by Kate Hewitt
‘What are they saying, Antonio? What’s the prognosis?’
‘They don’t know.’
‘So she might...she might...’
‘We just have to wait and see, Maisie. She’s got the antibiotics she needs, and it’s just a matter of time to see how she responds, if there’s been any damage.’ An internet search on her phone had informed her of the potential dangers. Brain damage, deafness, death. Maisie closed her eyes.
‘How could you let this happen?’ The question was squeezed out of her, a desperate whisper of the utmost pain. ‘I was gone one day. One day I left her, and now this.’ She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, and turned away from him, filled with grief and fear.
* * *
‘How could you let this happen?’
The question echoed through the emptiness inside him, reverberating on and on. He’d heard it before, when his mother had heard that Paolo was dead. She’d turned her anguished eyes on Antonio and demanded to know how, and he’d had no answer. No excuse. It was the same now, and to his shame Antonio saw the same anguish and accusation in Maisie’s eyes that he’d seen in his mother’s.
‘How could you let this happen?’
How could he? The one day he’d had sole charge of his daughter, he’d risked her life. Unknowingly, perhaps, but it had been the same with Paolo. His actions, or lack of them, were the direct cause of Ella’s situation. If he’d taken her to the doctor sooner, if he’d considered the signs and symptoms, if he’d acted faster... Instead he’d waited far too long, thinking that Ella had nothing more than a cold. He’d been stupidly lulled into a false sense of security. So stupidly.
He’d thought he was being careful, keeping his distance, but he’d only been protecting himself, not the person—the people—he loved most. He hated himself for it. His selfishness was unforgivable.
‘She hasn’t had the vaccine,’ Maisie said in a leaden voice. ‘They don’t offer it in America until children are older, but I should have thought...going to another country, I should have thought...’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Antonio answered in a low voice. ‘It’s mine. I... I waited too long.’
‘How long did you wait?’ Maisie turned to him, her eyes wide and frantic, and Antonio bowed his head under her rightful judgement.
‘I put her down for a nap and when several hours had passed I went to check on her. She was unresponsive, floppy... I called an ambulance right away, but they took so long to arrive...’
‘Hours, then.’ Maisie hugged herself, as if she was cold, despite the warm air. ‘All it takes is hours.’
‘I know.’ He’d learned far more about meningitis than he’d ever wanted to know as he’d waited for Ella to start to respond to the antibiotics. ‘I know. It’s all my fault.’ Maisie didn’t reply, and that was all the answer he needed.
Once again he’d endangered the life of someone he loved deeply and dearly. Only time would tell whether this would be as devastating and fatal as Paolo’s accident had been.
The hours ticked by, endless and agonising, as Maisie and Antonio waited for news, isolated in their private worlds of grief and fear. Antonio didn’t, in his own wretched guilt, attempt to comfort Maisie, or offer her false words of hope. It surely was not his place, and in any case Maisie barely looked at him. She wanted nothing from him now, and he couldn’t blame her.
Then, finally, in the pearly light of dawn, with both of them nursing cold cups of coffee in a stupor of fatigue and fear, news came.
‘Ella is beginning to respond to the antibiotics.’ The doctor spoke in Italian and Maisie glanced wildly between him and Antonio, her frantic expression demanding an immediate translation. He gave it to her, and she sagged with relief, tears finally, after a long, dry night, springing to her eyes.
‘Thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God.’
Antonio asked the doctor a few more questions, and he answered in Italian again, while Maisie waited impatiently. After the doctor had left, Antonio steered her towards a quiet alcove.
‘What is it, Antonio?’ she demanded. ‘Is there something bad you’re not telling me?’
‘I’ll tell you everything.’ And he did, explaining what the doctor had said, how it would still be another twenty-four to forty-eight hours before they knew whether Ella had suffered any lasting effects from the bacterial infection. But at least she was going to survive.
Maisie’s shoulders sagged with relief. She looked as if she could collapse where she stood.
