20. Chapter 20
Ava
“Westland doesn’t shout to be heard. He just makes people want to listen.”
I hover over the sentence, reading it again.
Andrea has got him. Not the tactics. Not the results. The way he is. The quiet authority. The way he doesn’t perform confidence, he just stands in it.
I change one word. Remove another. Ben has added a paragraph about the match statistics that needs tightening. Andrea has written a line about how players describe him as “steady”. That feels right too.
This is what I like about proofreading. Taking something good and making it just a little bit clearer. Helping it say exactly what it means.
My phone rings.
I smile automatically when I see his name.
Without thinking I answer with the sentence still in my head.
“Well according to this article you don’t shout to be heard, you just—”
“Ava.”
I stop.
His voice is tense.
Too tense.
The kind of tense people use when they are holding panic together with both hands.
Something cold settles in my stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
“Alfie’s had an accident at school.”
My back straightens without me thinking about it.
“What kind of accident?”
“I don’t know exactly,” he admits. “Someone pushed him on the stairs. He fell. Hit his head. That’s all the school could really tell me.”
I picture it immediately. Small body. Hard steps. That awful hollow sound children make when they cry properly.
“Is he okay?”
“They said he was conscious. Talking. But they sent him to hospital to be checked.” A small pause. “They won’t tell me much because I’m not there. Data protection and all that.”
Of course they won’t. Of course he’s stuck hundreds of miles away hearing half information.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask quietly.
There is a short silence.
“Would you… could you go there?”
Careful. Like he’s testing ground he doesn’t fully trust yet.
“My parents are still driving up from France and won’t be back until early afternoon. And I just…” He exhales. “I just don’t want him sitting there on his own with strangers.”
“Of course I can go,” I say.
The relief in his breathing is immediate. Quiet. But there.
“They said they’ll let you in,” he adds. “The school is telling them you’re my partner.”
Partner.
It settles somewhere deep and warm. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just… right.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll go now and see what’s happening.”
Another pause.
“I don’t even know how bad it is,” he admits. “The headteacher sounded reassuring. But you know what it’s like when you’re not there. Your brain just fills in the gaps.”
I do know.
“And I’m trying to get a flight back,” he adds quickly. “I’ve spoken to the club. They’re checking options.”
“What about the game?” I ask.
“It’s just a friendly,” he says immediately. “Nothing that matters more than this. Everyone understands.”
Of course they do.
Because even from the little I’ve seen, Jack is the kind of man people show up for because he shows up for them.
“You’ll know more soon,” I say. “I’ll call you once I’ve seen him.”
“Ava?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
The way he says it makes my throat tighten slightly.
“I’ll call you,” I say again.
We hang up.
For a second I just sit there, staring at the screen. Then I stand, grab my bag and head straight for Marie-Louise’s office.
Her door is half open. She is typing with the focused intensity of someone fighting three deadlines at once.
“I need to head out,” I say quietly from the doorway.
She looks up immediately. One look at my face and she stops typing.
“What’s happened?”
“Jack’s son has had a fall at school. He’s in A&E. Jack’s in Madrid and asked if I could go and be with Alfie until his parents get back.”
There is no hesitation.
“Of course,” she says. “Go.”
“I’ve finished the proof on the article. Andrea just needs to review the last changes.”
“We’ll handle it,” she says, already reaching for her phone. “Just go.”
I nod, already backing out, then stop.
“Marie-Louise, this was a private conversation. This doesn’t end up in the paper.”
She blinks, caught off guard. Maybe because I don’t usually push back. Maybe because it’s the first time she’s heard me sound this certain. Either way, I don’t soften it.
“That goes without saying. Text me if you need anything,” she adds, her voice gentler now.
I manage a small nod and slip out before my brain has a chance to overthink what state Alfie might be in.
The drive to the hospital feels both very long and very short. Traffic lights take forever. Parking takes forever. Finding the right entrance takes forever.
Inside it smells like disinfectant and coffee and that strange hospital air that always feels slightly too warm.
“A&E?” I ask at reception.
They point me to another desk. Then another corridor. Then someone else asks Alfie’s name, checks something on a screen, tells me to follow the blue line on the floor.
