by Kayte Nunn
‘Henry will be pleased,’ remarked Rose. Her brother Henry owned the vineyards that surrounded Rose’s restaurant.
‘That reminds me; I should give him a call later with an update.’ He consulted his watch. ‘It’ll be about the right time in the UK now. Anyway, c’mon, you sleepy heads,’ he said to the two kids. Luisa had curled up on the banquette seat, resting her head in Rose’s lap, and Leo was staring glassy-eyed at his iPad. The early start, the sun and the sea and the long day had worn them out. ‘They’re so much easier at this age, aren’t they?’ he said, looking at them fondly. ‘When I think of what a nightmare the first few years were – I don’t think Leo slept through until he was nearly two …’ He shook his head as if to dispel the memory. ‘Anyway, we really should make a move.’
Saying farewell to Philippe and the rest of the Rustica crew, Mark hoisted Luisa into his arms and he and Rose promised to return again before the end of their holiday.
As Mark put the children to bed, Rose sat on the balcony of their apartment, overlooking the ocean where a full moon was reflected on its dark surface. She breathed a sigh of pure contentment: a perfect day, a delicious meal and for once, the spectre of Isabella banished. She felt as if she had not a care in the world. She wondered where Mark was. He’d been ages. What was he doing? Surely the kids couldn’t be playing up? They’d practically had to carry them home from Rustica; they should have both gone out like a light. Just as she was about to go and investigate, Mark appeared.
‘Sorry I was so long,’ he said, gently sliding the door of the balcony shut and coming to sit beside her.
‘That’s okay. What’s up?’ said Rose, not liking the frown of worry that creased his forehead.
He sighed heavily. ‘I just got off the phone …’
Even though it was past ten at night, Mark got calls at all hours, especially when his distributors in England were just waking up. ‘Who was it? Not Channings again?’ Channings were one of the UK’s largest supermarkets, and one of Kalkari’s biggest customers, being largely responsible for the profit the winery had made the previous year. Needless to say, they were also one of Mark’s most demanding customers.
‘No. It’s Tilly.’
‘Tilly?’
‘Yes. Matilda. Seems she was skiing in Switzerland and there was an avalanche.’
Rose’s hands flew to her face. ‘Oh my God! Is she okay?’
‘She’s alive, but in a bad way. Dislocated shoulder, fractured leg and a few ribs for good measure. Not to mention a bruiser of a black eye, according to the friend who rang me. She also said that Tilly was adamant that I not let Mum and Dad know about it.’
‘Oh no, what is she going to do? I wish we weren’t so far away. Where is she now?’ Rose had never met Mark’s sister, but he had talked of her often and fondly, showing Rose albums of photos taken when they were kids growing up at Lilybells, the Shingle Valley’s largest winery. Rose had seen blurry pictures of a tomboyish little kid with a tangle of black hair and bottle-green eyes exactly the same shade as Mark’s.
‘She’s still in Switzerland, according to her friend – um, Cara, I think she said her name was. I should go to her. I’ve got this sales trip to the US to get out of the way first though. I really can’t cancel, it’s been months in the planning …’
‘Will you? Go to her, I mean? After your trip?’
Mark ran his hands through his hair, thinking. ‘I can’t not. And in any case,’ he said, ‘I can always go and see Channings while I’m there. That at least will make them happy.’
‘Will make Alicia happy, you mean,’ Rose said. Alicia was Channings’ chief wine buyer and she had a massive crush on Mark, finding any excuse to ring him.
‘Yeah, well, that too,’ he replied.
Rose looked at him glumly. She’d known about Mark’s US trip, but him going to England as well would mean they’d hardly see each other again. She’d missed him enough during vintage, and now he’d be gone again, for God only knew how long. She’d known when she met Mark that he travelled a lot, but it didn’t stop her missing him dreadfully when he was away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Opening her eyes, Mattie saw the familiar face of the nurse who’d accompanied her on the flight. She’d been knocked out by some rather good drugs for most of the trip back to London, something she supposed she should feel pleased about, even though she was pretty numb to everything at the moment. ‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said. ‘It’s all over. You’re at St Barts and they’ll take good care of you. Now is there anything you need?’
