Chapter 46
CHARLIE
“How can they not tell us when they’re coming?” Charlie fumes, not knowing whether he should open for service, with the threat of a health-inspector visit hanging over him. All too aware of the damage a hygiene-and-safety check would do to his reputation.
“I guess they rely on the element of surprise,” says Mary. “Keep everybody on their toes.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he says, frustratedly running a hand through his hair.
The restaurant’s phone rings and Charlie snatches it up, hoping it’s going to be the council again, so that he can give them a piece of his mind.
“Hello,” he answers, gruffly.
“Oh, hello,” comes a male voice, sounding uncertain. “I don’t know if you can help me, but I’m with a lady called Freya and this is the last number she called, so I’m hoping you know who she is…?
Charlie’s heart beats a little faster. “Who is this?”
“My name’s Simon Rowlands.…” There’s a moment’s pause. “Do you know Freya?”
“She’s my wife,” says Charlie. “Where is she? What’s happened?”
“She’s been in an accident,” says Simon, not bothering to sugarcoat it in any way. “She’s okay, but I’ve called an ambulance and they’re taking her to Cheltenham hospital as a matter of precaution.”
“Wh-what?” says Charlie breathlessly. “What kind of accident?”
“She’s been knocked off her bike and she’s got some cuts and scrapes, but she’s hit her head and seems a little confused, so I think it’s best to be on the safe side.”
“Yeah, of course,” says Charlie. “Thank you. I’ll head there now.”
The journey feels excruciatingly long, even though it’s only six miles, but it gives Charlie time to think.
Though his thoughts do nothing but torture him.
They twist and churn their way through his mind as he dares to imagine how much easier it would be if Freya wasn’t carrying their child.
He hates himself for even going there, but as much as it pains him to admit, there isn’t a world in which he wants Freya to be pregnant right now.
He doesn’t want to have to stand by her and do the right thing.
He doesn’t want to be forced to spend the rest of his life with her, for the sake of their child.
He will, if that’s what’s called for, but knowing what she’s capable of scares him.
He’d been a fool to think that what had happened at Frank and Coco’s that night was a one-off.
Forcing himself to forget that Freya had accused a girl of flirting with him a month before.
Pretending that she hadn’t embarrassed herself, and him, when she’d turned up uninvited at a private event to “check that my husband’s professionalism isn’t being compromised. ”
“I know what you ladies are like when you get together,” she’d said, all too loudly, as Charlie cringed, wishing he hadn’t told her it was an all-female chef’s table.
But despite the signs, he’d convinced himself that it was always the drink talking, and without it, she’d be the woman he fell in love with, instead of the bitter cynic she’d become since they got married.
Forever waiting for him to cheat on her, always erring on the assumption that he was, rather than preferring to believe he wasn’t.
How ironic, then, that going to meetings to rid herself of the disease that made her believe he was going to leave her was going to result in her worst nightmare coming true? Because then he wouldn’t have met Tess. And without her, he wouldn’t have realized he was living a lie.
“Oh God,” he cries when he sees Freya, propped up with pillows on a hospital bed in a curtained-off cubicle. “Are you okay?”
Freya nods, though it looks like it hurts her to do so.
He runs his eyes over her, checking for lumps and bumps. “What happened?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she says. “It all happened so fast. One minute I was cycling along and the next…”
“Was it the guy who called me?” asks Charlie. “Did he knock you over?”
Freya looks at him with a glazed expression. “No,” she says, before thinking better of it. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Well, did you get a look at the driver?” asks Charlie, his heart thumping.
Freya shakes her head.
“At the car, at least?” asks Charlie.
“Only that it was silver, I think.”
“But you’re okay?” says Charlie. “And the baby?”
“Everything’s fine,” she says, forcing a smile. “I just want to go home.”
“All right, my darling, you’re good to go,” says a nurse, in a singsong accent.
She bustles in, moving Charlie out of the way to take the blood-pressure cuff off Freya’s arm.
“Don’t be doing anything too strenuous for the next forty-eight hours or so, and if you get any headaches or confusion, then I want you to give us a call.
” She circles a phone number on the top of a form.
“Take two of these before bed and another two in the morning, just to get you over the worst of the pain—and you’ll be as right as rain in no time.
” She offers a hearty laugh, even though nothing’s particularly funny.
“And these are okay to take when pregnant?” asks Charlie, examining the back of the box.
There’s a sudden quiet in the cubicle as the nurse stops in her tracks, her serious expression changing her whole face from being open and friendly to looking like she’s about to give out a proper telling off.
“You’re pregnant?” she exclaims, far too loudly.
“Well, I…,” starts Freya, looking to Charlie, wide-eyed. “It’s not been confirmed or anything yet, so…”
“Just because it’s not been confirmed doesn’t make you any less pregnant,” says the nurse brusquely.
“I—I’m sorry,” says Freya sheepishly. “I didn’t think.…”
The nurse looks at the form on her clipboard with a puzzled expression. “You were asked to tick this box if there was a possibility you could be pregnant,” she says.
Freya looks to Charlie and shrugs her shoulders apologetically. “I didn’t even see it,” she offers.
The nurse tuts. “Okay, well, congratulations but I’m afraid you can’t be taking these.” She snatches the box away from Charlie. “So if you need anything, just two paracetamol, as and when.”
“Should we not be making sure everything’s all right?” he asks, as Freya attempts to shush him. “We were supposed to be having our first scan this afternoon.”
“There’s no reason for anything to be amiss, but I can send you upstairs for an ultrasound if you’re worried.…”
Freya swings her feet onto the floor to get up. “No, we’re fine.”
“Are you sure?” asks Charlie. “It’ll put our minds at rest.”
“Honestly, you’re such a worrywart,” she says, smiling, as she puts a hand to his bearded face. “I’m sure everything’s fine. Let’s make another appointment because all I want to do right now is go home and rest.”
And as much as he hates himself for thinking it, Charlie can’t help but wonder if that’s the only reason she wants to get out of here.