FRANCIS Kennington Park Road
FRANCIS
Kennington Park Road
Despite the exhaustion, I toss and turn in a restless sleep, until the shrill ringtone of my phone, left on the bedside table, pulls me fully into wakefulness.
The moment I grab it, already annoyed at being woken during my rare hours of rest, and see who’s calling, I immediately know something’s wrong.
I answer with the hairs on my arms already standing on end and a sudden knot twisting in my stomach.
“Fran!” Ludo’s voice bursts through the speaker, no preamble, cracked with tears.
“What happened? Where’s Jack?” I ask, increasingly alarmed as I start grabbing the first clothes I can find.
“St Thomas’ Hospital. They’re taking him there…”
“St Thomas’?” I growl, already rushing towards the front door and grabbing the car keys from the basket by the entrance, the same place I left them only a few hours ago.
“What the hell happened, Ludo? Tell me, for fuck’s sake!”
I can feel my patience slipping. The poor boy is clearly terrified, but I don’t have time to deal with him right now.
The only thing that matters is Jack. My Jack.
Ludo sniffs hard, then finally starts speaking. I’m already in the car by the time his voice, broken by sobs, comes through the speaker.
“Jack fell… he was trying a jump, and his ankle, God, I don’t even know, Francis. Just come. I’m with him in the ambulance and we’ve just arrived at A&E. I asked them to take him to St Thomas’, of course. Before he passed out, he asked for you.”
Then, without any further explanation, he hangs up, and despite the panic tightening in my chest, I at least have the presence of mind to send a quick voice message to Remi, asking him to pick Adele up from nursery and take her back to their place with Leo.
I’ve already given the babysitter the day off, and until I know exactly what’s happened to Jack, I’d rather my daughter stay with the Elliott Arnetts.
I pull into one of the staff parking spots and rush straight into A&E, where some of my colleagues, who saw me finish my shift only a few hours ago, look at me in complete confusion.
“Starkey, what are you…” one of the senior doctors starts to ask, but I don’t let him finish.
The panic over whatever’s happened to my boyfriend is so overwhelming I can hardly breathe. I just need to find him, to know he’s okay, nothing else matters.
Nothing else but Jack.
“Your… what?” he asks, cocking his head with a look of mild curiosity I’d gladly slap off his face. Instead, I just reply, “My boyfriend. Jack McAvoy. Twenty-two. He’s a dancer. He had an accident during a rehearsal.”
“Oh, right… the skinny kid they brought in on a stretcher a little while ago…”
At this point, my patience is hanging by a thread. “Where is he?” I snap, my tone making it abundantly clear that if he doesn’t tell me where the hell my boyfriend is in the next two seconds, things won’t go well for him.
Thankfully, Valentine gets the message and gestures towards a door at the far end of the corridor. “They’ve just taken him into Room Six for Connor to examine…”
I don’t even let him finish. I’m already striding down the hall.
“Starkey, wait, only family…” I hear him calling after me, but I don’t give a shit.
Screw “only family.” Jack is my family now. He’s my boyfriend, and nothing is going to stop me from being with him.
Connor’s an orthopaedic surgeon, and the fact that Jack’s still in the examination room gives me a shred of hope. If it were something more serious, he’d already be in surgery.
Either way, I’m about to find out. As soon as I reach the door, I knock twice in warning, then, under Nurse Johnson’s incredulous stare, I push it open and step inside.
The second I cross the threshold, I see him.
My injured little fox.
My Jack, lying on the examination table, hair a mess, his face twisted with pain.
The orthopaedic consultant is examining his ankle, rotating it carefully, while Jack hugs his arms tight around his torso and squeezes his eyes shut so hard, I can see tears clinging to his lashes.
And something inside me breaks.
With a clarity I can’t ignore, I understand just how deeply I feel for him.
I’ve never wanted to take someone else’s pain as my own… not since those raw, wrenching early nights when Adele would cry for her mother in her sleep.
Jack isn’t some lost, abandoned child, he’s an adult, strong and independent. And yet, the very idea that he might be in pain has become utterly unbearable to me, and right now, I’d give anything to be the one lying there in his place.
Before my colleague can say a word, I’m already by Jack’s side. I crouch down beside him and whisper, “I’m here, sweetheart. It’s okay…”
His eyes fly open and, without hesitation, he wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me into him.
“Thanks for coming…” he says, his voice breaking.
I bring one of his hands to my lips and press a gentle kiss to his palm. “Where else would I be, if not here with you?”
His wide amber eyes fix on mine, vulnerable and scared.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this isn’t just about physical pain. Knowing Jack, that’s probably the last thing on his mind.
What’s at stake, here, is his entire career.
I’m not an orthopaedic specialist, but I know all too well that some injuries have the power to determine whether a dancer continues or stops, permanently.
And Jack’s career has only just begun. He still has so much to give, so much to achieve.
I can’t even bring myself to consider the worst-case scenario.
“Ahem, sorry to interrupt…” Connor clears his throat, cutting into our moment of intimacy.