Her eyes rested on an enormous bunch of flowers in a vase by the bed. Gerberas. Her least favourite. Too perfect in their uniform colour and symmetry. The nurse noticed and went over to read the card. ‘From someone called Johnny,’ he said. ‘Boyfriend?’
Mattie closed her eyes. She could hear the nurse rustling with a bag, and then there was silence. She opened her eyes a fraction.
‘How about some telly?’ he said. ‘Not sure that there’s much on, but you might find something. I quite like that Phillip Schofield on This Morning, even if he has got grey hair now. And Holly, she’s nice too.’ Mattie couldn’t care less, but allowed him to switch on the television and let its babble wash over her. ‘There you go, that’ll cheer you up.’
She doubted it.
It wasn’t long before her new doctor swept in, surrounded by a phalanx of white-coated medical students. ‘Well, Miss Cameron, what have we here? A nasty fracture to the left tibia and fibula as well as an anterior dislocation of the humerus from the scapula. A couple of fractured ribs on the left side too. Avalanche, wasn’t it? You’re lucky to have survived, my dear, let alone not to have suffered a serious spinal injury.’
She knew she had been incredibly lucky, even if she wasn’t quite feeling it just then. ‘How long will I be here?’ she asked.
‘Well, that really depends on you. You’re also going to need someone to look after you for a few weeks, possibly even months – someone who’s at home twenty-four seven. At least until you can get about on crutches. What about your parents? Can you go to them?’ he asked.
‘Not really. They’re in Australia,’ she said, her heart sinking as she realised the full extent of her predicament. And there’s no way I’d ask Mum to come and look after me, she thought to herself. I don’t even want her or Dad to know.
‘Is there anyone else a bit closer?’
Mattie thought of Cara. Her friend had insisted that she stay with her when she was out of hospital. ‘Don’t worry about a thing,’ she had said. ‘I’ve cleared the spare room for you. It’ll be fine. I’m actually looking forward to having a roomie.’
But Cara had to work, not to mention maintain her extensive social life, and much as she wanted to stay with her friend, Mattie acknowledged that it probably wasn’t the best solution to be left alone for hours on end, barely able to hop to the bathroom. What if she fell and there was no one there to help her up?
‘I’m not really sure,’ she said eventually. ‘I suppose I’ll have to figure it out.’
‘Well, you’re going to be here for at least another couple of weeks, in any case. We want to be sure your tibia heals properly and that the operation you had in Switzerland was up to scratch. Though,’ he paused, putting up a couple of X-ray films on a lightbox on the wall at the side of the room, ‘it looks like they did a pretty good job. That’s some serious metal you’ve got holding you together now.’ The students gathered round the specialist as he pointed out something on the films. He turned back to Mattie. ‘You’ve got your age and fitness on your side but I’ll have to warn you, it’s not going to be plain sailing.’
Just after six the following evening, she had managed, at the urging of the nurses, to feed herself for the first time. Not that she could really taste the food, but at least it gave her something to do. She was putting her spoon down when she suddenly heard a commotion in the corridor outside her room. There was a loud tip-tap, clop-clop of several pairs of heels, a stifled
giggle and a particularly loud voice that echoed off the bare walls. A voice she’d recognise anywhere. It was the one that commanded planning meetings and bawled out the unfortunate junior who had failed to deliver the right coffee or green smoothie order.
‘Here she is!’ Several heads popped around her door. ‘Hello, darling!’
There was silence as they caught sight of her, and a few shocked gasps, but then everyone began speaking at once.
‘Oh Mattie, sweetie —’
‘Oh you poor thing —’
‘Oh my God, what happened to you?’
The last comment was from Bianca – not known for her tact. They tumbled into the room: Becca and Brooke, the other two founders of Three Bees; Bianca, her boss; Arabella, Mattie’s assistant; Sara, her deputy art director; and Cara. There was scarcely enough room for them all to squeeze in. They’d obviously come straight from work, judging by the office dress code on show, and looked a little incongruous in the sterile hospital setting, like colourful butterflies in a scientist’s bell jar. She could see them taking an inventory of the cast on her leg, her shoulder in a sling, the cut across her cheekbone, not to mention the black eye, which was now spectacular shades of green and yellow. At least the swelling around her mouth had mostly gone down.