‘You need to sleep,’ Antonio told her.
‘I won’t leave the hospital,’ she warned him fiercely.
He held both his hands up in supplication. ‘Of course not. There is a room for parents of ill children. I’ll come and get you if there’s any news or anything changes.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll stay and wait.’
‘Then I should too—’
‘Maisie.’ Antonio kept his voice gentle, his throat aching. ‘Ella is going to need you more than ever in the next days and weeks. Rest while you can. I swear to you on my life, I will come and get you if you’re needed, or if she so much as stirs.’
Maisie stared at him for a long moment, weighing up his words, whether to believe him. Then slowly she nodded.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and Antonio gave her directions to the room where she could rest. As she walked away he felt his heart, that stony object that he’d thought he’d been keeping separate and safe, begin to shatter.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAISIE HADN’T EXPECTED to be able to fall asleep, but mere moments after curling up on the pull-out sofa in the parents’ waiting room she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. Hours later she startled awake, feeling utterly wretched, her eyelids glued together, her mouth dry, her hair wild, her heart thudding.
She scrambled for her phone and checked the time. Antonio hadn’t come. As quickly as she could, Maisie jammed her feet into her shoes and combed her fingers through her hair before wrenching open the door and hurrying into the hallway.
She found Antonio sitting in an armchair next to Ella’s cot, his face unshaven, his hair mussed, his gaze steady on their daughter, making Maisie wonder if he’d so much as blinked the whole time he’d been waiting there, keeping vigil.
‘Antonio.’ She spoke softly as she came into the room, and he turned to glance at her, his expression turning guarded.
‘The consultant just came in. She thinks Ella is making some improvement.’
‘That’s great.’ Relief poured through her in a sweet rush.
‘I was going to get you,’ Antonio said. ‘I swear.’
‘I believe you.’ She gazed at him uncertainly through the haze of both physical and emotional exhaustion. There was something different about him, something other than the fatigue and fear she knew they were both feeling. He seemed...resigned, although Ella was going to get better.
‘You should get some sleep,’ she said.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’ But he didn’t look fine. His eyes were dark hollows, his face seeming thinner and more gaunt under a day’s worth of stubble. And his manner was frighteningly remote.
‘A coffee, then,’ Maisie said, feeling a sudden, sweet need to take care of him, to offer what comfort she could. For the last twelve hours she’d been in an isolated bubble of her own terror, but she wanted to reach out now. She wanted to lean on Antonio, and let him lean on her. But it appeared he didn’t want that because he rose from the chair stiffly and walked to the window, his back to her.
‘Why don’t you sit with her?’ he suggested. ‘The consultant will come back soon.’
The next few hours passed in a strained blur of waiting. Antonio barely spoke to her, and Maisie grappled with what to say to him, how to reach him when he seemed more remote than he’d ever been.
; Then Ella woke up, bringing them both to the brink of tears, and Maisie held her for a short while, savouring the soft feel of her tiny limbs, the baby powder and milk smell of her now mingled with the bitter tang of antibiotics and the antiseptic smell of the hospital.
In the late afternoon the consultant told them the worst was over. Ella would be able to go home the following day, hopefully without any lasting ill-effects, although they’d need to bring her back in a week for another check. Maisie could hardly believe they’d all emerged intact from the wreckage of the last twenty-four hours. She’d felt as if she’d lived an entire lifetime in the space of a single day, and she was a changed person.
That night Maisie settled Ella in her cot, thrilling to her daughter’s sleepy smile, before she and Antonio returned to the waiting room. She hadn’t showered in what felt like an age, and the spa treatments of yesterday seemed like a dream. ‘You should go home and get some sleep,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay here.’
‘Antonio, you must be exhausted—’
‘I’m fine.’
Maisie was reluctant to leave her daughter for even a second, but Antonio was resolute and she recognised that she needed to be rested and well for when Ella came home in the morning.
