmly and led me to the nearest exit.
“Look,” Tim suggested gently, “my car is just outside. Let’s go see your Dad right now.”
Let’s go? In his car? My mind tried to grasp this information, then recalled my itinerary. Taxi. There was a taxi waiting for me somewhere.
“I’ve got to cancel the taxi,” I explained at Tim’s searching look. “Jack’s organized a taxi.” I petered out, then saw the taxi rank and a driver holding a sign with my name on. “Look,” I pointed Tim in the right direction.
He walked across purposefully and had a short conversation with the driver, who shrugged and put his sign away. “All set,” Tim explained. “He’ll get paid anyway, and we’re free to go, come on.”
Things were awkward in the car, to say the least. The need to say something, anything, was overpowering, yet I was afraid where I might go.
“Look,” I began tentatively. “I am so very grateful that you are here. And I am really confused and upset and not really…with it right now.” I decided to throw that little statement in to offer an explanation for any weird behavior. “But I know what upheaval this has caused for you, and you must loathe having to hang around here not doing anything, when you could be doing deals at work.”
I stopped. How to go on? Tim’s face had gone a shade whiter than pale and his eyes seemed like huge saucers in his face. His eyes were focused fiercely on the road, and I backtracked quickly.
“All I mean is,” I continued somewhat incoherently, “I want you to be here, but if you can’t or shouldn’t or if there are important things you have to do…I think I’m probably okay on my own now. You know?”
He clearly didn’t know or understand, or perhaps he understood all too well. He looked hurt. “If you don’t want me here, Soph, you just need to say.”
“Of course, I want you here,” I objected, not entirely truthfully. “I’ll be glad of the company.
I was just worried that…you know, you’re putting yourself out and there’s so little we can do anyway.”
His face cheered a little when I said that I wanted him there. I felt awful and burst into tears for good measure. Tim mistook this as distress at my Dad’s condition and made soothing noises. I was glad that driving the car made it impossible for him to look at me too closely, or hug me. We didn’t say much after that.
Once at the hospital, I sank into Mum’s arms as though I was drowning. She was wearing her favorite old cardigan, and the scent of her perfume and her hair made me little again. She also looked reasonably composed and relaxed, so I was finally ready to believe that Dad was no longer in immediate danger. We held each other for a long time.
I was allowed to see Dad only for about five minutes that night. I snuck into his room and examined his sleeping face. He looked pale and there was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Tubes were connecting his arms to vital machines, and there was the steady beep-beep of a heart monitor that I found both unnerving and reassuring. But he was breathing and his hands were warm to the touch.
Shortly after I had seen Dad, we all drove back home, Mum in her car and Tim and I in his car. At home, we gathered in the kitchen that I had so loved since childhood. It had always been the hub of the house and all family crises were settled around the scrubbed and worn pine table. Seeing all the familiar things in their rightful places after such upheaval and trauma seemed wrong. The pots were dangling merrily from their rack above the kitchen counters. The old-fashioned Aga spread a lovely warmth. The blue-and-white-checked gingham curtains at the huge kitchen window overlooking Fistral Bay were open, but there was nothing much to see in the pitch dark. However, if I strained to listen, I could just hear the comforting roar of the surf against the sand. And, of course, my feet reacted as they always did to the ancient flagstone floor; they got cold, and I had to nip upstairs into my old bedroom to find some bed socks and slippers.
