“Ah, crap,” he said aloud. Now he knew why Bhagwan and the other man had stopped talking the previous night. Two dead, several more in a critical condition, all with an unidentified virus contracted in Middle East. OK, so this wasn’t the Middle East, but it was too close and the description of symptoms too similar to be pure coincidence. Andy read the whole report, clicked through all the associated links, then searched for more articles on other sites, meeting the same information over and again. Suddenly his worries about Jess, and missing Eleanor’s wedding, weren’t quite so significant. He sat for five minutes or so, doing little more than sipping his coffee and staring at the same list of search results, before deciding to send Josh a message to explain in more detail what the situation was. He would know how best to tell Adele and the others, if the time came. As Andy typed, the emotion swelled within him, a mix of anger and grief, for he sensed that whatever the outcome of this journey, things were changing. His email to Josh was raw and honest, perhaps a little more so than he’d intended, but he needed to put this feeling into words, or else he would not have the strength to go back to Dan. At the end, he clicked ‘send’ without reading back over what he had written, for fear that he might regret any of it. He gulped down the rest of his now cold coffee and made his way back to the hospital, where Dan was awake and eating his first meal in almost a week; he instantly perked up at the sight of his brother.
“Wow, you must be feeling better,” Andy said lightly, as if he hadn’t just read all those terrifying news reports and sent a virtual confession to Josh. “What you eating?”
“Dunno,” Dan replied through a mouthful of brown stuff. “Kind of tastes like spicy mud, but I don’t care. I’m starving.”
“No surprises there,” Andy grinned, going to take a tiny morsel off the edge of the plate. Dan poked his hand with the fork.
“You’d steal food from a dying man, you would,” he said jokily, so engrossed in his meal that thankfully he didn’t see the reaction his remark had evoked. Andy pushed the thought from his mind and resumed his position on the rickety wooden chair.
“I phoned Jess earlier. Told her what was going on,” he said.
“Have you told Adele?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to call her again later and give her an update.” Andy checked the time on his phone, which he was carrying only for that purpose, as it didn’t appear to work in Nepal. “Our plane leaves in twenty-four minutes, incidentally.”
“I reckon I could’ve coped with flying home.”
“Probably, but the doctors said the airline wouldn’t let you on-board with an unknown virus.”
“Especially one that’s potentially fatal,” Dan finished for him. Andy examined the floor. “It’s all over the news, the nurse said, and I can tell by the way you’re acting that you knew this already.”
“Only just,” Andy defended himself. “I read it on the BBC website on the way here. I wasn’t going to tell you, because…” He couldn’t go any further without giving away how he was feeling: that Dan was ill because of him and he was so dreadfully sorry. But they were brothers; if they were similar enough in looks to be mistaken for each other, then it stood to reason that they were similar in mind and soul too.
“Because you didn’t want to worry me,” Dan said, giving him the easy way out.
“That’s right,” Andy said, both knowing the truth.
“The doctor says the antibiotics are doing something. My temperature’s back to normal,” Dan added, finishing the last of his food and pushing the plate away. He picked up his empty water glass and peered inside it dolefully. Andy filled it for him and he raised it in thanks. “And I’ve stopped hallucinating, I’m glad to say. That’s definitely not something I want to go through again.”
“Bad, were they?” Andy asked, grateful to his brother for what he was doing.
“You could say that. The worst one was when we were coming in to land. I was convinced, one hundred percent, that we were crashing. No word of a lie. It was only when you came back from wherever you’d been that I snapped out of it.”
“That must’ve been scary.”
“Tell me about it. And on the way back down from Syabru, I thought we were about to have a head-on collision with a lorry. Then I realised you were driving, so I knew it wasn’t real and just kept my eyes closed until it went away. Actually, now I think on, that’s far scarier: you driving a pickup truck down the Himalayas.”
Andy laughed, for real this time. “D’you want to hear something even scarier? You weren’t hallucinating!”
If there hadn’t been rails on either side of the bed, Dan may well have fallen off in disbelief, not only that Bhagwan had allowed Andy to drive, but that he’d got them safely back to Kathmandu.
“Well, I guess thanks are in order then,” he said, suddenly humbled by his true appreciation for what his brother had done. The rest of what they did was banter, but he could feel that there was a connection building between them that surpassed anything they’d had since childhood, in part down to the conversations he’d overheard on the journey back from the village. Before now, and Andy’s revelation about the incident with the lorry, he’d assumed that what he’d heard had all been in his mind. Now he knew it wasn’t, he also realised that there was something else he needed to do.
“What I said yesterday, about your feelings for Shaunna,” he started.
“No need to explain,” Andy stopped him. “You weren’t making a whole lot of sense—probably the fever or the meds.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Yesterday I thought I was going to die. Today I’m sure I’ll be just fine, but either way I want to say something I should’ve said long ago.”
“We don’t need to drag the Shaunna thing up again, do we? I thought we’d dealt with it, after the stabbing and…everything.”
“I don’t mean that bit of it. That bit was—unfortunate. Not the greatest description, I know, but if you can keep your mouth shut, you’ll get why I’m saying that, if you haven’t already figured it out.”