Hospitals seem designed to make you feel slightly lost.
Eventually a nurse looks up from a clipboard.
“Can I help?”
“I’m here for Alfie Westland,” I say. “The school said I could come. His father is away.”
She checks something.
“And your name is?”
“Ava Morgan.”
She gives me a small, understanding smile.
“He’s just through there. Last cubicle on the right.”
My stomach tightens as I walk down the row of curtains.
And then I hear him before I see him.
“I want my dad.”
That small, broken voice does something painful to my chest.
“I want my dad,” he sobs again. “I want Dad.”
I step around the curtain slowly.
Alfie is sitting on the bed, too big for it and too small at the same time. There is a small white dressing above his eyebrow, a faint line of dried blood at the edge. His cheeks are blotchy and wet. One arm is held stiffly against his body like he doesn’t trust it.
A nurse is crouched beside him.
“You’re doing really well,” she says gently.
“I want my dad,” he repeats, voice wobbling.
My throat tightens.
I don’t rush in. Just step a little closer.
“Hey, Alfie.”
He looks up.
For a second he just stares like he’s trying to work out why I’m here. Then his face crumples again.
“Ava,” he says, and fresh tears spill over. “I want Dad.”
I move closer.
“I know,” I say softly. “He knows you’re here.”
That makes him pause mid-cry.
“He knows?”
“Yes. I just spoke to him.”
“Is he coming?”
“He’s trying to get back as fast as he can.”
That seems to help a tiny bit.
I sit down carefully on the chair next to the bed.
“Can I sit with you until he gets here?”
He nods, still sniffling.
I don’t touch him straight away. Just stay close. Let him decide.
It takes a little while.
His breathing is still uneven. He wipes his nose with his sleeve like he’s trying very hard not to cry anymore and failing.
“I fell,” he says eventually.
“That must have been really scary.”
He nods.
“There was lots of blood.”
“Yeah,” I say gently. “Heads do that. They like to make things look worse than they are.”
A small sniff.
“My head hurts.”
“That makes sense. The doctors are checking you properly so it can get better.”
Another sniff.
“I don’t like it here.”
“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t like it either.”
After another minute he shifts slightly closer. Not touching yet. Just closing the gap.
I wait.
Then his good hand reaches out and grabs a bit of my sleeve.
Not dramatic. Just a small hold. Like he needs something steady.
I let him.
“Your dad will be here soon and your Granny and Grampy as well,” I say quietly. “And I’ll stay so you don’t have to be here on your own.”
His fingers tighten a little.
“Okay,” he says.
I gently brush a tear off his cheek.
“You’ve been very brave.”
“I cried,” he says, voice small.
“That’s okay,” I say. “Sometimes brave people cry.”
That seems to land.
His breathing slowly settles. Not calm yet. But safer.
And sitting there, with his small hand gripping my sleeve like he trusts I won’t disappear, something quietly important settles in my chest.
This isn’t just Jack trusting me.
Alfie does too.
A few minutes later the curtain moves and a doctor steps in. Calm voice. Calm face. The sort of presence that immediately makes things feel slightly less frightening.
“Hello Alfie, I’m Dr Patel,” he says.
Alfie presses closer into my side.
“I’m just going to talk to Ava for a moment, alright?”
Alfie nods but doesn’t let go of my sleeve.
The doctor lowers his voice slightly.
“So, we do think he has a concussion,” he says. “He was a little disoriented initially and he’s still complaining of headache and nausea. Because of his age and the mechanism of the fall we’d like to keep him overnight for observation.”
Overnight.
The knots in my stomach twist tighter.
“Is that… normal?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” he reassures me. “This is us being cautious. Head injuries in children can evolve over several hours. We want to monitor him, wake him periodically, make sure symptoms don’t worsen.”
I nod.
“And his arm?”
“We’re taking him for an X-ray now. He’s very tender along the forearm. It could just be a bad knock, but I’d rather check properly. It may be a simple fracture.”
Alfie has clearly heard the word overnight.
“I don’t want to stay here,” he says, voice wobbling again.
I stand and gently put my arm around him.
