26 | Not our boy
26 | not our boy
CARA
I’d always known that death was coming for us all. What I often forgot was that I didn’t know when. Between the mundane moments in life, I seldom gave pause to consider that our existence was but brief – that time had, as I perceived it, a beginning and an end. I took it for granted that I would get the opportunity to carry out most of my plans, that I would be able to realise most of my goals, before death showed up to wrest my last breath from me. By the same token, I had taken it for granted that, should we both want to, William and I had the rest of our lives to spend together. But I hadn’t considered that the rest could be cut so short. I had thought it would span decades, not mere weeks.
Now, with death skulking so near that I felt its presence like a cold draught, I was confronted with my own naivety. Death was impervious to any plea, immune to sentiment; it could, in just a fleeting moment, deprive me of the only man I had ever loved. The dread authority of that realisation made me fear it with an intensity I had never known before.
As I languished under the weight of its shadow, my desperation to repel it drove me to do something I had never done before. I closed my eyes, interlaced my fingers, and prayed to what I hoped was death’s master. I pleaded for William’s recovery, for the doctors to emerge with news that he had awakened, unchanged, and for death to retreat until I was ready for it to return.
We needed more time – William and I, us.
It seemed surreal that just hours earlier, I had behaved as if eternity lay before us, as if squandering a single moment bore no consequence because another would always follow.
I had been so utterly foolish, so painfully na?ve.
There was no guarantee that William would ever wake up, and even if he did, no guarantee he would remain the person I knew.
It was entirely possible that our time together had already run out.
My face crinkled as I pictured him in his bedroom, offering me his heart. He’d looked so vulnerable, the hope in his eyes laden with fear as he confessed that he loved me. ‘I need time,’ I’d told him, as if he were the master of his own beginning and end, as if he were larger than life. If only I’d known that I’d asked for something he had no power over – a thing he wasn’t qualified to give.
I’d asked for more of what he might not have.
He had given me every moment he could, and I had wasted so many of them.
A torrent of intense regret engulfed me, and I doubled over, covering my face with my hands. I barely registered the soft murmur of conversations around me, the sterile brightness of the hospital’s waiting room, or the intermittent calls over the PA system. Waves of anguish shook my body, each one storming more fiercely than the last.
I thought of the time I first met William and how profound our chemistry had been right from the start. He had peered into my core and gauged who I was within mere moments of meeting me. Even back then, I had acknowledged that I had met my match; the connection between us was unlike anything I’d ever felt. And yet, despite this, I had resolved not to pursue him. Set in my ways, I had rejected his advances time and again, wasting precious time that I could have spent adoring him instead.
How nonsensical that seemed now.
I would never meet a person I’d be more compatible with than William. From the very beginning, we had been ourselves with one another, laying bare even our less admirable traits without reservation. We never tolerated more than we should – we always called each other out whenever we made mistakes – but we also always maintained room for forgiveness. And, just as he had embraced every part of me, I had grown to love every part of him. We loved each other wholly, not just in pieces.
‘Cara?’ a familiar voice called, but I couldn’t find the strength to respond. I sat slumped, staring blankly at my lap, my falling tears darkening the colour of my gown with each drop.
A cold pair of hands cupped my cheeks, tipping my head back. Jason examined me closely, his light-blue eyes filled with worry.
The sight of him ripped a sob from my mouth. He looked so much like William. It was a beautiful face, but as much as I loved it, it wasn’t the one I needed to see.
‘Jason…’ I choked out, grimacing.
‘I’m here, love,’ he said, easing himself down beside me. ‘What have they told you?’ Gently, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me into the warmth of his embrace. His familiar scent enveloped me, offering a small solace.
Drawing a shuddering breath, I fought to steady my trembling voice. ‘They brought him straight into the operating theatre, saying he needed vascular surgery.’ I gestured to my left arm, where William had been wounded. ‘His… vein had been severed.’
‘Which vein? Did they specify?’ Jason’s voice was steady, clinical.
I pointed hesitantly to a spot on his arm, not too far from his shoulder. ‘There,’ I said, my fingers trembling as they pressed against his white jumper. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t recall—’
‘Cephalic vein, probably,’ he cut me off with a nod. ‘That would have caused significant bleeding. Did they give him a transfusion?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered, barely audible. Tears flooded my eyes as images of William lying motionless on the floor surged through my mind. With a sharp intake of breath, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to banish the horrific scene from my memory.