Andy was entirely on Dan’s wavelength and could have predicted word for word what he was about to say. What he needed to do was stop him from saying it, because it should not be put into words.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said and quickly got up and left the room. Dan watched him leave and closed his eyes to rest.
CHAPTER TWELVE:
EMERGENCY PREPARATIONS
Saturday morning: Eleanor got back home a little after ten o’clock, her plans to head out early and snag a dress for the reunion scuppered by a call from the husband of one of her patients, sent home to die and almost ready to face the inevitable. She wasn’t complaining, because this woman had been one of the very first to transfer to her books, their initial consultation ending with a referral for a routine mammogram, which, if conducted earlier, may have detected the abnormality soon enough for the treatment to stop it from spreading. Now she was in the last few days, her family travelling back from their various corners of both country and globe to say their goodbyes. Eleanor’s locum was on stand-by, but in this most emotional of times, it was she who could support them best and that is what she had promised to do.
Both of the boys were washed and dressed, and James was just adding the milk to a mug of tea he had prepared on hearing her car pull up outside. She accepted his offer of toast and went to change out of her nightdress (tucked into jeans and hidden under a hastily thrown-on sweater) and into something more suitable for a morning of traipsing in and out of changing rooms. She wasn’t looking forward to it, with a baby and an almost four-year-old in tow, but she was getting very excited about the party and it was spurring her on. She quickly ran a brush through her hair and went to the kitchen.
“When you have eaten,” James told her, “we will take the boys to your parents.”
“They’re probably out shopping themselves, I’m sure we’ll…”
“I have already phoned and arranged this with your mother,” he assured her.
“I could do that, I suppose,” James said thoughtfully, “although I think your mother will be expecting you to come along.”
“I’ll pop in once I’m done shopping. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Perhaps you are right,” James hedged, thinking on his feet. “However, she did mention that she wanted to show you the, err, cake stand.”
“She did that last Monday. We were both there, remember?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” James confirmed with a nervous smile. Eleanor had finished eating now and was poking Toby’s arms into his coat. James sent Oliver to put on his shoes and soon they were in the car, heading towards the department store. The traffic was on their side for once, and Eleanor reached down to unclip her seatbelt as they approached the main entrance. James drove right past, his hands firmly clenched around the steering wheel.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “You were supposed to stop and let me out first!”
“Oops,” he said unconvincingly. “It must have slipped my mind.”
“In ten minutes? I don’t think so, James Brown. What are you up to?”
“Nothing at all,” he said, feeling his cheeks burn. He was a dreadful liar.
“Right, well, you’d best put your foot down, because I intend to be home as close to midday as possible.” Eleanor folded her arms and huffed.
“Are you cross, Enna?” Oliver piped up from the back seat.
“A little bit,” Eleanor said, staring out of the passenger window.
“Why?”
“Enough!” James said this so sternly that Eleanor immediately turned and faced the front. He glanced sideways at her, fighting the urge to smile. They turned into the road where her parents lived and he stopped the car. “If you take Oliver inside, I will bring Toby.” Eleanor glared at him, about to suggest that he should do it all himself, but by now she was intrigued to find out why it was so important that she came to see her mother, so she unfastened Oliver’s seatbelt and took his hand, waiting by the car for James to remove Toby and his chair from the back seat.
“You go on in,” James nodded to her. She looked down at Oliver and shrugged. He shrugged back and they went inside.
Her parents’ house had been the family home, and with seven children, it had needed to be far bigger than it was, for it always felt like it was bursting with people, especially as, over a period of a decade or so, they reached their teenage years, each going off to university and returning bigger and surlier than ever. Nowadays, with just Peter left to ‘fly the nest’, the house was only ever full for birthdays or other family functions. Next weekend, for instance, her brothers and sisters and their respective partners and children would all be crammed in somehow or other, and Mum would be in her element, although the same wouldn’t be true of her father. This morning, he was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and trying to ignore the noise coming from the back room. (This was once their bedroom, but now housed an old three piece suite and all her mum’s odds and ends associated with her pastimes as an avid knitter, seamstress, and cake maker, to name but a few.) Eleanor leaned down and kissed her dad on the head.
“Hello, love,” he greeted her, without looking up from the paper.
“Hi, Dad. What’s she up to?” Eleanor asked, nodding towards the back room.
“Erm, think she’s putting the final touches to your wedding dress.”
“Really? I thought she’d already done that.”
“Oh, well I don’t know then,” he said, shoving his chair back and going to fill the kettle, all without making eye contact, which was entirely in character. “You staying for a cuppa?”
“No, thanks. I’m in a bit of a rush, but maybe when we come back for the boys?”
“All right, love,” he said. He’d filled the kettle right to the maximum line anyway (again, typical for him). The noise coming from the back room had diminished now to the hum of a local radio station, and Eleanor decided to go and find out what her mother was doing.
“She’ll be out in a minute,” her dad suggested, by way of a ‘do not disturb’ warning. Eleanor nodded her understanding and waited, although not patiently. James was taking his time too, and she was starting to feel quite irritated by the whole situation. The noise re-commenced and this time she recognised it as her mother’s sewing machine, going at full throttle. The front door opened and James appeared, carrying Toby in his chair, and a large white and blue bag. He smiled innocently and Eleanor flared her nostrils.