“I know. But this is just so they can keep an eye on you and make sure you feel better tomorrow.”
His lip trembles.
“Do I have to sleep here?”
“Just one night,” the doctor says gently. “And someone can stay with you.”
Alfie immediately looks at me.
“Can you stay?”
The question hits straight in the chest.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Of course.”
Alfie relaxes a fraction.
“And now we need that X-ray,” Dr Patel continues.
Alfie looks uncertain again.
“What’re X-rays.”
“You know how dinosaurs have skeletons in museums?” I say.
He nods cautiously.
“It’s like that. A special camera that shows your bones. You get to see the inside bit.”
“My bones?”
“Yes. Proper strong bones.”
That gets his attention.
“Can I see them?”
Dr Patel smiles. “If you want to, yes.”
I look at him.
“Could we just have a minute? He’d like to speak to his dad before you take him.”
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll come back in a moment.”
He disappears behind the curtain.
Alfie’s fingers are still twisted tightly in my sleeve.
“Can we see him?” he asks.
“We can try,” I say.
I open Jack’s contact.
For a second I hesitate.
It will hurt him to see Alfie like this. The tears. The fear. Being thousands of miles away while your child cries for you must feel like torture.
But not seeing him would be worse.
Not knowing would be worse.
And Jack deserves to hear from his son before his imagination makes everything bigger and darker than it really is.
I press call.
It rings once.
Twice.
Then Jack’s face appears.
Airport lighting. Noise behind him. That carefully controlled expression he uses when he’s holding himself together by sheer will.
“Ava?”
“I’ve got him,” I say softly, turning the phone.
Jack’s face changes the second he sees Alfie.
Something tight in his eyes. Something protective. Something that says he would walk back to Carlisle if that was what it took.
“Hi mate,” he says, voice warm and steady.
Alfie’s lip trembles again.
“Dad. I fell down the stairs.”
“I know,” Jack says gently.
“They said I have to stay.”
Jack nods slowly.
“Okay. That just means they want to make sure you’re alright.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know. Hospitals are a bit rubbish.”
That earns the smallest sniff.
“They’re going to take a picture of my bones,” Alfie says.
Jack manages a small smile.
“That sounds quite impressive.”
“I get to see them.”
“You’ll have to check if they look strong.”
Alfie shifts slightly closer to me.
“Ava’s coming with me.”
Jack’s eyes flick to me briefly. Something quiet passing there. Trust. Gratitude. Something deeper than both.
“Good,” he says. “That makes me feel a lot better.”
“They said my arm might be broken,” Alfie adds, voice wobbling again.
Jack doesn’t miss a beat.
“If it is, they’ll fix it. And then you’ll get a cool cast people can sign.”
That seems to help.
“Can you come?”
Jack hesitates for just a fraction of a second. I can see him choosing his words.
“I’m coming,” he says. “The club have managed to get me on a flight. But it’s not until this evening, so I won’t be there until later tonight.”
Alfie absorbs this slowly.
“But Granny and Grandpa will be there before dinner,” Jack continues. “And Ava—”
He stops himself.
I know exactly why.
Not wanting to assume. Not wanting to speak for me.
“And I will be staying until your dad is here,” I say gently.
Jack’s eyes flick to mine again.
“See? You’ve got a whole team.”
Alfie nods seriously at that.
“I have Ava.”
Jack smiles a little.
“Yes,” he says softly. “You do.”
I feel that somewhere deep in my soul.
Jack clears his throat slightly.
“I’ll call again when I land,” he says. “And Ava will tell me how your superhero bones look.”
“They are strong,” Alfie repeats.
“I never doubted it.”
“I love you,” Jack says.
“Love you too.”
I end the call gently.
For a second I just hold the phone, aware of how much trust he just placed in me without making a big thing of it.
The curtain moves again.
“Ready, Alfie?” Dr Patel asks.
Alfie nods.
They bring the wheelchair.
“Can she come?” he asks immediately.
Dr Patel smiles. “Yes. She can come.”
This time Alfie reaches for my hand without hesitation.
I take it.
And as we head down the corridor together, his small fingers holding mine like this is the most natural thing in the world, I don’t question it.
I just hold on.