It’s only then that I notice Ludo, perched silently on one of the chairs nearby.
Unlike usual, there’s no trace of his mischievous expression. Instead, his cheeks are streaked with tears, and his eyes are wide with a kind of shock I’ve never seen in him before.
Like Jack, he’s still wearing his training clothes and, seeing him shiver, I realise he doesn’t even have a jacket on, a clear sign they must have left the academy in a rush.
I manage just a small nod of thanks in his direction for looking after Jack before Connor starts speaking again.
“Before coming in, I had a quick look at Mr. McAvoy’s imaging, and I want to reassure you first and foremost: as intense as the pain is, the injury itself isn’t as serious as it could have been. In fact, it’s a fairly common issue among professional dancers…”
As I squeeze Jack’s hand, I feel a fraction of the tension in his body begin to ease, but not nearly enough.
“What exactly happened?” I ask, realising my little fox is still far too shaken to speak for himself.
“On the landing from a jump, I expect Mr. McAvoy placed his foot down at the wrong angle,” the doctor says, “which has resulted in a torn ligament in the ankle and a fair amount of swelling. That’s most likely what caused the severe pain and the subsequent loss of consciousness.
At the moment, he can’t put any weight on it. ”
“The good news is,” he continues, offering a reassuring smile, “that based on the MRI and my examination, there’s no need for surgery. Jack will need to wear a brace at first and avoid putting too much strain on it, but with the right physiotherapy, he should be back to normal in around six weeks.”
At those words, Jack, Ludo, and I all let out a collective sigh of relief.
The LCDA’s annual showcase is scheduled for the end of June, so with a bit of luck, and the best possible care, my little fox might just make it in time.
For a moment, the two of them finally meet each other’s eyes, laughing and crying at the same time, at the thought that not only is Jack’s career safe, but their piece might still make it to the end-of-year performance.
I trust Connor. He’s a serious, competent professional and a good man. So, I go straight to the one thing that now takes precedence over everything else.
“I need the best physiotherapist you know for dancer rehab, Connor. Just give me a name, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But… but…” Jack cuts in. “That’s going to cost a fortune, and I… I can’t afford it,” he finishes, clearly worried.
“There’s always the option of being treated through the NHS,” Connor explains. “There are excellent professionals in public healthcare too, but the waiting times are longer, and you wouldn’t be guaranteed a physio with specific experience treating dancers…”
“Don’t even think about it!” I snap, the thought of my boyfriend jeopardising his future over money making my temper flare.
What’s mine is his. Jack may not have realised it yet, but I have. And this time, I’m not backing down. There’s far too much at stake.
“Connor?” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.
The orthopaedic consultant exhales sharply, then glances at my boyfriend with a half-smile. “You really picked the most stubborn one, didn’t you? Just so you know, it’s a losing battle with Starkey…”
Then he turns to me and simply says, “Harry Bentley. He works almost exclusively with dancers and gymnasts. I’ve never known him not to get someone back on their feet. If Jack needs to be performance-ready again in two months, Bentley’s your man.”
“Thanks, Connor. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Now get out of here, Starkey,” he warns. “I’ve got another consultation to finish, and I don’t want you under my feet. I’ll go over all the discharge details with Jack. You go find a wheelchair so you can get your boyfriend to the car.”
I hesitate, not too keen on leaving Jack alone, but Ludo steps in. “I’ll stay with him, Francis. I’ll come and find you as soon as we’re done.”
Jack gives a small nod, quietly signalling me to go ahead, and once he’s finally discharged, already strapped into a brace, I manage to settle him into the wheelchair and get him out to the car.
I offer Ludo a lift as well. He’s really proven himself a true friend to my little fox today, but after thanking me, he politely declines.
He launches into some story about a prior commitment, but I can tell the truth is much simpler: he doesn’t want to slow us down.
Jack is clearly wiped out, both physically and emotionally, and he needs to get home as soon as possible.
Once we’ve said goodbye to the Italian dancer, we’re finally ready to set off.
“I’m taking you home now, Jack,” I say, turning towards him and gently brushing my fingers over that face I’ve grown so painfully fond of.
“Y-You mean Broadwick Street?” he asks, hesitant.
And despite my best intentions, I burst out laughing, that kind of laugh he normally finds absolutely infuriating.
“No, my wounded little fox. I’m taking you home to Kennington Park Road, where I fully intend to look after you, spoil you rotten, and nurse you back to health until you’re back on your feet. How’s that for a plan?”
I’m fully expecting an argument, but this time Jack surprises me. He looks at me with a soft smile, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, and says simply, “Not bad, Starkey. I’ve heard you do better, but hey, it’s a start.”
Then he lets out one of those low, throaty laughs that lights up his whole face and makes his entire body tremble in that uniquely Jack way I’ve come to absolutely adore.
I lean in and, as I buckle him in, press a kiss to the tip of his nose. Then I straighten up, start the engine, and say, “Good. Because I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”