Chapter 29 Freya
FREYA
I pull the duvet up around my ears, comforted by its familiarity, and allow myself to sink into the two-year-old imprint that our marital bed has formed around my body.
I could have stayed at the hotel last night, but with a bruised body and a knocked confidence, I wanted nothing more than to get back home.
The color drained from Tess’s face when she saw me being helped across the terrace, limping to where she sat having a coffee.
“Oh my God,” she cried.
“She’s had a bit of a scare,” said the man who had seen me hobbling along the estate’s boundary. “She could do with a hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar.”
“What happened?” she asked.
I still wasn’t entirely sure. Everything had been fine—perfect, even—until suddenly it wasn’t.
“It seems a loud noise spooked her horse,” the man said. “Though what it could have been, I have no idea. It’s not hunting season, and even if it was, the land you were on is private.”
Tess insisted that I should go to hospital, but I figured there was little they could do for me. I just have to rest—and home is the best place to do that. Where I feel comfortable. Where I feel safe.
I roll over, ever so slowly, and grimace as a poker-hot pain shoots across my pelvis and into my hip. A shiver wracks my body, the shock having well and truly set in.
“’Morning,” says Charlie, coming in with a strained smile and a cup of tea. “How are you feeling?”
I pull myself up the headboard. “I’ve been better.”
He hands me two tablets. “Take these,” he says. “They’re extrastrength.”
I swallow them gratefully, hopeful that they’ll take the edge off the pain.
He leans down to kiss my forehead and I wonder if he can smell the alcohol that must still be oozing from every pore. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” he says. “I’ve looked it up online. That drop is pretty high in places.”
He sounds like he knows I’m lying about losing my footing as I walked along the seafront.
“And if you’d landed on that shingle beach, you would have been cut to shreds.” Is it my imagination, or is he almost wishing it?
“Yeah, I got off lightly, considering.”
We’re walking on eggshells, as if waiting for each other to crack. But it won’t be me. Because if he finds out how I’ve actually spent the past twenty-four hours, there’ll be no coming back from it.
“I assume you’re not going into work today?”
I shake my head. “I’ll give Pauline a call to let her know.”
“Will you be okay if I pop out for an hour? I just need to meet a supplier.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
He offers a tight smile. “I’ll stay home and cook dinner tonight if you’re good.”
I’m sure he’s being playful, but all I can hear is a sinister threat.
When I hear the front door shut, I let out the breath I’ve been holding in. That’s what having secrets does to you. It churns up your insides and makes you paranoid, second-guessing everything that the person you love says and does, so that you end up hating them for making you feel that way.
I check my phone, surprised I haven’t heard from Tess since yesterday.
I thought she might message to check that I got home all right, but the silence only adds to the narrative that I might have said something she wasn’t expecting to hear.
What would she do with the information? Would she use it against me? Would she go to the police?
I shouldn’t be having to ask myself these kind of questions. I should know, with absolute certainty, that Tess doesn’t know anything I don’t want her to. I can see now why Charlie doesn’t want me to drink. Because when I do, I’m a liability. A ticking time bomb.
Even though it’s still early, Pauline picks up on the second ring. “Hi, it’s me,” I say. “Listen, I’m not going to make it into the office today.…”
“Oh, is everything okay?” she asks, sounding concerned.
“Yeah, I had a fall yesterday,” I say, sticking to the same story I told Charlie. “And I’m feeling a little bit sorry for myself.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. You poor thing. Is there anything I can do?” Some people say it. Others mean it. Pauline would go to the ends of the earth to help someone. Even if it means sacrificing herself.
“No, I’m all good. Charlie’s looking after me.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. Is there anything I can be dealing with today, so that you can rest?”
“I’ve just got to check in with Maria, Harry’s mum,” I say. “She had a Zoom meeting with his consultants and the institute in Alabama on Friday, to run through his latest results and get the all clear for him to travel.”
“And if he’s good to go, we’re definitely doing this?” she asks.
“If there’s even a one percent chance that they can prolong his life past five years old, then yes.”
“That’s a chunk of our budget,” she says. Not because she doubts he deserves it, but because she knows there are so many other children who stand an even bigger chance.
I don’t want to tell her that I’ve allowed my heart to rule my head, that although I understand the list is long, there’s something about Harry and his mum that I can’t let go of. But I know if she was to meet them, she’d feel exactly the same.
“You’ve got my personal guarantee that he’s worth it,” I say.
“Do you want me to put the call in?” she asks. “Save you from having to worry.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, not wanting to relinquish the ties Maria and I have bonded over these past couple of weeks.
We share a strange telepathy, and in another world, I could imagine us being good friends.
“I’m going to arrange to meet up with her later this week, and hopefully we’ll be able to confirm the good news by then. ”
“If you get the account details from her, I’ll make sure everything’s ready this end to push the button.”
“Thanks, Pauline,” I say, grateful that she’s trusting me on this one.
Maria doesn’t immediately pick up, but within a couple of minutes she’s sent me a message: Sorry, just sorting Harry out. He had a bad night. Can I give you a call in a bit?
Sorry to hear that, I type back. I just wanted to see if you guys were able to meet up sometime this week.
Three dots appear and I can’t imagine the plethora of emotions that must be going through her mind. Excitement, fear, gratitude, relief, optimism …
Does this mean you have something to tell me? she asks.
I might have, I reply, with a winky face.