“No, don’t. I’ll deal with the transaction myself. His business needs can’t be allowed to suffer because of your personal crisis. Goodbye.” In her exhausted state, Rebecca failed to grasp the fact that Lucinda had assumed Sam to be Samuel and not Samantha until after the phone call ended.
In any event, the short conversation left her drained of all emotion except relief and gratitude that she was able to spend another two days at her father’s bedside. She couldn’t even summon up the energy to resent Lucinda’s lack of empathy. Maybe she was right. There had been no indication that her father was aware of her presence since he had squeezed her hand on Saturday morning. She was unable to contribute anything to the improvement of his health. But if he could sense her presence at all, then she would be there.
Dabbing her eyes, Rebecca drew a steadying breath. The next call would be even more difficult.
“Hi, Nath. It’s Becky here.”
“Oh, hi, Becky. What are you doing ringing on a Sunday morning? What have you heard?”
“Erm, I’ve not heard anything. Look, Nathan, my father had a stroke Friday night. He’s being treated in hospital here in Newcastle. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet and I need to be at his bedside when he does. I’ve just endured a call to Lucinda and she’s authorised two days compassionate leave. I’m due back at work on Wednesday.”
“Only two days? Would it have been too much for the frozen dragon to give you a week off? I hope your dad’s going to be okay, Becky.”
“Nathan, the time off means I won’t be able to attend the court appointment with you on Tuesday. I’m so sorry to let you down. Do you want to request a week’s adjournment so I can come with you next week?”
“Don’t worry, Becky, I totally understand. I can identify with what you are going through. I’ll attend the hearing myself. I’m up for it now. Don’t worry about me. Concentrate on what you have to do. For once in your life, stop worrying about everyone else. Take care of number one!”
“Thanks, Nath. Bye”
Tears coursed down her cheeks again, but her tumultuous emotions didn’t prevent her from wondering what he had meant when he’d answered the phone demanding to know what she’d heard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The sun bleached the late August sky, its aquamarine canopy dotted with candy-cotton wisps of white clouds, spreading its increasing warmth through the twelfth floor windows of Baringer & Co. Pigeons cooed contentedly on the ledges until spotting a discarded morsel to retrieve.
“Where is Rebecca’s three o’clock client?” Lucinda demanded.
“Over there, Ms Fleming.” Baringer’s pretty-but-dim receptionist indicated with a waft of her elegantly manicured hand to where Sam was perched on the corporate black leather couch, her slender legs crossed at her ankles.
“No, Louise. I’m waiting for Mr Sam Russell, CEO of Exquisite Forest Company.” Lucinda rolled her eyes, chastising Louise in her most condescending voice.
“Oh, no, it’s Mrs Sam Russell, Ms Fleming.” Louise helpfully emphasised the Mrs, flashing her perfect white teeth at Sam who had stood up, realising Lucinda Fleming’s confusion. She offered her hand.
“Samantha Russell, Exquisite Forest Company. I was expecting an appointment with Rebecca Mathews, though.”
“Yes, well, Mrs Mathews is unfortunately unable to attend your appointment this afternoon. Personal crisis. But rest assured I have insisted she return to her desk on Wednesday. I will handle your instructions myself and bring Mrs Mathews up to speed when she returns.”
“A personal crisis? What’s happened?” Sam looked from Lucinda to Louise, anxious for news on her friend’s predicament.
“Her father has had a stroke. He’s hospitalised in Newcastle. Come this way, please, and we’ll get down to business. I understand you are wishing to purchase a warehouse in Manchester?” Lucinda swept down the glass corridor toward her corner office, expecting Sam to follow in her perfumed wake.
“Hold on a moment, please. Rebecca’s father is in hospital and you have granted her two days leave?”
Lucinda mistook Sam’s alarmed expression for irritation that her business matters would be compromised.
“Yes, I know it’s inconvenient, but I can assure you your company will not be delayed in your legal transactions due to her unexpected absence, Mrs Russell.” Lucinda held open her office door for Sam.