‘What else did they say?’ Jason’s voice remained calm, betraying no sign of the turmoil he must have felt. I wondered if his medical training was keeping his emotions in check, or perhaps the full impact of the situation hadn’t hit him yet. Either way, it was clear he was focusing on understanding the extent of William’s injuries before he let his feelings surface.
‘They said he’s suffered a significant blunt trauma to the head and that he’s unconscious, but that his condition is stable. When I saw him…’ It was hard to talk when sobs were constantly clawing at the back of my throat. I had to pause, had to hold myself together. But the harrowing images were still so fresh in my mind, refusing to fade. ‘His face, Jason – it was so badly bruised. The paramedics…’ I held my breath, shuddering as I fought for control. ‘In the ambulance, they mentioned his assailant might have slammed his head into the basins. They found blood there.’
Jason slid his hand into the pocket of his grey joggers, his fingers curling into a fist. ‘How long have you been waiting?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sorry.’ My face contorted. I hated that I couldn’t reassure him better.
‘It can’t have been more than half an hour,’ Jason murmured, glancing at the clock on the wall, its hands nearing midnight. ‘Andy rang me about twenty minutes ago, saying he was on his way here.’
‘And your parents?’
‘They’re on their way too.’
I wrapped my arm around him, hugging him tightly. ‘I’m so sorry, Jason.’
As he looked back at me, his eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. ‘I can’t fathom why anyone would do this to him.’
I shook my head, grief overwhelming me, and let the tears fall.
Jason pulled me closer, his hand gently stroking my arm. ‘At least they’ve caught the miscreant.’
‘Yes.’ I sniffled, clinging to that small piece of justice amidst the chaos.
Just then, Andy and Chloe came through the doors. Their eyes darted around the brightly lit waiting room, searching.
‘Andy,’ Jason called, drawing their attention. Recognising us, they hurried over, navigating through the scattered groups of people and the quiet tension of the room.
‘Any news?’ Andy asked, his voice strained and his face ashen.
‘No,’ I said feebly, holding his gaze. ‘Only that they’re performing surgery on him to close a severed vein in his arm.’
‘Did you say you didn’t recognise his assailant?’ Jason asked, looking at Andy.
‘Yes, I’ve never seen him before.’ Andy steered Chloe into the available seat next to Jason. I stared at his hands – the bruises on his knuckles.
‘What did he look like?’ Jason asked.
‘He was big – muscular. Shorter than Will but broader. Dark hair, light skin, likely in his thirties.’
Jason exhaled sharply and leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees. ‘If you don’t know him, it’s unlikely I do.’
Andy frowned, rubbing his neck. ‘I’m wondering whether it might have been random.’
‘Random?’ Jason echoed, his eyes widening. ‘As in, you think Will might have been a random victim?’
Andy nodded, crossing his arms. ‘Since I didn’t recognise him. And Will hasn’t mentioned any trouble that could explain this – no rows, no threats.’
Jason looked thoughtfully at his hands. ‘He hasn’t mentioned anything like that to me, either.’
‘Speculating won’t help us,’ Chloe murmured. I glanced at her, but she kept her gaze on the floor, her expression blank. ‘The police have already caught the guy. It’s only a matter of time before they sort this all out and we’ll know what really happened.’
‘You’re right,’ Jason acknowledged, standing up. ‘Here, Andy, take my seat. I’m going to see if the receptionist has any new information.’
As he walked away, Andy sank into the chair beside me and wrapped an arm around Chloe, drawing her close. Then he took my hand, squeezing it.
‘He’ll be all right, Cara,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sure of it.’
I tightened my grip on his hand. I badly wanted to believe him, but until the doctors confirmed it, I couldn’t.
Alex and Ivy arrived then. They looked shaken, their faces pale and their eyes wide with worry as they took the seats opposite us.
‘Anything new?’ Alex asked, his voice tense.
‘Nothing yet,’ Andy replied.
In the sombre silence that ensued, I felt Ivy’s gaze on me. Meeting her eyes, I saw her lips purse in a frown, her expression awash with sympathy. Beside her, Alex stared vacantly into the distance. His hand found Ivy’s, seemingly without thought, holding it tightly. She looked up at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze.
