Page 78 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
Liam shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Becky love. I think the doctors will call his parents, and it’ll be up to them to say who can see him: and Max, of course, when he’s awake.’
Ollie could tell, from her words and the way she was saying them, that Becky blamed her, too. She turned quickly and hot coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, burning her. She gasped, and Becky spun to face her.
‘Where were you when it happened?’ she asked.
‘In Liam’s study. He was trying to get a book down, and—’
‘You do realise this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you,’ Becky said.
Ollie pressed her lips together.
‘That’s not true,’ Liam replied for her, his tone straddling the line between gentle and forceful. ‘Nobody could have foreseen this. And let’s not do Max the disservice of suggesting his life is in someone else’s hands.’
‘But the way they’ve been carrying on.’ Becky flung an arm in Ollie’s direction, and she flinched. She put the cups on a chair, trying to arrange them on the flattest part of the plastic seat so they didn’t tip over.
‘Becky, come on now,’ Liam said.
Becky clenched her hands at her sides. ‘Dylan is devastated,did you know that? I only told him Max was unwell, and that was enough to set him off—’
‘So am I!’ Ollie couldn’t hold it in any longer. ‘Don’t you think I’m devastated, too? Don’t you think I already feel guilty, that I’m worried I spent too much time with him, asked him to do too much?’ She tried to gather her breath, to stop the flow of tears. ‘I love him, and I can’t even find out what’s happening.’
She rubbed her eyes and slumped into an empty chair. One of the coffee cups teetered, and then tipped. Ollie watched the hot, murky liquid spill over the seat and then,when it reached the edge, drip slowly and steadily, drop after drop, onto the cold linoleum floor.
It was much later, long after Becky had gone, and after she and Liam had watched a man and woman – the man with Max’s dark curls, the slender woman with greying blonde hair knotted in a bun, their faces etched with concern – being led by a member of hospital staff into a smaller waiting room, that a nurse told them they’d be better off going home.
‘He’s in the best possible hands,’ she said. ‘As soon as there’s an update, and as long as Mr Holden’s parents agree, we’ll call you.’ Her smile was kind, but Ollie felt defeated. She nodded, took a deep breath, and dredged up a smile.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She pushed herself to her feet, and held out her hand for Liam.
When they reached Foxglove Farm, Liam turned the engine off, but neither of them got out of the car. The dashboard said it was almost seven o’clock in the morning, and the sky was shifting from the deep black of night to a sludgy, pre-dawn grey.
‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you – what Max would have done.’
Liam put a hand on her arm. ‘You were there for him, Ollie. I know you think you haven’t been strong, but I hope that when you look back on this, you’ll realise that’s just not the case.’
She shook her head, and the tears, which she thought she’d fully wrung out, threatened to fall again. ‘What if he isn’t OK?’
‘He will be,’ Liam said softly. ‘Now, go and get some rest. Things will look brighter after a few hours’ sleep.’
As Ollie put her key in the lock, she heard a robin singing from the stately yew tree on the lawn. She tried to take the hopeful notes of his tune into her heart, but all she could think of was how still Max had been as the paramedics carried him to the ambulance, and the fact that, if Becky blamed her too, then it must at least be partly true.
She woke on the sofa, still in the jeans and red top she’d worn for their dinner at Liam’s house, her arms and legs wrapped around her dog. Henry’s breathing was soft, interspersed with gentle snuffles, and she didn’t think she’d ever been more grateful for him. She reached blearily for her phone, her heart sinking when the only notifications were messages of concern and support from Thea and Meredith. No news.
Realising it was early afternoon, she went to make herself a cup of tea and a slice of toast. As she was boiling the kettle, she saw Max’s stripy scarf draped over a breakfast stool, and the fear rose up in her throat.
She called the hospital, tears of frustration spilling over when the woman she spoke to said she couldn’t tell Ollie anything. She realised she couldn’t stay here, drowning in worry. She would see if Liam wanted to walk Henry with her. She was about to clip on his harness when her phone rang. She almost dropped it in her hurry to answer.
‘Is he OK?’ she blurted.
There was a pause and then, ‘I’m sorry, is this Ollie Spencer?’
‘Yes! This is Ollie, are you from the hospital?’
‘No, this is Arabella March, Sophia Forsythe-Hartley’s editor.’
‘Oh.Oh.Is … is everything OK?’
There was a short, uncomfortable laugh. ‘I feel like I should be asking you that.’
