Page 89 of All We Want for Christmas
Instead, she had to force herself to wait in line, digging her nails into her palm with frustration, and wondering what kind of person had devised the exquisite torture known as a casualty reception desk.
Then came the agony of trying to find out where he was and having to tell a lie that she was Flynn’s fiancée, just in case they wouldn’t give her any information otherwise. And the wait while the receptionist tapped away at her keyboard with all the urgency of a clothes-shop sales assistant checking if a particular pair of jeans were in stock. God, the woman even broke off to accept a colleague’s offer of a cappuccino from the Costa at one point.
Lara was on the point of leaping over the counter and getting herself arrested when the receptionist finally located Flynn.
‘He’s been moved out of ICU into the HDU: the High Dependency Unit.’
Her first reaction – after she’d thanked the receptionist and managed to find an empty stretch of corridor en route to the HDU – was to hide between the drinks machine and the wall, take some deep breaths, and try not to cry with relief. He was alive and out of the intensive care unit. She had to be thankful for that.
Several wrong turns and corridors later, she finally reached the HDU.
She spoke to the nurse on duty, saying she was his girlfriend this time, and they told her Flynn was stable and had been knocked unconscious but was now reasonably alert and able to speak. He’d broken his knee and had cuts and bruises. The nurse also informed her that he already had two family visitors, but she could wait for a while if she wanted to. Then he left the station to deal with another patient.
His absence enabled Lara to venture a few paces beyondtheir desk, where she could see the nearby bay where he was lying. The curtains were partially open and Lara caught her breath, stunned by the sight. Machines surrounded his bed. He was hooked up to a drip and monitors. His leg was under a dome and he looked grey and exhausted, but at least he was alive. Even so, to see this big, strong man reduced to a helpless figure made her feel shaky.
The urge to go to him was powerful, but Lara held back.
Flynn’s current visitors perched on plastic chairs at his bedside. Lara recognised Molly instantly, but the woman next to her was a stranger. She was in her late thirties with jet-black hair tied back in a band. Her neck and arms were deeply tanned.
Flynn’s hand lay on the bedclothes; perhaps he’d moved his fingers. Lara wasn’t sure, because the tanned stranger leaned forward and placed her hand over his. A few seconds later, she moved her hand and put her arm around Molly’s back. In that moment, Lara caught a better glimpse of the woman’s face and realised that she had to be Molly’s mother, Imogen.
She went back through the doors into the adjacent small corridor and sat down heavily in a chair. How was Imogen here? Flynn had said she wasn’t meant to be home until New Year. Obviously, Imogen now knew about Flynn … how long had he been in contact with her? She saw the gesture again: Imogen tenderly placing her hand over Flynn’s. Anyone watching would think she was his wife or partner. And shewasthe mother of his child.
Lara wondered where Esme was – probably with Brenda.
She put her head in her hands, overwhelmed by the multiple shocks of the past few hours. Was it possible that Imogen had known Flynn longer than he had let on? Lara dismissed it; Flynn would have told her. And at least he was alive and stable, even though she didn’t know anything certain about the accident.
‘Hello. Are you OK, love?’
Lara lifted her head to find a stocky middle-aged man with greying hair speaking to her.
She sat up and managed a smile, feeling embarrassed at being caught feeling sorry for herself. ‘Yes, I’m OK. I just feel a bit tired.’
‘Oh. OK. I was worried you’d had bad news,’ the man said.
‘No. Not bad news. It’s – just so stressful and strange seeing people you love in hospital, isn’t it?’
‘Tell me about it,’ the man said. ‘Bloody nightmare when you live so far away too. My son’s in there. Been in a motorbike crash. I bloody hate that thing. Told him a hundred times to get rid of it.’ The Cornish accent became stronger as he spoke. Lara pictured Flynn’s reaction when, at the age of thirty-nine, he was told by his father that he couldn’t have a motorbike. However, judging by the state of him at present, he was probably in no position to protest.
‘Steve?’ A woman arrived, carrying two takeout coffees. She frowned in concern. ‘Everything OK?’
Lara smiled, partly to put on a brave face but also at the sight of Flynn’s mother, who was tall, brunette, and had the same beautiful eyes as her son.
‘Fine, Paula. I was talking to this young lady about Flynn and asking if she was OK herself. One of her friends is in this bloody place too.’
‘Is she OK?’ Paula asked, frowning in concern.
‘He,’ Lara said. ‘I think so.’
‘It’s awful, though,’ Steve said. ‘Getting a call in the middle of the night, having to drive hundreds of miles up here, not knowing what you’re going to find. We were in bits when we heard, weren’t we, Paula?’
‘He’s OK, though,’ Paula said. ‘Here, get this down you. You can’t take it into the ward. If I’d known you were here, I’d have asked if you wanted one too,’ she said to Lara.
‘That’s very kind of you but I’m fine. Actually, I was about to leave so you’re welcome to the chairs.’
‘Don’t go because of us. We’ve done enough sitting down over the past few hours.’
‘No, really. It’s time I went home.’
