Chapter 54
Henry
This Summer
She looked so peaceful.
On the hardest days, those when Luke’s anger was triggered from simmering into explosive, Violet had barely been able to sit still, let alone rest, and even in slumber she had appeared tormented, her brow wrinkled and jaw set. Henry had felt as helpless then as he did now and pressed the heel of each hand into his eyes to stem the tears.
The hospital sheets were pure white, the walls of the room an insipid milky yellow, while the artificial lights above made everything feel stark and exposed. Splayed across the pillow, Violet’s hair looked like dropped rose petals, her lips a perfect bud.
They were all here, assembled in the waiting room or on hard-back chairs in the corridor. Juan, Tomas, Ynes, Eliza, and Luke. His son hadn’t come into the room yet, but he would. As he did when it came to so many difficult things, Luke needed space, and time to assimilate. And that was OK, thought Henry. Acceptance was an open door towards understanding, and he was ready to walk through it now.
A Styrofoam cup of vending machine tea was cooling on the floor by his boot, and he stretched down a hand still covered in dust and scratches to lift it. When Violet had fallen, broken planks of timber had followed her descent, and Henry had clawed his way through it all to reach her, shouting all the while for help, for an ambulance, for someone to do something. He’d always been so capable; a man who could trust in his practical skills and abilities, someone who fixed and restored. But there were some jobs that were past him and, as he’d swiftly discovered, fear was a tough opponent. Nobody could do everything on their own. He’d said as much to Violet, prior to it happening, moments before he’d been about to tell her what he should have been telling her ever since she arrived in Mallorca this summer. It seemed so stupid, now, that he hadn’t. What a colossal fool he’d been, how blinded by pride and hindered by ego. Those promises he’d made yet saw fit to break, his vow to look after her no matter what, made not on their wedding day but in a hospital not unlike this one, a tiny baby boy clutched in his arms, the future a warm light on their horizon. Henry had closed his eyes to the reality, but today he saw it, felt it, wanted it.
He looked down at Violet, at his wife, and this time when the tears came, he let them.
‘Dad?’
It was Luke, large but impossibly young in the open doorway, shadows dark as bruises beneath his eyes.
Henry wiped his cheeks. His voice, when he spoke, sounded hoarse. ‘You can come in,’ he said. ‘It’s OK.’
Luke’s gaze flickered to the bed, then rapidly away again. ‘Is she...?’ he began, then appeared unable to finish. Emotion had him in its grip, and Henry watched as he fought to push it down, subdue his own nature.
‘I get it,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, I want to rip it all down too.’
Luke took a step into the room, hesitated, then lowered himself into the other chair.
‘How do you stop yourself?’ he asked, and Henry thought how simple a question it was, and why he’d never thought to answer it before.
‘I tend to think of anger as flowing water. If you dam it, it only becomes more destructive, if you try to drain it, it’ll only flood out somewhere else, but what you can do is redirect it. I often find that the thing you’re angry about, the thing that pushes you into reacting, is not the root cause of the problem, and if you can find a way to channel that initial outpouring into something else, be it a walk, or hitting a punchbag, or gardening—’
‘Or drawing?’
‘Yes,’ Henry smiled briefly. ‘Or drawing. If you can do that, it’ll provide you with the calm space you need to figure out what it really is that’s bugging you.’
Luke nodded as if working this out. ‘I’ll try,’ he said, and Henry thought it sounded like a real promise.
They passed the next hour mostly in silence, not strained but companionable, Henry watching Violet and Luke’s gaze flitting between the two. Presently, he slid a small notebook and pencil from the back pocket of his trousers and began to sketch, the gentle scratch of lead against paper providing respite from the intermittent beeps, muffled voices, and faraway sirens. The windows that had been dark paled into dawn, the sky a hazy silver that shone with the promise of sun. Luke yawned, his long limbs extending outwards like bent pipe cleaners as he groaned and creaked. It was catching, and soon Henry’s mouth was agape, the deep exhalation of oxygen making him feel more alert. His eyes moistened and he squeezed them shut, watching the patterns that swirled in the darkness. And then he sensed a change. Movement. A new sound.
Violet’s hand, which had for so many hours been clasped in his, twitched.
‘Vee?’ he whispered.
