Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
George
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Where am I? I can hear a heart monitor beeping. I look around and see that I’m surrounded on three sides by a surgical curtain. Hospital. How did that happen? I have a vague memory of being driven across London. I notice a window behind me and try to peer out of it, but I can’t see anything other than a concrete building, and wait – is that a river? Suddenly it all comes back to me. The race. The punch. Pushing Landon in the Thames. Lucas.
Did Lucas really come with me in the ambulance? He’s not here now. Maybe I dreamed it. I glance at the clock and realise the race must be over by now. I wonder who won.
I hear a noise and look up to see someone enter. It’s a nurse, a young Spanish woman who I think I met earlier, but it’s all a blur.
‘You’re awake.’
I attempt a smile.
‘The doctor’s given you the all-clear. Are you up to having visitors?’
‘Sure.’
The nurse turns and beckons. I’m expecting to see Lucas, but no – it’s my parents. They race up to my bedside, their faces etched with concern.
‘They’ve done a brain scan,’ says my mom. ‘They didn’t find any damage.’
I smile ruefully. ‘I’m sure if Chuck was here he’d say they need to look harder.’
My parents aren’t ready to joke about it.
‘It took us forever to get here,’ says my dad. ‘There were no taxis at Mortlake.’
I look at them in amazement. ‘You were at the finish line?’
‘Of course we were. We weren’t going to come all this way and not watch. We just wanted to avoid the cameras.’
My dad glances awkwardly at my mom, who turns to me.
‘George, we were never not interested. It’s just .?.?. such a different world. We feel so out of place.’
‘So do I, Mom! I could have explained that if you’d listened.’
My mom fiddles with her necklace.
‘The past few years have been busy. But we’d make time. If you visited.’
I frown and shake my head. ‘The last time I was home—’
‘That was our fault. But .?.?.’
My mom turns to my dad.
‘Show him, Ron.’
My dad looks uncomfortable.
‘Show him!’
My dad holds up his phone. The background is a photo of me and him from that summer I worked in the restaurant. We’re both grinning from ear to ear.
‘That was a good summer,’ I say to my dad.
He can’t look me in the eye. ‘It’s not easy to gut a salmon. You learned fast.’
My mom rests a hand on my arm. ‘You’re always welcome, George. Any time.’
I have a thought. ‘Did you meet Lucas?’
‘Little guy?’ says my dad.
‘That’s him.’
‘He was very kind to us,’ says my mom.
‘Oh, he’s special.’ I hold her gaze until she realises. She does a little jolt of surprise, then sits with it for a moment. She looks at my dad, then back at me.
‘You think Lucas might want to visit too?’
My stomach lurches.
‘That’s up to him. Where is he?’
Lucas
I know you’re supposed to hate hospitals, but I’ve always quite liked them. I don’t know what it is – maybe that feeling that people are working to make the world a little better. Not that I’m ever that sentimental.
Having said that, today hasn’t been the easiest experience. Firstly, the doctor didn’t want to let me see George. I had to wait outside while he had his scan. I kept myself distracted by following the chaos at the Boat Race. Casey has been texting me updates. They’re only just lining up now. Apparently there was a big fuss over whether Fran was allowed to race again having just coxed the second boat, and everyone was arguing over the rules.
Then a moment ago, George’s parents got here. That wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. They were so grateful to me for accompanying George that we actually got on quite well. They’re in there with him now. I hope it isn’t upsetting George to see them. I want to protect him, but I couldn’t object to them going in first.
I’m about to sneak up to the door and see if I can hear what’s going on when it opens and there they are. George’s mum walks up to me.
‘He’s all yours,’ she says. ‘We’re going to go and see Buckingham Palace. You shout if you need us.’
They shuffle off and I watch them go for a moment, before remembering I’m allowed to see George. I race in and see him lying in his bed. I was expecting him to look fragile, but even in this state, he looks like he could snap that thing in two.
‘How did it go with your parents?’
‘Good, actually. They really like you.’
‘We barely spoke.’
‘Then it must be your dashing good looks.’
‘What, not my cute butt?’
George smiles. ‘I still can’t believe you ditched your team for me.’
‘Easiest decision ever.’
‘Good to know there’s at least one person who doesn’t hate me,’ says George.
I laugh drily. ‘I’m pretty sure I’m even more hated.’
‘Please. They’re currently re-editing an entire TV show to make me the villain.’
‘Then we’ll just have to be hated together.’
George smiles, then his expression turns serious. ‘What are we actually going to do?’
I gulp as I realise what he means. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On how much you want to go to America.’
George is overcome with a flood of emotion.
‘I want to be where you are.’
He bites his lip.
‘I love you, Lucas.’
I feel like I must be dreaming. This gorgeous man is telling me he loves me. It can’t be real. But the gorgeous man is George. My George. And nothing has ever made more sense. I want to hear him say it again.
‘What was that?’
‘I love you. So much.’
Why did no one tell me how good this feels? It feels like the answer to everything.
Just then, my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Casey. I look up at George.
‘Do you want to go watch the race?’
‘Surely it ended ages ago?’
‘No, they’ve been arguing over the rules. They’re only just starting now.’
George thinks it over. ‘Can we get there in time?’
‘We can get to the finish line. If you’re OK to leave.’
George looks at me sincerely. ‘As long as you’re with me.’
With the doctor’s permission, George is discharged. We catch a taxi to the finish line, but several of the roads close to the river are blocked off, so we get out and walk the last part.
Crowds are lining the river bank, and it’s easy to slip in among them. A few people are wearing Oxford and Cambridge scarves or colours, but most of them are neutrals, drawn by the spectacle. I wonder if anyone will recognise us. I ought to feel bad I’m not racing, but how can I feel anything but wonderful when I have George by my side? We walk through the crowd, saying very little. When it gets too busy, George reaches down to hold my hand. Each time, I feel a surge of love that leaves me giddy.
As we get close to the finish line, the crowd is too dense to get any further. I stand on my tiptoes and try to see over them.
George grins. ‘You can go on my shoulders if you want.’
‘Thanks, but I’m trying to be incognito.’
‘Your call. I’ll shout if I see anything.’
‘Great. We’re rooting for Cambridge, right?’
As George smiles back at me, I’m overcome with a desire to kiss him. So I do. We could be anywhere in the world. George is here. George is mine. After a moment, a roar goes up from the crowd. I open my eyes.
‘Wait, who won?’
George smiles and shrugs, and we go back to kissing.