‘Hey, guys,’ Mattie tried to summon up a smile. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Bianca sat down on the bed, causing Mattie to wince as her leg was jostled. ‘That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there, Matilda. But I’ve got exactly the thing for it,’ she said as she foraged through her orange leather tote, pulling out a small jar with a flourish. ‘I knew I had some in here. This stuff is supposed to be just the ticket for skin discolouration issues. It should work wonders on that eye, take the bruising away like magic.’
‘Just the thing when you’ve been in an avalanche, hey?’ Mattie was unconvinced but politely accepted the jar.
‘So, any hunky doctors, Mattie?’ asked Sara. ‘Is it anything like Grey’s? Go on, tell me it is.’
Mattie shook her head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. Number of hunky doctors spotted so far is zero.’
‘Oh well, anyway, here,’ she said, putting an armful of magazines next to Mattie’s abandoned supper. ‘We got you the latest issues of, oh, absolutely everything, really.’ She laughed self-consciously.
‘Thanks, and thanks, guys, for coming to see me. Really, I’m very touched,’ she managed.
‘Nonsense,’ said Bianca. ‘Our top creative director languishing in the sick bay? Of course, we had to come and cheer you up. Now, is there anything else you need? Anything we can get you?’
‘No, thanks, you’re all very kind. The doctor says I’m young and healthy and all I need is time to heal. They’re not sure about the cut on my face – apparently it might need plastic surgery, and I might end up with a bit of a limp, but all things considered, that’s not so bad. The leg was quite a bad break, so they’re going to keep me here for a few more weeks, but anyway, let’s not talk about me. What’s been going on while I’ve been away?’
The crew needed no more encouragement. Sara launched into a rundown of the Brighton shots – which ones had made the cut for the campaign, the styling and the quality of the light and how honestly you couldn’t tell that it had been such a rainy day. Jamie Soames was apparently ecstatic. Mattie listened with only one ear, catching snippets of several conversations going on at once. The intensity of working in a busy agency no longer seemed to matter in the way it once had. She felt suddenly shattered, completely worn out by the noise. She caught Cara’s eye.
‘Hey, peeps, I think Mattie’s had enough now,’ said her friend over the din. ‘Why don’t we let her get her rest, huh?’
‘Of course. Now, darling, you give us a bell if you need anything at all.’ Bianca bent over to kiss her on her good cheek, unable to hide her grimace at seeing Mattie’s scabbed-over cut up close. ‘And don’t forget to let me know if that cream does the trick.’
It’ll take more than cream, thought Mattie glumly as the door closed behind them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘You’ve got to eat, love. Get your strength back,’ said the nurse as Mattie dispiritedly pushed a lump of greyish meat in congealed gravy around her plate with her left hand. After more than two weeks staring at the same patch of wall, she was getting thoroughly fed up with being in hospital, not to mention totally sick of the bland food that was never more than lukewarm and always served at odd hours. She was therefore hugely relieved when, the next day, the specialist agreed that she was well enough to go home.
‘Thank God,’ she said on the phone to Cara. ‘I was beginning to think they’d never let me leave. I’ve got to learn to drive a wheelchair, which is going to be interesting, especially as I’ve only got one working arm. So far I’ve nearly taken out a student nurse and upended a vase of flowers. Though, come to think of it, that could be why they’re so keen to get rid of me. Can you bring me some L-plates?’
The thought of her impending freedom had meant that Mattie was feeling marginally more optimistic than she had in recent weeks, though she still had no idea how she was going to cope without the regular meals and care from the nurses. Would Cara – lovely, fun, but utterly self-absorbed Cara – be up to the job? She seriously doubted it, and hated having to rely on anyone at all. She’d been on her own since she was nineteen, and apart from early help from her brother, who’d paid some of her college fees and sorted her out with a part-time job with a wine merchant when she’d first arrived in London, she’d been totally self-sufficient. She’d never in a million years imagined winding up in this kind of predicament.