‘All right,’ she relented.
‘You can take your car,’ he added. ‘It’s parked in the garage.’
Surprise made her stiffen. ‘The car...but who drove it?’ She knew that Antonio hadn’t been behind the wheel since the day his brother had died.
‘I did,’ Antonio said starkly. ‘The ambulance was too long coming, so I put Ella in her car seat and drove her to the hospital.’
A lump formed in Maisie’s throat. She could not imagine how hard that must have been for him, to face his worst fear all over again, and for their daughter’s sake. ‘Oh, Antonio...’ She laid a hand on his arm, and he went still, not looking at her.
Maisie gazed at him with growing dread, a leaden fear weighing down her insides. She hadn’t been imagining the strain and distance that had appeared between them in the last day. She just didn’t know why it had happened, or what it meant. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Antonio didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her, and after a few awful seconds Maisie removed her hand from his arm.
When they were back home, she told herself, things would return to normal between them. They’d be a family again, stronger than ever, brought together by this near-tragedy. She told herself that, over and over, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.
After a night that held less sleep than she would have liked, she returned to the hospital, thankful to be holding Ella once again. Though still sleepy and weak, Ella seemed much more the happy baby she usually was, eager to be held and cuddled.
Antonio didn’t speak all the way back to the villa, and Maisie kept her attention on Ella, afraid of what she’d see in his face. Nothing good, she suspected, although she was afraid to think of what or why.
She found out soon enough, when they’d returned to the villa and she’d settled Ella down for a nap. Maisie came downstairs to find Antonio standing by the door, the flat look in his eyes chilling her.
‘I think it’s better if we go back to the way things were,’ he said, his tone cold and final.
Maisie’s mouth went bone-dry, her head spinning. ‘The way things were?’
‘I’ll visit three times a week and have Ella on Saturdays, if that’s agreeable to you?’
‘You mean...’ She wasn’t surprised, and yet at the same time she was devastated. ‘You mean you’re...you’re breaking up with me?’ Silly, teenaged words for what felt like such a monumental event, an earthquake destroying all her hopes and desires.
‘It can’t work, Maisie. That much is clear.’
‘But...why?’
He just shook his head.
‘Antonio...’ Maisie struggled for the right words to reach him. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked brokenly, because she didn’t have anything else.
‘I tried.’ It sounded so awful, so bleak. ‘I tried, and I failed. I’m sorry.’
‘You didn’t fail—’
‘I did. And I can’t face that, Maisie. I can’t risk it again.’
‘But—’
‘It’s better this way.’
Maisie stared at him helplessly, longing to break through the stony barricade he’d surrounded himself with. Wanting to fight for her, for him, for them, and yet Antonio seemed so unreachable. ‘Antonio...’ she tried, not knowing what words would bring him back to her.
‘I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Of course, if you need more childcare help, just say the word. I can arrange a part-time nanny—’
‘I don’t want a nanny,’ Maisie spat. Suddenly she was furious. How dared he give up on them so easily? ‘I want you. Antonio, why are you doing this?’
* * *
Antonio stared at Maisie, her vivid eyes and stricken face, and he squared both his shoulders and his jaw. This was hard, but staying together would be harder. Would bring more chance of heartache, of disappointment, of tragedy. He saw that now. He saw it so very clearly, and he couldn’t cope with failing again. Losing again.
‘I told you, it’s better this way. Better for you, Maisie.’ He heard the throb of sincerity as well as regret in his voice, and thought she did too. ‘I can’t make you happy. I wish I could, but I can’t.’
‘Isn’t that for me to decide?’
‘When would you decide it?’ Antonio demanded, pain ripping through him, spilling through the seams. ‘In a week? A month? A year? When you’d had your heart broken, or, God forbid, when Ella—?’ He couldn’t go on. Something in him was breaking, splitting right open, and he couldn’t bear it.