“Is anybody going to let me in on the big secret, or am I expected to just stand here, stewing in my own juices?” No response, other than a nervous cough from her dad.
“Mr. Davenport,” James greeted him, walking straight past her and into the kitchen. He set Toby’s chair down on the table and shook his soon to be father-in-law’s hand.
“James,” her dad said with a courteous nod. They’d been introduced by their first names, which James refused to use, and it was a formality Eleanor found extended to her address of his father also. Right now, she wasn’t feeling at all formal or polite, and let out a little shriek of frustration.
“Right. That’s it. I’m going in,” she declared, readying her hand around the door handle. Both James and her father gasped and she tutted. “Ridiculous men,” she muttered. As she pushed down, her mother did the same thing from the other side of the door and Eleanor jumped.
“Hi, Mum,” she smiled innocently.
“Good morning, sweetie.”
“Hard at it, I hear?”
“Oh, I’m all done now,” her mum replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll show you, if you like, although it’s not very exciting.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow in query and stepped past her mother into the room. Right in the centre of the floor stood the dressmaker’s dummy that this time last week was draped in her wedding dress. And now…
“Oh my…Mum? How…?”
“You can thank James,” her mother replied with a smile.
“And Josh,” James clarified.
“And your mother’s refusal to throw anything away,” her father added dolefully. Eleanor reached out and brushed her fingers across the deep blue fabric.
“This is brilliant,” was all she could find to say. She was having a problem taking it in. Here was an exact replica of her sixth form ball gown, right down to the intricately embroidered neckline. It could almost have been the original, apart from the somewhat curvier aspects of the cut. “This is truly brilliant,” she repeated.
“When you couldn’t find your dress yesterday,” James explained, “I phoned your mother to see if you had left it here.”
“No, I knew it was in the flat somewhere, I just couldn’t…” She circled the dummy and shook her head in wonder. “Mum. How did you do it? It’s the same fabric, the same design. It’s…”
“Brilliant?” her mother laughed. “It was a bit of a challenge, but I’ve quite enjoyed it. Shame you inherited my ability to lose stuff, though. I can’t find that lovely photo of you all at your ball anywhere, so James phoned Josh and he lent me his so I could copy the design. You remember how you wanted a full skirt, then changed your mind?”
“Did I?”
“Yes, sweetie, and it was a good thing you did, because I had so much fabric left over. I’ve given it a good wash, but you might need to spray it with perfume.”
Eleanor leaned close and sniffed. “Ew. Mothballs. Nice!”
“So there you are,” her dad said. The kettle had long since gone off the boil and he plodded back to the kitche
n. “How about that cuppa?” he offered again.
“Go on then,” Eleanor said, smiling and still shaking her head. She put her arms around her mother and hugged her. “I love you, Mum. Thank you so, so much. You’re the best.”
Unfortunately, George wasn’t having quite so much luck finding a perfect replica of his tux, which he was really rather glad about. It wouldn’t do for a reasonably well-built man (his own fault, for always cooking what Josh liked to eat) in his late thirties (nothing he could do about that part) to be wearing pants so tight, and he’d hated the jacket when he was eighteen, never mind now. What wasn’t helping much was that he was still feeling anxious about going at all, although Kris had been very supportive when he’d emailed earlier to check they were still going together, and promised to steal all the limelight, not that he ever needed an excuse in this regard. George recalled how, at one point during their sixth form ball, Kris had taken to the dance floor, and he was an excellent dancer, but was really showing off, powered by too much vodka and a last chance to be himself, before he settled into life as Shaunna’s partner and Krissi’s stepdad. It was almost as if he were saying goodbye to his true identity, and in the intervening years, he had loved being both a father and a husband, not once regretting his decision to stand by Shaunna and her baby. But now he was back, he said, and ready to pick up where he left off, so George wasn’t to worry. Nobody would care anyway, not these days, and who was he to say that half the lads hadn’t turned out to be gay in the end?
“What about this one?” Sophie asked, waving a black jacket with red satin lining right in front of George’s face and bringing him back to the present.
“Nah. Too…”
“Come on, George! It can’t be that hard to choose, can it?”
“It really is, although I do like this one more than the last one. Maybe if the lining wasn’t so—red?”
Sophie muttered something under her breath and returned the jacket to the rail, then scragged the others along, glancing at each and dismissing it with a ‘no’, or a ‘definitely not’. George returned to staring into the mid-distance, pondering the viability of various excuses for not being able to make it to the party. A migraine maybe? He’d never had one in his life, so that wouldn’t be particularly convincing. A stomach bug, complete with a good bout of diarrhoea? “Sorry guys, but my mum’s not well and I need to go and stay over.” No, that was tempting fate. Perhaps a suddenly remembered trip to see long-lost family down south? Now, that might work, if he put aside the fact that he didn’t have any family, long-lost or otherwise, down south, up north, or anywhere else, for that matter. Well, there was Joe, but ‘family’ required more than DNA.
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