by Wendy Hudson
Darcy had lived the life that was rightfully Anja’s. That had belonged to her.
She had to lose it all, and Anja had to be the one to take it away. Anja wanted to be there, up close and personal when it all fell apart. She didn’t want to witness it from the side lines—she needed to be close enough to touch her pain. To live and breathe it. To let it cleanse and wash away her own with the knowledge that Anja was the one causing it.
Only then would her mother be avenged and the voice appeased. She longed for the quiet, for the day when her mother told her it was enough and left her be.
That day had yet to come. Instead, the voice mocked and laughed at her weakness because she had dared to let feelings for Darcy cloud the mission. It was a betrayal her mother would never let go of, and the voice told her so over and over again.
It was right. She was pathetic. She had fallen for Darcy before she even knew it was happening. Now she felt Darcy’s pain as keenly as her own, and she longed to take it away, not cause it. It terrified her, yet she was powerless to stop it. As the months had gone by and the love gained strength, she had begun to see another way. A way to finally be happy. To make those early exploratory fantasies come true. Oh, the irony that it was Darcy who had offered her that golden chance.
She tracked the movements of colleagues as they passed by and questioned every glance her way. Did they know? Could they tell something was wrong? Were they wondering where Darcy was? She chastised herself as the constant loop continued.
They don’t know anything. Stop being a fucking coward. Don’t blow it now.
“Shit. What’s up with the boss?”
Joe’s voice snapped her back in to focus, and she peered towards Bridget’s office. She was on the phone and looked upset, forehead in hand and brow furrowed. Anja watched as she reached for a tissue and dabbed delicately under each eye. She nodded a few times, and Anja strained to try and follow her lips to get a clue to what she was saying.
Then she was hanging up and heading for her office door. Anja quickly diverted her attention back to her screen.
“Anja. Can you come in here, please?”
She caught Joe’s look of question and offered a faint shrug before pasting a neutral expression on her face and heading Bridget’s way. She looked flustered and close to tears, which was as un-Bridget as Anja had ever seen.
“Take a seat.”
Until that moment, Anja hadn’t allowed herself to consider that Darcy might not have gotten out of the car. Might not have survived. Her body trembled, and she struggled with the little will left in her to fight it.
Fucking pull it together, Olsen.
Anja did as instructed and sat to attention in front of Bridget’s desk.
Darcy survived. She had to. There was someone with her.
Or was this it? Was this the moment her whole world would implode? She gritted her teeth and braced herself for the onslaught, for the judgement, the shame, the scorn.
Darcy’s woken up and told them everything. No doubt the police are on their way and it’s Bridget’s job to keep me here until they arrive.
It’s all over.
They know who I am.
They know why I picked Darcy.
“Anja? Anja?”
Bridget’s raised voice cut through the internal assault.
“Sorry. What’s up?” Anja smoothed her skirt and clasped her hands together. It was happening whether she was ready for it or not.
“That was Darcy’s mum, Liz, on the phone. From Australia. Listen…”
Anja gulped in a breath. To hear Darcy’s mum’s name would normally evoke rage within her, but right now she was filled only with dread.
“There’s been an accident. A terrible accident. Involving Darcy.”
Anja said nothing. She stared at Bridget and willed her to continue. To put her out of her misery and tell her everything she knew. Everything Darcy knew. She wanted to scream for her to hurry up, to spit it the fuck out and stop trying to spare her feelings.
“What? What happened…?” She heard the rattle in her voice. Good, that was normal in this kind of situation.
Bridget fidgeted with a pen, clearly not comfortable being the one to break the news. “There was a car crash on Friday night. She’s in the hospital, broken and bruised from what I’ve been told, but the doctors say she’ll be okay. She had a lucky escape. They’re still waiting for her to wake up.”
She hasn’t woken up.
Anja felt the tension physically release in her stomach and chest. An unexpected sob tried to break lose, and she muffled it with a hand, sinking back in to the chair. “Fuck.”
“Yes, I know.” Bridget agreed with her sentiments, unaware the reasons for the expletive were twofold. “But as I said, she’s going to be all right eventually. She’ll need your help.”
“I can’t believe this.” Anja searched for all the right responses. The questions someone who was only finding out would ask. “Where? Did they say what happened? How did she crash? I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from her.”
Bridget rose and poured a glass of water, handed it to Anja, and perched on the edge of her desk. “All I know is it was somewhere between her house and town. Liz says the police mentioned ice, but they will also want to talk to Darcy when she’s able. Apparently, there’s a suspicion that she was drinking.”
“Drinking?” That’s it, Anja, act outraged. Darcy would never drink and drive. Be as shocked as Bridget. “No way. Darcy would never do that.”
Bridget held up her hands as if she wasn’t about to argue with that. “I’m only telling you what her mum said. There’s no use worrying about it right now. What Darcy needs is someone with her.”
“I can go.” Anja was on her feet, practically throwing the water back down on to the desk. If and when Darcy woke up, Anja would be there. She would be the first to hear whatever dangerous words tumbled from Darcy’s lips. “Can I go?”
