Page 12 of The Art of Loving You

Life-changing.

‘This is us.’ Alice smiled at me encouragingly, although her face was drained of colour. Her lips almost blue. Her fingers trembled as we rubbed antibacterial gel into our hands from the dispenser under the ‘Accident & Emergency’ sign. She pushed open the double doors and I stepped through them, flinching as they slammed behind me.

Once more it was Alice who took charge, speaking to the receptionist. Leading me to an orange plastic chair as hard and uncomfortable as the ball of dread that lay heavy on my chest. I’d have thought that night-time would be when this department was busiest – drunken fights, drunken falls – but the waiting area was rammed. A small boy, swinging his legs, wailing that his tummy hurt. A man pressing a bloodied rag against his forehead. A woman doubled over in pain, her toddler pulling at her skirt, whining for chocolate from the vending machine.

Jack wasn’t here. He was obviously being seen. Was that good or bad? I just didn’t know.

‘Libby Gilbert?’

I raised my face to a man with a bushy beard and a white coat. ‘Emerson. I’m Emerson. Jack and I aren’t married.’

Yet. I wanted to add yet but I was so scared that it was too late for us. I glanced at my bare ring finger. The other day Jack had made a throwaway comment about ‘happy wife, happy life’ and I swear my heart momentarily stopped beating. Marriage was something we’d discussed in the past. Jack wasn’t keen because his parents were no longer together, but it was because my parents weren’t together that I longed for the stability. It hadn’t been mentioned for a long time; it meant a lot to me but I hadn’t wanted to pressure him. I’d rather be with him and happy than force him into something he didn’t believe in.But then, unbeknown to Jack, a couple of months ago I’d seen him rummaging around in my jewellery box, trying one of my rings on. It was hard to keep a neutral expression on my face when, over the next few days, he had casually asked what my favourite gemstones were, whether I preferred yellow gold or platinum.

‘Is he …?’ I searched the man’s face for an answer to the unspoken question that fear had shackled to my tongue. His expression was inscrutable.

‘I’m Dr Corcoran. Follow me please.’ He led us into a room. Even if he hadn’t gestured for us to sit I would have collapsed onto the faux-leather sofa. My legs just couldn’t support me when the ground felt like it kept shifting beneath me. My future slipping away.

The relatives’ room. Again I had the strange sense of déjà vu. I’d watched enough TV dramas to know there was no good news when you were led to the relatives’ room. I was quietly crying before he even spoke.

‘Jack’s been stabbed.’

The words sliced into me.

I covered my mouth with the horror of it. Of all the things I had steeled myself for when I’d heard the word ‘accident’ – tripping over a paving stone, a car ploughing into his van – a stabbing had never entered the equation.

‘Where?’ Alice asked. She took my hand and I gripped her fingers tightly.

‘He’s been lucky. We’ve X-rayed him and the blade missed all of his vital organs. A few millimetres lower and it would have pierced his bowel. We’ve stitched and dressed the wound and—’

‘So he’ll be okay? He is okay?’ I nodded in the vain hope that my affirmation would make it so.

‘Is he conscious?’ Alice spoke at the same time.

‘Yes. We’re going to keep him in overnight for observation but all being well you’ll be able to take him home tomorrow.’

‘But … who? How …?’Stabbed.I had so many questions and I couldn’t form any of them.

‘The police are with him now. I’ll get somebody to take you to him.’

Even as I stood it still felt like the floor was moving beneath me, my future not as solid and as certain as it once was.

Jack’s face was as white as the pillowcase he rested his head upon. His hospital gown was a washed-out grey.

‘Jack!’ I rushed to his side, barely registering the uniformed officer that hovered in the corner. I couldn’t contain my tears as I scattered kisses onto his mouth, his nose, his forehead. What would I have done if I’d never seen his face again? It was incomprehensible that somebody young and healthy could walk out of the door never to return. I sat on the bed and leaned into him until he was looking at me, but instead of love and life in his eyes there was nothing, and that emptiness caused my stomach to plummet.

‘You’re okay. You’re okay.’ I tried to convince him, myself. But we both knew he wasn’t, not really.

‘I dropped your Lemsip,’ he monotoned.

‘Shh.’ I took his hand, pressing the tips of his fingers against my lips. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Elizabeth?’ The officer stepped forward. ‘I’m PC Nowak.’

‘It’s Libby, please. What happened?’

‘Jack was mugged—’

‘I hope you catch the bastard,’ Alice said from the doorway.

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