The hospital’s patient transport dropped her off outside Cara’s flat early the next morning. Her friend came out to meet her, and leaned over to give Mattie a careful hug.
‘I can’t believe you’re home. At last. It’s all going to be okay now, you’ll see. I’ve been to M&S and stocked up on ready meals so all you have to do is nuke them, and there’s plenty of books and mags, and I’ve set up my laptop in the living room for you.’
Mattie smiled, clocking Cara’s sweatshirt with ‘I only date cowboys’ emblazoned across it. She was so relieved to see her familiar face.
There was one slight problem.
The wheelchair was too wide to go through the front door of the flat. Cara tugged and pulled, pushed and shoved, trying not to upend Mattie in the process. ‘Perhaps if I wiggle it … Oh Christ, I don’t believe it. It never even occurred to me that it wouldn’t fit,’ Cara said. Mattie could see that Cara was trying not to show her horror. ‘Oh, shit a brick.’
Mattie felt a giggle bubbling up inside her and she began to laugh. The mirth was infectious and soon both girls were clutching their sides. ‘Ow, ouch, stop, my ribs, ow …’ wailed Mattie, in between giggles. Her sides might ache from the contraction of her sore muscles, but it felt good to laugh.
Cara snorted and wiped away tears. ‘Oh mate, what a total fucking nightmare.’ She got out her phone. ‘Don’t worry. I have a plan.’ She winked at her friend as she dialled. ‘Nick, hey, it’s me. I really need a favour. Mattie’s with me, and we’re outside my apartment. Yeah, I know.’ She paused. ‘It’s just that she’s in a wheelchair and the bloody thing is too wide to get through my front door. And we’re getting cold stuck out here. Think you might be able to give us a hand?’ There was silence. ‘Thanks, mate, that’d be great.’
Mattie sat in her wheelchair, shivering, the misery having returned. She felt like a cat that had been put out in the rain, when all she wanted to do was curl up somewhere warm and shut out the world.
Cara went inside and emerged holding a blanket. ‘Don’t want you to freeze,’ she said, tucking it around Mattie’s legs. Cara tried to keep Mattie amused with stories of a pop star she’d recently had to style for a magazine shoot, but Mattie found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying. A few minutes later there was the sound of a horn and they looked up to see Nick pulling into the street.
*
Making a hammock of their arms, Nick and Cara lifted Mattie up. They carried her through the front door and into Cara’s living room, depositing her gently onto the sofa. ‘Thanks, Nick,’ said Cara, giving him a wink. You’re a lifesaver.’
‘Yes, thanks,’ echoed Mattie. ‘It was really good of you to come over so quickly.’
‘Nonsense. I wasn’t too far away. Glad to see you out of hospital, Matilda.’
‘You and me both,’ said Mattie.
‘I’ll go and get your wheelchair – it folds up, yes?’
Mattie nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘No sign of Johnny, then?’ Nick said when he returned.
‘Johnny who?’ said Mattie, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of her voice.
‘Oh, I see,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘Right.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m sure he’ll be over soon,’ Nick said, attempting to smooth things over.
How very British of him, thought Mattie. ‘I’m not holding my breath.’
Aside from the flowers, she hadn’t heard from Johnny since her return to London, and the several messages she’d left had gone unanswered. Even if he was recovering at his parents’ place, he still could have called to see how she was getting on.
Cara covered her with another blanket then disappeared into the kitchen. Several minutes later she emerged with a leopard-print hot water bottle. ‘This’ll help,’ she said, placing it carefully on Mattie’s lap.
Mattie smiled a weak thanks. She was relieved to be inside and out of the cold.
‘I dunno how I’m going to get you off that on my own though,’ said Cara, looking uncertainly at the sofa where Mattie was lying.
Mattie wasn’t sure either.
She had been staying with Cara for nearly two weeks when Johnny finally bothered to call her, suggesting he come over that evening.