“Of course you can. That’s one of the reasons I’m telling you. As I’m sure you know, Darcy’s mum is in Australia, and what with the situation with her little sister, she won’t be able to travel over straight away. If at all.”
Little sister.
Anja felt her face scrunch in confusion. “Her little sister? What situation?”
“Oh. Sorry, I assumed given how close you are and the way Liz spoke that you knew?”
“Well, obviously I don’t.” Anja did her best to curb the well of anger that threatened to rise. Darcy had a sister? Why had she never mentioned her? Although she had rarely talked about her family, only disclosing that her mum had stayed in Australia when she had returned to Scotland for university. It seemed odd that she would never acknowledge a sibling.
“She has Rett syndrome. It affects her both mentally and physically and her mum cares for her full-time. That’s why getting away will be difficult. She said Darcy speaks so fondly of you as her best friend and so she asked for you to be with her, until she can figure out what to do. She didn’t know who else to call. She feels so guilty about it, but I reassured her as best I could.”
Anja’s mind raced with the new information; she had thought she knew it all, through both her own research and from what Darcy had shared over the years. Why hadn’t she told Anja, and how old was this sister? Had she come before or after her bastard father’s betrayal?
“Why did her mum call you?”
“Purely because she didn’t have your number but knew the company Darcy worked for. She was so upset I said I’d speak to you for her.”
“She did the right thing. I’ll take care of everything.”
Bridget reached out and squeezed her arm, an unusually personal gesture. “I know you will. Darcy’s one of the good ones, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. Take some time and take good care of her. Stay in touch with Liz and keep me updated, yeah?”
“Can you call her mum back for me now? Tell her it’ll be okay, and she shouldn’t feel guilty. She already has one child to care for.”
“Of course. Now go.”
A little dazed, Anja wandered back to her desk, her brain whirring a million miles an hour and heart beating the same. She could figure this out and be there for Darcy. Turn it around.
It wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 26
All day and well into the evening, Eilidh kept thinking on Dr Jackman’s words.
When she wakes up.
She hadn’t thought that far ahead and now wondered what would happen when that occurred. Should she stay, or would it be confusing for the woman to find a stranger there when she eventually opened her eyes? What about when her family finally showed up? There’d be no reason for Eilidh to hang around.
The thought of leaving the woman pulled at her insides. Would her family keep Eilidh updated? Would she be allowed to visit? There was a long road to recovery ahead of her that Eilidh understood. She’d been there—was, in some ways, still there.
Could she help, or was it purely selfish reasons that kept Eilidh at the bedside? Her own redemption after her past attempt and failure at being the heroine? Was she looking for plaudits and gratitude? A chance to do it right this time?
No.
She knew why she was there. It was so the woman would know that someone was with her. That she wasn’t alone and someone cared. That someone had sat and pleaded for her to wake up and to live. Eilidh would be that person and sit at her bedside however long it took.
She loosely held the woman’s hand. It was cold and pallid; she willed it to move, to flinch. Even for one finger to twitch. Her gaze fell on the battered face again, and she wondered what it looked like under all the gauze and stitches. What colour were her eyes? Did she have dimples when she smiled? Her hair was a deep russet brown, and Eilidh imagined her eyes would match.
What did she do for a living? Was there a boyfriend, a husband, a wife? Someone frantic with worry, wondering why their partner hadn’t come home. Were there children or pets waiting to be fed, questioning where their mother was? A boss, angry that she hadn’t turned up for work?
The sound of the door opening broke through her ruminations.
“Oh, hi.” A blonde woman looked from Eilidh to the patient before turning her attention back to Eilidh again. She seemed flustered and a little bewildered to find Eilidh there. “Who are you?”
Eilidh stood and extended a hand. “Eilidh Grey. I’m the person who witnessed the accident. I’ve been keeping her company.”
The woman shook her hand lightly and held her gaze. “You’re the one that got her out of the car?”
“Aye…” Before Eilidh could say another word, she was being pulled into a fierce embrace.
“Oh my God. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you… If we’d lost her…” She broke the contact and held Eilidh at arm’s length. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost her.”
Eilidh stepped back from the hug, unprepared for the show of emotion and suddenly embarrassed. “No problem. You know, anyone would have done the same.”
“Nonsense.” The blonde squeezed her upper arm. “They told me the car burned to a shell. If it hadn’t been for you…well…” She wiped at some tears and looked over to the bed before echoing Dr Jackman. “It doesn’t bear to think where Darcy would be now.”
Eilidh nodded, unwilling to think about it either. “Wait? Her name’s Darcy? And you’re her…”
“Sister. Anja.”
“Right. Okay.” Eilidh looked between the sisters. Darcy. She finally had a name. Anja’s accent had thrown her a bit: for some reason, she had assumed Darcy would be Scottish.