Jolted by the word, Luke leaned forward in his seat, his nose practically meeting Henry’s as both men stared down at the woman in the bed.
Violet’s eyelids flickered, her dry lips parting as she blinked, taking them in.
‘Hello.’
‘Mum?’ It was almost a sob.
Violet fixed her gaze on Luke. ‘There you are.’ She sighed happily. ‘My beautiful boy.’
The muscles in Luke’s face contracted around his relief, the colour that had drained rushing back into his complexion. She was right, thought Henry. He was beautiful. Talented, complicated, unique, fiercely passionate, and wholly theirs.
Always.
‘We’ve been here all night,’ Luke told her, and frowning, she looked past him and around the room. Henry saw the moment clarity struck, the panic widening her eyes as she remembered the events that had led her here.
‘My legs,’ she said, taking in the canopied sheet. ‘Henry?’
‘Both broken,’ he confirmed, feeling her hand tense in his. ‘But cleanly. No surgery required, just plenty of pain relief, hence your long sleep. You took a blow to the head as well, but you’re OK.’ He’d choked on the last word, his emotion surprising him. ‘Sorry,’ he said, coughing to mask the tremble. ‘It’s just that, I was so scared when you fell. I thought that you... For a second. It was horrible. You had me really scared, had us both scared.’
Luke was nodding in agreement, and Violet put her hand on his cheek.
‘I’m OK,’ she said weakly. Then, turning back to Henry, ‘Is everyone else all right? Paulina?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ he assured her. ‘She went back to Palma with her mum, but Tomas is here still, as far as I know, along with Juan and Ynes.’
‘And Eliza,’ Luke added. ‘I should go and tell her, tell them, that you’re awake, Mum. Shall I get a nurse or something?’
‘Sure.’ Henry smiled. ‘But maybe give us a few minutes, unless you’re in any pain?’ he checked, but Violet sleepily shook her head.
‘Can’t feel a thing at the moment. It’s wonderful.’
Luke’s eye caught Henry’s and they grinned.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said, standing and crossing to the door. ‘And Mum?’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m really glad you’re going to be OK.’
When he’d gone, Violet’s demeanour changed, her determined serenity marred by a fresh wave of uncertainty. The peacefulness had gone, replaced by a consternation so acute that Henry felt compelled to reassure.
‘What’s the matter?’ he hastened. ‘Does it hurt? Shall I fetch someone?’
He was halfway out of the chair when Violet’s fingers closed around his wrist.
‘It’s not that.’ She cast her eyes down to the bedsheets.
‘Then what? Whatever it is, you can tell me.’
‘I didn’t hear,’ she said. ‘You said something to me, before I fell, and I was trying to get closer, so I could make it out. I wasn’t even looking where I was stepping. I need to know. What did you say?’
Henry waited until she’d stilled before reaching across and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He knew the back of it must be matted; stitches and glue mingled with dried blood. She was going to need the tenderest care over these coming weeks.
‘What I said was that I forgive you.’
‘You do?’
Henry nodded, just once. ‘I hate that you kissed Juan,’ he said, as the recollection of that night made his fingers tighten into a fist. ‘But I understand why.’
Violet glanced away. ‘We talked about it,’ she told him. ‘Minutes before we realised that Paulina had gone missing. He admitted it was all linked to his jealousy of you, how Ana had always compared the two of you. I think he saw kissing me as getting one over on you. Stupid macho idiot,’ she added. ‘Though not as stupid as me for going along with it.’
‘Did you ever love him?’
The question seemed to unsteady her, and she winced as she attempted to shuffle up on her elbows. Henry rushed to assist, but she waved him away.
‘I’ll do it.’
‘Oh my god,’ he exclaimed. ‘Not this again. Vee, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’ve broken both your legs. I think given the circumstances, it’s fine to accept some help.’
‘Of course I never loved him,’ she fumed, as he plumped her pillow. ‘Me, love Juan?’
Henry faced her. ‘I assumed that after he saved Luke, that you and he... I would’ve understood,’ he said, only to immediately shake his head at the lie. ‘OK, no, I wouldn’t. That’s complete bollocks. It would’ve destroyed me.’
‘Admiration isn’t love,’ she intoned. ‘Gratitude isn’t love.’
‘So, you really never loved him – not even for a moment?’