My attention shifted to Jason, who was negotiating with the receptionist for any bit of information. I watched him closely, trying to read his expressions for any sign of hope or despair. The moment stretched until Andy’s voice cut through the quiet.
‘There’s John,’ he said, pulling our attention sharply to the doorway.
My heart raced as John, almost unrecognisable, hurried in holding Daphné’s hand. The confidence that usually defined him was absent, replaced by a frantic worry that crinkled his brow and deepened the lines on his face. Daphné appeared equally distressed, her face ashen and her eyes wide and wild. Their elegant outfits suggested they had come directly from the event they had attended.
Daphné, noticing us first, pulled at John’s hand and led him to us. She dropped down by my feet, her eyes pleading as she sought out mine for any reassurance. The transformation in both of them broke my heart, and a sob escaped me. Daphné’s reaction was swift; she reached up to dry my tears, her touch delicate.
‘His condition is stable,’ I managed to say, though my voice wavered with each word. I relayed everything I knew, each detail heavier than the last.
Daphné and John’s faces contorted with shock. As parents, their worst nightmare was unfolding – their son, the centre of their world, caught in a brutal struggle for his life.
It took several long seconds for Daphné to rise again. Her body shook as she faced her husband, her voice a fragile echo of its usual firmness. ‘John, not our boy.’
Anguish flooded John’s features, distorting the face I knew into something unfamiliar. I stared helplessly at him, my lips quivering. John, who was always so calm and collected, was tearing at the seams right before my eyes. Spreading his arms, he swept Daphné into a tight embrace, as if trying to shield her from the world. There, with her head tucked under his chin, Daphné quietly wept.
I felt like an intruder on their private grief, my heart fracturing with each of their sobs. It was unbearable to watch.
‘I don’t understand,’ John said, his voice unsteady. His eyes met mine, searching, pleading for some semblance of an explanation.
‘None of us do,’ Andy murmured, his face twisting with frustration and sorrow.
Jason returned, his face a mask of pain, eyes red-rimmed from held-back tears. ‘Mum, Dad,’ he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. He stretched out his arms, enveloping them both in a tight, protective embrace, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself together.
‘Jason.’ John took a small step back, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. ‘Has Will mentioned anything to you? Any threats?’
Jason wiped his cheeks and shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’
‘Did the receptionist have any updates?’ Alex asked Jason, looking concerned.
‘Just that he’s still in surgery. They’ll be doing some scans afterwards.’
John turned to Daphné, rubbing her arms soothingly and kissing her forehead. ‘They’ve caught his assailant, Daphné,’ he said. ‘He’ll be locked up for a long time. And you know Will – he’s a fighter. He’ll bounce back in no time.’ Listening to him, I could tell his words were as much for himself as they were for her, a mantra to steady his own fears.
‘Here, Mum, take a seat,’ Jason said, guiding her gently to a chair beside Ivy and Alex.
As we all settled down together, the conversation veered back to speculation about the attack. John worried it could be his fault, a vengeful strike against William by someone looking to hurt John. Frankly, the idea that John might have made some enemies as he amassed his empire wasn’t preposterous.
Yet, I remained sceptical. My thoughts kept wandering back to the gala, to the charged exchange between William and Nigel Ashcombe. I was certain Nigel’s words had carried a veiled threat. Although Andy had described the assailant as a dark-haired man in his thirties – unlike Nigel with his grey locks and aged features – it didn’t clear Nigel of involvement. Considering what I knew about Gastronomy Group’s unscrupulous tactics, the thought that they might engage someone else to do their bidding wasn’t entirely far-fetched. Could they have hired a third party to target William? Had Nigel merely approached William to assess him, only to order a hit when he proved incorruptible?
As I dwelled on the possibility, two police detectives arrived. They pulled Andy aside for a private interview in another room. Anxiety knotted in my stomach, but I reminded myself of Andy’s legal skills; he was well-equipped to handle their questions.
When he finally came back, he said it was my turn. A lump formed in my throat as I got up. I had never spoken to the police before. Though I wasn’t expecting any charges, the prospect of being interrogated was unnerving.
I looked at John. ‘Should I have a lawyer with me?’
He held my gaze, likely seeing the panic in it. ‘It wouldn’t hurt. I can accompany you if you like.’
‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘I’d like that.’
He stood up, placing a supportive hand on my back as we approached the plainclothes detectives .