She watched as Anja took her place in the chair at Darcy’s bedside, stroking the few strands of hair that poked through bandages before taking her hand. She felt awkward and unnecessary now that her family had arrived. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
Anja glanced up at her as if she’d already forgotten Eilidh was in the room. “Yes. I’m here now.” She smiled towards Darcy before leaning down to kiss the back of her hand. “And we don’t want to take up anymore of your time.”
“Oh, it was no trouble.” Eilidh backed towards the door. She was reluctant to leave but had clearly been given her marching orders.
“That’s kind of you to say, and thank you again. It was a miracle that you were there.”
Eilidh stalled suddenly as the woman’s name properly registered. It wasn’t exactly common. “Wait. Darcy? Is her name Darcy Harris?”
She watched Anja’s hands stop their stroking, and when her gaze fell back on Eilidh, it was loaded with suspicion. “How did you know that?”
If the situation hadn’t been so awful, Eilidh thought she might have laughed. Instead, she studied the woman in the bed, searching for a clue that might have told her who she was before now. It wasn’t there. But then they had only met briefly in person that one time on the bridge.
She shook her head slowly in disbelief. “We’ve met before. We were meant to go on a date Friday night. I was out running because she cancelled.” She felt a little embarrassed admitting the last part.
“Wow.” Anja sat back in her chair, arms crossed, appraising Eilidh. “So you’re her.”
“I assume from that, Darcy’s mentioned me?”
“Maybe once or twice.” Anja continued to stare. “Of all the people in Inverness, there you were, to save the day.”
Her tone jarred Eilidh a little, lacking in its earlier gratitude and becoming almost accusatory.
“Seems so. That’s kind of thrown me a little, I have to say. I didn’t recognise her.”
“Why would you? You’ve only known her five minutes.”
“True. Although I thought she was Scottish, but you have an accent I don’t recognise.”
Anja sighed loudly. “I’m Norwegian. I had to tell them she was my sister so they would allow me in. I’m her best friend, and her mother asked me to take care of her. Is that all right with you?”
Eilidh shifted awkwardly on the spot, unsure why Anja had become so hostile but without a comeback or question to call her on it. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her gaze flicked back to Darcy. She was even more reluctant to leave now but still felt decidedly unwelcome. “I guess I’ll get going, then.”
Anja’s attention was refocused on Darcy, and Eilidh had clearly been dismissed. She toed the ground, torn between leaving and asking to stay a little longer, despite the uncomfortable quiet. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might not have the opportunity to say good-bye properly, but then what was there to say? Nice to meet you? Hope you wake up soon?
“Can I leave you my number?”
“Pardon?” Anja eyed her in confusion.
“My number. For when she wakes up. I’d really like to know how she’s getting on, you know. Or maybe she’ll want to contact me?”
“I assume she already has your number?”
“Aye, but you don’t. I’d really appreciate it if you could let me know she’s all right. You’ll tell her I was here, won’t you?”
“Right, well. Okay. Fine.” Anja rummaged in her bag. She produced a phone and looked at Eilidh expectantly.
Eilidh reeled off her number as requested before giving Darcy one final glance. “Take care, Darcy.”
If Anja heard, she didn’t acknowledge Eilidh’s parting words, and Eilidh slipped quietly from the room.
Chapter 27
The feel of Darcy’s hand in hers did little to soothe Anja’s fears. She held it tentatively, cautious, caught in the dichotomy of wishing with all her heart that Darcy would wake up, yet petrified of what she would say if she did.
She whispered reassuring promises, hoping they would somehow take seed and Darcy would open her eyes knowing it w
as all because Anja loved her. She pleaded for forgiveness, begged for a second chance. Told her she would prove her worth, make up for everything, and finally open herself up with the truth. Darcy needed the truth.
The shock and reality of the crash had unravelled her. Had taken any last doubt about her feelings and burned them in the flames of Darcy’s ravaged car. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to take the chance and talk to her sooner? Tell her story and hope Darcy would see past it to the possibilities. The hope to be found in being together.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried, but every time, the words had lodged in her throat. The anger had still stunted her capacity to reveal it all, to loosen her grip on the secrets she had held fiercely for so long. Instead, she’d sent more gifts, tokens of everything she wanted but couldn’t say. She’d actively pursued her changing feelings and tried to understand them. To pinpoint the moment when searing hate and overpowering anger had begun to turn to love.
As always, her mother’s voice took hold and attempted to overpower the warmness that being by Darcy’s side brought her.
This isn’t why you tracked Darcy down. You’re meant to make her pay. Make her feel as you felt when you were deserted and crushed all those years ago. She had everything you should’ve had. Or have you forgotten?
Anja hadn’t forgotten. She never would. But the darkness no longer needed to reign; Darcy had shown her that. All her games, her interference in Darcy’s life—the fake dates, the late night calls—they’d stop. She’d seen her error now. The cry tugging on her heart was no longer for revenge.
Now it was telling her they could be their own family, in a way Anja had never imagined. They could be happy together, build a home together; it could be everything Anja had lost and more.
When Darcy awoke, Anja would be there. She would tend to every need and whim until Darcy was healthy again and would make her see how wonderful life could be so long as they stuck together.
