Page 79 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘I … uhm.’ She couldn’t go into it with Arabella. ‘It’s Sunday – isn’t it? Is everything all right?’
‘Actually – and I am so sorry to do this, especially when it sounds like you have other things on your plate – but Sophia won’t be able to make the event on the twenty-third after all. I hope you understand that we are both incredibly disappointed, and she has asked me to pass on her profuse apologies, but something unavoidable has come up, and we just can’t rework things to make the trip to Cornwall fit. I wanted to let you know as soon as possible, hence disturbing you on a Sunday.’
Ollie remained mute throughout Arabella’s speech, the words barely sinking in until she’d mumbled some kind of acquiescence, and then ended the call.
She watched as her toast popped up, the edges charred, the acrid smell filling the barn. The kettle was steaming, the sounds and smells so domestic and ordinary. She picked up Max’s scarf and climbed onto the stool. She remembered that, in times of stress, the best thing you could do was breathe deeply, take air fully into your lungs.
She inhaled, and her mind filled with images of Max on the stretcher, of Arabella saying the wordsprofuse apologiesin her clipped, eloquent voice.Henry whined gently from the sofa, his dark, baleful eyes fixed on her, and Ollie couldn’t bear it.
She folded her arms on the island, buried her head in them, and let the tears come again, soaking into the soft cotton of Max’s scarf, while the Christmas robin trilled its hopeful, festive tune in the yew tree outside her window.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nothing, absolutely nothing, was working.
Not summer rain-scented incense sticks or fresh air or meditation or ambient music. Ollie had walked all the way to the beach with Henry, and stood there, watching the swirling mass of waves, shades of blue and green and turquoise churning amongst the grey, the sky shifting from dark slate to soft smoke as clouds raced overhead. It was magnificent, breathtaking, but it reminded her of the day she and Max had found the seashell, and she’d ended up getting soaked and bringing him back to the barn. Then she worried she was too far from home, that there might be news from the hospital, and she wouldn’t be able to get there as quickly as she wanted.
She strode through the countryside, the wind biting her cheeks, the colours of the landscape muted. Every bit of Port Karadow held some kind of reminder, refusing to let her turn her thoughts to something else: there were the legends she had been exploring with Max; the early morningwalks she’d taken with Henry, when she’d been anticipating seeing him in Sea Brew, the chai tea latte and sausage roll just an excuse.
Already, Cornwall was her life, and Max was an irreplaceable part of it. She never wanted that to change, but right now she felt helpless. She wanted todosomething: take food and good coffee to Max’s parents at the hospital, or make sure Sea Brew could run smoothly until he got back. She wished that she could be productive, instead of wandering around the countryside like a directionless Eeyore.
The sight of Foxglove Barn should have been comforting, but the only things waiting for her inside were quiet and calm, her glittering Christmas decorations, and the absence of Max. And the worst thing was, she couldn’t shake the feeling – reaffirmed by Becky – that she was at least partly responsible for him getting ill.
She was taking her coat off, Henry hovering around her legs, clingier than he’d been in weeks, when her phone rang. With her heart in her throat, she took it out of her pocket, expecting to see an unknown number. Instead, she saw that it was Thea. She thought of Arabella’s call, and it took her a few seconds to answer.
‘Hi Thea,’ she said. She walked to the fridge and took out a bottle of beer.
‘Ollie, I’m so sorry,’ were Thea’s first words. ‘I wanted to call earlier, but I didn’t know if you’d be at the hospital, or … Is there anything Ben and I can do?’
‘We’re here, Ollie,’ Ben’s deep voice said in the background.
Ollie lowered herself to the arm of the sofa. ‘That’s so kind of you, thank you. But I don’t … The doctors won’tlet me see him, so I have no idea how he’s doing. His parents are at the hospital, so that’s good. He’s not alone, at least.’
‘Shit,’ Thea whispered. ‘Do you want us to come over? Take your mind off things until you hear?’
Ollie stared at the bottle resting on her knee. She felt guilty for the Sophia mess, too. She had got everything so wrong. ‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘Besides, it could be hours until there’s any news. I just need to rest, I think. I didn’t get any sleep last night.’
‘Of course. But honestly, Ollie, if there’s anything we can do – anything at all – please call me.’
‘You’re the best, thank you.’
‘Take care.’
As soon as they’d hung up, Ollie wished she’d said yes to company. But what would they have done? Sat around together, being morose and worried? What would be the point of that?
She thought about phoning Melissa, or her parents, but what would she say? I’ve fallen for someone, I’m almost certain he’s the love of my life, but he’s had a relapse of a life-threatening illness that I might be responsible for; I don’t know how he is, and I’ve totally messed up the one part of my job my boss was relying on me for?
She swigged her beer, the bubbles filling her throat, the taste bitter in her mouth. At least if she had a task – phoning Max’s employees to sort out cover for the café, putting a bag together for him and taking it to the hospital – she would feel slightly better. But she didn’t have the numbers of Max’s staff, and she didn’t have a key to his house. For both those things, she needed Max.
So instead, she sat on her sofa, Henry a heavy weight on her lap, and scrolled through her message chain with him. It was self-destructive, she knew that, and as she read every sweet message and funny joke, every hint that he cared about her, she felt worse. Was he awake? Did he have his phone beside him, ready to pick up when he came round? It had been in his jeans pocket: she remembered that from when she’d been sitting next to him on Liam’s sofa, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
With her fingers working faster than her brain, she typed out a message to him:
I miss you and I’m scared. Already, I don’t think I can live without you. Please get better, Max. Ollie. xx
She sent it, then flung her phone onto the cushions, got up and walked to the French doors at the far end of the room. It was almost dark, the garden blanketed in shadows, the sky a dusky blue-grey, the wisps of clouds like streamers between the trees. She watched the view fade in increments, and realised she was rubbing her shoulder. She’d hardly been aware of it at the time, only worried about getting Max safely down from the steps, but now it was aching.
She stretched in front of the mirror, trying to ignore her pale skin, shadowed eyes and slightly shellshocked expression. As she rotated her shoulder, wincing at the pain, her gaze fell on the corner of the mirror, and the items that she’d slid in-between the glass and the frame.