“No, you misunderstand me, Ms Fleming. If Rebecca’s father is in hospital, I’m surprised she’s not attached to his bedside. She adores her father. She and Max are the only family he has!” Sam narrowed her indigo eyes at Lucinda. “First, you mistake me for a male CEO. Now I’m hearing that you refused a valued employee compassionate leave after her father is admitted to hospital following a stroke from which he has yet to regain consciousness. Did Rebecca not explain to you Exquisite Forest’s company ethos? EFC takes pride and is meticulous in ensuring our employees’ wellbeing. We employ flexible working practices to allow for just this occasion. We find our employees work harder and the flexibility allows them to retain the work and life balance necessary for maximum productivity, as well as providing us with a contented, loyal workforce.
“My company cannot instruct a firm of solicitors which does not follow a similar workplace philosophy. Such archaic attitudes are exactly the reason we’ve chosen to remove our business from Harris and Strider.”
“Rebecca did not discuss those issues with me, but I can assure you that your legal and business requirements will be delivered with care and skill, efficiently and expeditiously. That’s the ethos you can expect from Baringer & Co. The bottom line is what it’s all about, I’m sure you agree, Mrs Russell.” She smiled.
“No, that’s not what our business is all about, Ms Fleming. I’m sorry to disappoint Rebecca, but I am unable to engage the services of Baringer & Co to conduct our company’s legal affairs, nor for the formation of the new company I had hoped to instruct you on today. Goodbye, Ms Fleming.”
She turned, ignoring the stunned expression on Lucinda’s face as she keyed in Rebecca’s mobile number whilst waiting for the elevator.
Lucinda had the grace to blush as she overheard Sam Russell’s voicemail message.
“Hi, Becky, Sam here. I’m so sorry to hear about your father and if there is anything I can do to help, please ask. Just met with one of Baringer & Co’s partners who thinks she’s kindness itself by granting you two days leave. Take care, Becky, do what you have to do. Speak soon.”
During the lift ride to the lobby, Sam couldn’t help but wonder why Rebecca didn’t move on when she had such an antiquated boss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tuesday dawned as an insult, its bright sunny rays painfully piercing Rebecca’s desolation. She showered and dressed like an automaton, grabbed a coffee, and left for the hospital.
There had been no change whatsoever in George’s condition. The doctor assured her they were doing all they could to make him comfortable, but there was no mention made of treatment or improvement.
This would be the last visit Rebecca would make until she returned to Northumberland after work on Friday night—too late for a visit. She and Max planned to leave at three p.m. at the latest for the exhausting return journey to Hammersmith. They’d have to wake at six on Wednesday morning—Max bundled off for his last three days of endurance at the dreaded Tumble Teds, and Rebecca loyally at her desk for nine.
That Tuesday morning, Max had begged to stay at Claudia’s, desperate not to return to nursery and Claudia had pleaded with her to relent. Only three days remained of the summer holidays and her offer did provide a solution to Max’s prayers.
After a further, lacklustre argument about not taking advantage of Claudia’s hospitality, Rebecca had gratefully agreed. The journey was a nightmare for Max, strapped into the booster seat where he quickly became bored of the cornucopia of books and games Rebecca piled onto the back seat—the loop of nursery rhyme CDs grating the nerves after their fourth run through. It wou
ld also mean Max not having to return to Tumble Teds, allowing Rebecca to work late Wednesday through to Friday to repay the additional time off, zooming back up north as soon as she was released from her desk chains on Friday night.
Pausing at the door of her father’s hospital room, her mind wandered back to happier times when her mum was alive and her father was the centre of her universe. As an only child, she’d enjoyed their undivided attention, thrived on it, her confidence and self-esteem as a young girl under their loving guidance more advanced than as a self-directed adult.
She sank into the familiar dung-coloured chair, wondering how many bottoms had rested on its shiny surface over the years, grasping her dad’s limp, wrinkled hand with her cool, smooth one and allowing hot tears to flow unchecked. She murmured quietly to George, fanning the flames of childhood memories, of the adventures they’d had—the time she’d flown down a hill on her old blue bicycle, legs raised high, then crashing into the side of an old chestnut tree and receiving a broken arm for her daring. The resulting plaster cast had been the cause of proud boasting and autographs.