He wrenched open the door and started walking blindly towards the waiting car. Blood pounded in his ears and his heart thudded; he felt dizzy with the enormity of what he was doing, the pain of it all. He thought this would hurt less, but right now it didn’t feel like it. He couldn’t imagine anything hurting more.
He slid inside the car and rested his head against the back seat. The driver hesitated, and Antonio forced himself to speak.
‘Drive on, please.’
‘But...’
A fist pounded on the window, making his eyes fly open. Maisie stood there, looking wild, her eyes glittering, her face flushed, her hair a Titian nimbus about her face. Antonio stared at her dumbly, too shocked to move. Then she pulled open the door with a vicious yank.
‘Don’t you dare walk out on me,’ she said, her voice low and savage. ‘Don’t you dare play the martyr when you’re really a coward.’
‘What—?’
‘Yes, Antonio, a coward.’ Her voice broke and tears sparkled in her eyes. ‘You’re going to walk out on me, on my daughter, on us as a couple and a family, and for what earthly reason?’
‘I told you—’
‘Because you’re scared,’ she finished furiously, tears streaking down her cheeks. ‘Because loving someone is scary and it hurts and you risk so much. Do you think I don’t know that? That I haven’t experienced it as much as you have? For the whole time I’ve been with you, I’ve let you call the shots. I’ve been too weak to do anything but let you play the tune. But not this time, Antonio. Not when so much is on the line.’
She was furious and beautiful, the most glorious thing he’d ever seen. Still he persisted. ‘Maisie—’
‘No. You listen to me now, Antonio. We almost lost our daughter yesterday and it would have been the worst thing that had ever happened to either of us, which is saying something considering what we’ve both already been through. But it should bring us together, Antonio, not pull us apart.’
‘Maybe it showed us what we’re really made of.’
She stared at him hard, her tear-filled eyes narrowing. ‘Then what are you made of, Antonio?’
&nb
sp; She wanted to hear the ugly truth? Fine. He’d give it to her. Maybe he was a coward, because he’d kept it from her in the first place, but he’d tell it to her now. In one swift, fluid movement Antonio got out of the car, ordering the driver to wait. He strode back into the house and Maisie followed, closing the door behind her and then folding her arms.
‘Well?’ she asked quietly, composed now. ‘Tell me what you meant.’
‘I can’t do this,’ Antonio said in a low voice. ‘I can’t be enough for you or Ella. I can’t be responsible...’
‘Responsible for what, Antonio?’
‘I can’t make another mistake,’ he ground out. ‘Like I did with Paolo. I can’t risk that, not for your sake, or Ella’s, or my own.’
She stared at him, her eyes narrowed, her mouth compressed. ‘So what’s the alternative? Never letting anyone in? Never loving anyone, ever?’
He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. ‘If that’s the only choice.’
Maisie was silent for a long moment. ‘You blame yourself for this,’ she said at last, the words coming out slowly as realisation crept over her face. ‘You blame yourself. Why, Antonio—?’
‘You said it as well,’ he couldn’t keep from answering. ‘You asked me why I let this happen.’
Her mouth opened and then closed. Her eyes widened. Finally, stricken, she whispered, ‘You think I blame you...?’
‘As I blame myself. If I’d noticed the symptoms earlier, if I’d checked on her while she was napping... What if she’d died, Maisie?’ He heard how ragged his voice had become, how desperate as the remembered pain and fear lashed through him again, a lash he knew he would feel repeatedly. ‘What if she’d died? It would have been my fault.’
‘But she didn’t die, Antonio.’
‘Even so...’
‘Why are you so hard on yourself?’ she demanded, her voice as pain-filled as his. ‘Yes, I said that, but it was in a moment of terror and I didn’t mean it. I don’t blame you, I swear. You drove her to the hospital yourself, and I know how much that cost you. Antonio, I admire you, I respect you. I—’ Her voice hitched. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve loved you for months now, and I know you don’t love me, but...’