Page 11 of The Art of Loving You

‘Are you going to get that?’ Alice had asked.

‘It’s an unknown number, probably marketing.’

‘If it’s someone flogging a cut-price man who would make a great dad, sign me up,’ she had said.

I remember now I had been laughing when I answered.

Couples should have this sixth sense when something is wrong shouldn’t they? Especially when something is wrong with the other? Today, I still burn with shame that I had no idea.

I was laughing.

Chapter Four

Four words.

Four words and everything changed.

‘There’s been an accident.’

For a second I froze; the smile on my face, my whole body motionless, lungs ceased to function.

I couldn’t breathe.

The person on the other end of the line continued talking.

My hearing sharpened, my voice muted. Vision tunnelled.

I shook my head as though I could make it stop. She must be mistaken.

Mustbe.

‘Accident? Jack?’ I was repeating random words. ‘I don’t …’

My eyes met Alice’s; hers were full of confusion. It didn’t make sense. Jack had only nipped out for a box of Lemsip and some booze.

‘You can’t have the right person. Jack … Jack’s on his way home. He texted me, he …’ My voice cracked.

Gently, Alice took the phone from me. She spoke for a few moments before hanging up.

‘Libby.’ She cupped my face with her hands. She felt cold. I felt cold. ‘We need to go to the hospital.’

‘But I don’t understand—’

‘Now.’ She pulled me to my feet.

Like I had done for her so many times growing up, she coaxed me into my shoes and jacket. We stepped outside. Bewildered, I gazed around the front garden we had skipped happily through just hours before. Now the daffodils seemed to hang their heads with sorrow.

Jack.

Was he … Was he …? I tried to recall what I’d been told but it was all a blur. Surely if … if the worst had happened, we wouldn’t be speeding to the hospital?

‘Alice …’ I wanted reassurance but I was too scared she wouldn’t be able to give it to me. Instead I placed the thought that Jack must be alive on the palm of my hand and clenched my trembling fingers around it, holding on tightly, the sharpness of my nails cutting into my soft flesh.

We ran into the hospital when all I wanted to do was to run away, to travel back through time to a place where Jack was okay. Where we were happy.

The smell of disinfectant stuck in my throat. The tropical heat, combined with my raging temperature made my head spin. We pelted through endless corridors. All around me streamed the sick and the dying, anxious relatives and worried friends. My scant experience of hospitals so far had been solely positive. Visiting a couple of friends who had given birth. Marching onto the maternity ward trailing pink or blue helium balloons embellished with congratulatory storks. Now … now I saw this place for what it was.

Frightening.

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