Chapter Forty-three
Lara didn’t remember much of the journey to the hospital other than gripping the wheel of the car to stop her hands from shaking.
Every dark thought imaginable – and then some – had raced through her mind.
She’d managed to text Jazz the news before she left and then rushed out to the car, almost slipping on the ice in her haste.
Somehow, after what seemed like the longest and worst journey she’d ever made, she arrived in the midst of blue lights, ambulances queuing outside, and people being pushed to and from the entrance in wheelchairs.
It might be Boxing Day but the festivities were definitely on hold for some people. Her own life felt as if it was on pause too. The walk from the car park to the reception desk consisted of some of the worst minutes of her life.
For all she knew, Flynn might be dead. That possibility made her feel faint with terror. She wanted to race into the A perhaps he’d moved his fingers.
Lara wasn’t sure, because the tanned stranger leaned forward and placed her hand over his.
A few seconds later, she moved her hand and put her arm around Molly’s back.
In that moment, Lara caught a better glimpse of the woman’s face and realised that she had to be Molly’s mother, Imogen.
She went back through the doors into the adjacent small corridor and sat down heavily in a chair.
How was Imogen here? Flynn had said she wasn’t meant to be home until New Year.
Obviously, Imogen now knew about Flynn …
how long had he been in contact with her?
She saw the gesture again: Imogen tenderly placing her hand over Flynn’s.
Anyone watching would think she was his wife or partner. And she was the mother of his child.
Lara wondered where Esme was – probably with Brenda.
She put her head in her hands, overwhelmed by the multiple shocks of the past few hours.
Was it possible that Imogen had known Flynn longer than he had let on?
Lara dismissed it; Flynn would have told her.
And at least he was alive and stable, even though she didn’t know anything certain about the accident.
‘Hello. Are you OK, love?’
Lara lifted her head to find a stocky middle-aged man with greying hair speaking to her.
She sat up and managed a smile, feeling embarrassed at being caught feeling sorry for herself. ‘Yes, I’m OK. I just feel a bit tired.’
‘Oh. OK. I was worried you’d had bad news,’ the man said.
‘No. Not bad news. It’s – just so stressful and strange seeing people you love in hospital, isn’t it?’
‘Tell me about it,’ the man said. ‘Bloody nightmare when you live so far away too. My son’s in there.
Been in a motorbike crash. I bloody hate that thing.
Told him a hundred times to get rid of it.
’ The Cornish accent became stronger as he spoke.
Lara pictured Flynn’s reaction when, at the age of thirty-nine, he was told by his father that he couldn’t have a motorbike.
However, judging by the state of him at present, he was probably in no position to protest.
‘Steve?’ A woman arrived, carrying two takeout coffees. She frowned in concern. ‘Everything OK?’
Lara smiled, partly to put on a brave face but also at the sight of Flynn’s mother, who was tall, brunette, and had the same beautiful eyes as her son.
‘Fine, Paula. I was talking to this young lady about Flynn and asking if she was OK herself. One of her friends is in this bloody place too.’
‘Is she OK?’ Paula asked, frowning in concern.
‘He,’ Lara said. ‘I think so.’
‘It’s awful, though,’ Steve said. ‘Getting a call in the middle of the night, having to drive hundreds of miles up here, not knowing what you’re going to find. We were in bits when we heard, weren’t we, Paula?’
‘He’s OK, though,’ Paula said. ‘Here, get this down you. You can’t take it into the ward. If I’d known you were here, I’d have asked if you wanted one too,’ she said to Lara.
‘That’s very kind of you but I’m fine. Actually, I was about to leave so you’re welcome to the chairs.’
‘Don’t go because of us. We’ve done enough sitting down over the past few hours.’
‘No, really. It’s time I went home.’
‘Are you sure? Are you OK to drive?’
‘I’ll be fine now I know my – friend – is going to be OK. That’s all I need to know and they have other visitors with them. They won’t be on their own.’
Paula smiled wearily. ‘I’m very pleased to hear it. You go home and get some rest. You must take care of yourself too. Your friend will need you when they’re home.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, picking up her bag and vacating the seat for them. ‘I hope your son is much better very soon.’
Lara trudged down the corridor, hearing Steve and Paula discussing ‘that bloody bike’, but also sounding hugely relieved.
She hurried past the crowded A&E, where two men dressed in Santa costumes were having to be pulled apart by security, past the Christmas tree in the hospital foyer, and out into the blinding sunlight of the winter morning.
Flynn was OK. Well, not exactly OK, but he would be.
He was strong and still young, and he had so many people who cared about him and loved him – he’d be fine.
And she had no doubt at all that he would buy another bike, no matter what his father said.
Unless, as a father himself, he decided he no longer wanted to take the risk.
Flynn’s parents knew about Molly and Esme and all of them – his next of kin – his family … were by his bedside.
Lara told herself to count her lucky stars and be thankful that Flynn was alive and would mend. Then she got into her car, leaned over the steering wheel, and sobbed her heart out.