Time to leave arrived more quickly than she anticipated in the vacuum of hospital life. She bent her head to kiss George’s forehead, her hair brushing his immobile face. She yearned for the excruciating pain, now settled anvil heavy in her chest, to fade.
“Goodbye, Dad. Off to the grimy streets of London. See you Saturday morning. Claudia promises to visit tomorrow. I love you.”
* * *
She raced to Rosemary Cottage to secure the doors and windows and retrieve her holdall. When she had left the cottage four days earlier—a lifetime ago—for dinner at Claudia’s, she’d expected to return that night.
Flinging her black leather satchel and the hastily stuffed overnight bag onto the back seat, she slammed the passenger door of her battered, old silver vehicle shut. As she sprinted to wrench open the driver’s door, she stretched out her limbs, preparing for the interminable return journey to Hammersmith and the cold poky flat awaiting her arrival, an even more depressing thought minus Max.
Just as she slotted her jean-clad leg into the car, she spotted Josh with Poppy lolloping beside him, meandering along the lane, smiling. Despite everything going on in her crappy life, she returned his smile.
“Hi, Becky. In a rush? Where’s Max?” he puzzled, his forehead creased in concern.
“He’s staying over with my friend, Claudia, for a couple days. I’m…” She couldn’t go on. To explain the last few days to Josh, who held her gaze so fondly, was too painful. She couldn’t do it without breaking down.
He strode forward, draping his bulky arm clumsily around her shoulders, dwarfing her by his size. He dragged her slight frame into an embrace. “Is Max okay? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
She leaned into him, feeling safe and protected from the cruel world beyond his arms, inhaling the tangy, citrusy aroma she recognised as one of her favourite colognes. Why couldn’t she just stay here, wrapped in his scruffy, moss-green jacket, cocooned from life’s torture forever?
There was an unidentifiable quality in this handsome man’s genes that spoke directly to her soul and she no longer wanted to fight the urge to unload her misery. After all, he had known the sadness and grief of his mother’s illness and passing.
The words tumbled out.
“It’s Dad. He’s had a stroke. He’s in the Freeman Hospital, hasn’t regained consciousness yet. Spent every day since Friday at his bedside, praying for him to improve. Nothing, though. I’m exhausted. Max is back to gnawing his sleeve. Now I’m travelling back to London because my boss only agreed to two days compassionate leave—due back at work tomorrow morning, nine a.m. sharp. I have to return because I’m desperate to keep my job. I can’t afford to contradict Lucinda.
“Thank goodness for Claudia and Paul. They’ve agreed to look after Max until I can get back up here on Friday night—save him from the eight hours of motorway boredom.” Her words of explanation came out in a whoosh of pain, tears rolling in well-worn tracks down her pale cheeks.
Even though Josh wouldn’t have a clue who she was referring to, she gulped in a breath and continued, “And I’ve let my friends, Nathan and Sam, down. Missed a promised business appointment with Sam, a court hearing with Nathan. I’m a truly awful friend, a dreadful mother, and daughter. I’m a useless employee, too, whilst were on the ‘Rebecca is a failure’ subject, which quite frankly could go on forever.”
“Come on, back inside. A cup of extra strong tea is prescribed by Doctor Josh Charlton. I can’t allow you to travel to London in this fettle.” He guided her along the weed-free path into Rosemary Cottage’s kitchen, swiftly producing a huge brown teapot of strong Yorkshire tea—Rebecca’s favourite—rinsing the discarded mugs in the Belfast sink whilst Poppy made a beeline for the stone-cold Aga, giving it a disgusted sniff.
“Used to be her favourite place when Mum was around. She’d come down to clean the cottage before the re-let to the next set of walking or cycling enthusiasts, and of course, the Aga was always lit to welcome them from their days spent rambling the length of the Wall. Poppy’s not daft—it was the warmest place in the house.” Josh scratched Poppy’s floppy black ears affectionately. “Can I offer any help, Becky? Now or whilst you are away in London?”