Violet flopped back against her pillow. ‘No. The only person I’ve ever loved in that way is you, Henry. You are the one.’
Henry stood up and took her hand in his once again, and then, with his gaze never leaving hers, he dropped on a single knee to the floor.
‘What are you?’ she started to say, but he shushed her.
‘Violet Torres?’
Anticipation danced between them.
‘Yes, Henry Torres?’
‘I want to tell you that I’m sorry. Sorry for pushing you away when I should have pulled you closer, sorry for hiding at work when I knew you needed me at home; sorry for being jealous of the love you had for our son, and sorry for being a sideline dad instead of running the race along with you. I tried, but not enough. I should’ve done better.’
She was shaking her head, tears welling.
‘You told me before that I was your everything,’ he said, and she nodded, smiled. ‘And I laughed.’
A small frown. ‘I had forgotten that.’
‘I laughed because we are so ridiculous, the pair of us. Both so stubborn. We bickered during the very first conversation we ever had, and since then it’s been a kind of competition, hasn’t it? A contest of who can parent best; who is most like Luke, who is least like him, if it happens to be a difficult day; which of us he loves more, which of us loves the other more. Come on, Vee, we even argue about who loves who more.’
She gave him a sideways look. ‘It’s me – definitely me. You’re a ten out of ten, remember?’
Henry tutted. ‘With this face?’
She scrutinised him, a playful smile adding colour to her cheeks. ‘There are a few grey hairs,’ she noted. ‘And you’re in dire need of a shave, so let’s call it a nine point seven five, shall we?’
‘Can I get back to my speech now, please?’
‘If you must.’
She sighed, alight now with a joy he hadn’t seen for so long. Henry took a breath. He was still on one knee, still holding on to her. He didn’t want to ever let go again.
‘I think,’ he said, fingers snaking through hers, ‘that bickering is our love language. It’s our fire under the pot, not a flaw but a strength. Luke has it, too – from both of us. He’s only just learning how to use it for good rather than bad, and if you think about it, he’s got there much quicker than we have.’
She laughed at that, a sound that filled the room with warmth.
‘You’re not wrong,’ she said. ‘But I’m sorry, too. For the stuff with Juan, for shutting you out and never letting you help, for getting into debt and lying about it, accepting money from a man like McCabe, for trying to sell our home.’
‘You don’t need to worry about McCabe any more,’ Henry told her. ‘I sent him a message, reminding him how far my own Cambridge connections extended, how I put in a new kitchen for one of the chief constables working at Parkside Police Station a few years back and how much we’d hit it off, how I was sure that if I were to have a quiet word, McCabe would find himself at the centre of a fraud investigation. He didn’t like the sound of that, unsurprisingly, and has agreed to leave us alone.’
‘Just like that?’ Violet’s eyes were wide.
‘Bullies don’t like it when people stand up to them.’
‘I’m such an idiot,’ she wailed, shaking her head only to wince. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, Henry; losing you – it changed me. I didn’t know how to be any more, how to feel happy. The future felt so empty.’
Henry knew what she meant because he had felt it, too – the loneliness, the bitterness, the despair. And all the time she’d been there, missing him, and he’d been here, wanting her. Twenty long summers and nothing had changed at all. Not really.
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked. ‘I want to make all those promises over again, and this time I want to honour them. Not a fresh start, but a journey along the same path, only this time I’m bringing a map –’ he laughed – ‘and a compass, and maybe some of that gross mint cake that never goes out of date.’
Violet had started to cry, the tears running into her smile. ‘You want to marry me again?’
‘I love you,’ he said, knowing as he did so that it really was as simple as that. ‘The day you climbed over that wall to steal my flowers, you stole my heart along with them. It’s belonged to you since that day and it will be yours for all the days that follow, whether you accept this proposal or not. But I hope you do,’ he added. ‘I really hope you say yes.’
Violet pulled him forwards until his lips were inches from hers. ‘I’ll say yes on one condition.’
‘Anything,’ he said, and he meant it. ‘Whatever I have, it’s yours.’
She pressed the tip of her nose against his. ‘That’s good to know,’ Violet murmured, her lips parting as Henry stared at her in awe; this woman for whom he’d dismantle the world if she asked him to; take it all apart only to build it over again from scratch.
‘But I say we start with a kiss.’