“Thanks, Josh, you are kind. I don’t suppose I can expect a mad rush of prospective buyers demanding to view the cottage. It’s the last week of August, and anyway, the place is a complete mess. Come to think of it, Dad can’t sign the documents even if a buyer is found, can he?” Rebecca lowered her gaze to her hands where she concentrated on scrapping skin from the sides of her thumbs in an effort to master her emotions.
“I thought the cottage was yours?” Josh asked, sipping from his mug of tea.
“It’s a long story, perhaps for another day. But thanks again for your offer.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners and he gave her wrist a tight squeeze. As he rinsed the mugs, his broad, muscular back strained the seams of his black and scarlet rugby shirt. His burly presence looked completely out of place as he washed up at a kitchen sink.
Josh wiped his hands dry on an old, linen tea towel. “Here’s my mobile number and the farm’s landline. Anything me or Dad can do to help—ring.” After hesitating for a fraction of a second, he delved into his jeans pocket, producing a postcard decorated with sprigs of rosemary and thyme, the promised numbers scribbled in bold ink on the reverse, as he guided a calmer Rebecca to the waiting vehicle.
Rebecca studied the card, puzzled that he already had his contact details handy and that they were written on such a pretty card.
“Oh, yes, I was on my way to push this through your letterbox when I bumped into you. Found these postcards in an old, oak bureau at the farm—they must have been Mum’s.”
* * *
Rebecca was running late. If she didn’t step on the gas she wouldn’t arrive at her flat until well past midnight. She squeezed the accelerator for as much speed as the clapped-out, old rust bucket of a motor could generate.
Her stomach rumbled angrily as she approached the Motorway Service Station at Wetherby. Realising she should grab some snacks to keep her awake on the long, lonely journey—even missing the distraction of the interminable nursery rhymes—she aimed the car up the motorway exit road.
As she drew out a note for the cashier to pay for the mountain of unhealthy snacks she’d amassed from the store’s aisles, her mobile buzzed to life. She toyed with ignoring the irritating noise—she needed to put some miles on the clock and she did not recognise the caller’s number—but she jabbed the answer button anyway as she walked to the car.
“Hi.”
“It’s Doctor Patel from the Freeman Hospital. Is this Mrs Rebecca Mathews?” His Indian accent sounded more pronounced over the phone.
“Yes.” Her breath wrenched from her constricted throat.
“I’m afraid I have to impart the sad news that your father has passed away. I’m very sorry
for your loss, Mrs Mathews. He hadn’t regained consciousness, he just slipped away peacefully. I’m on duty until ten p.m. this evening. Please, advise the staff nurse when you arrive and I’ll meet with you. My heartfelt sympathies, Mrs Mathews.”
“Thank you, Dr Patel.”
She remained frozen to the tarmac, her mobile still pressed to her ear, eyes streaming. The bag piled high with sugary and salty snacks slipped from her fingers as a wave of excruciating pain and remorse crashed over her body. She crumpled forward, clutching her stomach, her breath lost—bile rising.
“Are you okay, dear?” An elderly couple tottered toward her, their wrinkled faces expressing concern. The man bent to collect the contents of her fallen bag and the woman grasped her arm, supporting her.
“Are you pregnant, dear? The exhaustion can just sneak up on you, can’t it? Which one is your car?”
Rebecca numbly pointed to her silver car. They shuffled to it, helping her open the driver’s door, and lowering her gently into the seat.
“Can we fetch you some coffee or a bottle of sparkling water? I know I went right off coffee when I was expecting our Lorraine, didn’t I, Archie, and drank gallons of sparkling water. Maybe you’re having a little girl, too, love?” She patted the still silent Rebecca’s hand.
“No, thank you,” she croaked, anxious for them to leave, feeling her emotions thaw just enough for realisation to dawn and urgency to kick in. She needed to hare back up to Newcastle.
When Claudia asked later how she’d driven back to Newcastle after such an immeasurable shock, she was unable to recall any aspect of that nightmare journey, grateful it had become so familiar she didn’t need to engage her brain. Her thoughts had no room for anything other than her father and the enormous gaping hole his passing would leave in her life.
The Wish List Addiction Page 13