by Mandy Baggot
‘Platinum and gold not silver! Yes, there really is a difference and it’s one I explained to you when we met, Mr Viceroy.’ Hayley paced the ballroom floor as she spoke into the phone. ‘Can you get me one hundred and fifty platinum balloons and one hundred and fifty gold-coloured balloons by tomorrow afternoon? No? Well, that’s great. Thank you so much for that excellent service.’ She ended the call and let out a scream that had everyone working in the room reaching for their ears.
She dragged her hands through her hair and bent over, her hands on her knees, her breathing jagged.
‘A problem?’ Cynthia asked, appearing at her side.
Hayley pulled herself up and fixed a smile on her face. ‘No, no of course not. No problem at all.’ She had to get this right, especially now. She didn’t want Cynthia to think she was incapable in a professional or personal capacity.
‘Hayley, I’m here to help.’
‘Yes, I know, but this is my project and you’re paying me very well to manage it, so manage it I will.’ She let out a breath that could have filled three hundred balloons then looked at her watch.
‘Is everything all right?’ Cynthia said, still observing her.
Did Cynthia know about the test? Maybe Oliver had called her or, more likely, he hadn’t wanted to worry her. She swallowed, not wanting to bear the weight of a secret. ‘Oliver’s having the test today.’ She blurted it out before there was any going back.
Cynthia remained virtually impassive but Hayley could see her bottom lip was quivering and there were the beginnings of tears in her eyes as the words took effect.
‘He wanted to go on his own but I wouldn’t let him,’ Hayley continued. ‘It’s at eleven thirty.’
Cynthia nodded. ‘And there’s no way either of us are going to stay away.’
Hayley smiled at the woman. ‘Good. Well, I’ll fix us up with some alternative balloons and then we’ll go.’
‘We’ll stop for coffee on the way. That cardiac unit stuff is like engine oil,’ Cynthia said, patting Hayley’s arm. She smiled. ‘Thank you, Hayley.’
‘I’m sure he would have told you. I just …’
Cynthia shook her head. ‘No. Thank you for getting him to do this.’ She paused. ‘You’re the reason he’s doing it and I’m so glad.’
The atmosphere was thick with emotion and Hayley could feel the tears pricking at her eyes. She cleared her throat and quickly moved back to the middle of the ballroom, looking at the stage. The logo she’d designed for the event was being displayed on the big screen and the turquoise-coloured globes containing warm yellow lights hung from wires right across the length of it. The theme she’d gone for was classic with a homely twist. The room was going to be full of understated exuberance but also stuffed with touches relating to supporters of the foundation who had lost a member of their family or were living with life-altering issues.
‘It looks wonderful,’ Cynthia told her. ‘And it’s going to be very special.’
‘You like it?’
‘Like it? I love it!’ She clapped her hands together. ‘This is exactly how you changed my home that day. That’s why I knew I had to have you for this project.’
Hayley looked at her handiwork, delighting in the way she and the team of people helping her had pulled this together. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘Would you like to do it again?’
‘You have another event?’ Hayley asked. Excitement was already bubbling through her core at the very thought of it.
‘Not me. Not yet anyway. But when I drop your name into every conversation I have tomorrow night, you’re going to be a woman in high demand,’ Cynthia told her.
What was Cynthia saying? That she could have an employment future here? In New York? There was no doubt this project had given her her spark back. She may have abandoned the Guggenheim dress in her ideas book but now the pages were packed full of sketches and templates, table settings, swatches of colours. The thought of doing that all over again for something else, another blank canvas to fill with plans and ideas, was more than she could imagine. She swallowed. The reality was she didn’t live here and the date on the ticket home was drawing ever closer.
‘I don’t know about that. And … I leave next week.’
‘Do you?’
Hayley turned at the questioning tone, catching Cynthia’s gaze. ‘Yes. I mean I live in England.’
Cynthia nodded then let out a light breath. ‘I guess I was hoping you might stay. Because of Oliver.’
At the mention of his name Hayley’s cheeks gave away every feeling she had. She didn’t want to leave him.
‘I have Angel to think about. There’s her school and her friends and … my mother.’
She swallowed. Another text had arrived earlier. I never realised how you felt. A band of guilt began to tighten in her stomach. She hadn’t replied because she didn’t know how to. That sentence contained more emotion than she’d felt from her mother for years.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Forgive me.’ Cynthia said, patting her shoulder. ‘I just see how happy you’re making my son and how much he’s like the old Oliver right now. I don’t want that to disappear if you go.’ She smiled. ‘And I’ll miss you too. And that dear girl of yours.’
‘I’ll miss you too.’ Her voice cracked slightly as the nearness of her departure became all too apparent. She couldn’t dwell on it yet. She had to concentrate on the fundraiser. Even if she didn’t manage to source the balloons, everything else was coming together. It was going to be a night to remember. She just had to persuade Oliver to be the speaker. Then it would be perfect.
A phone began to ring and Cynthia slipped a hand into her pocket to answer it. ‘Cynthia Drummond … oh my God! Have they said anything? Do they know anything?’
Hayley turned back to Cynthia, the woman’s anxiety prevalent.
‘We’ll be there.’ Cynthia ended the call, tears forming in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ Hayley asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Oliver. He’s collapsed. He’s at the hospital,’ Cynthia informed.
Hayley didn’t need to hear anything else. She grabbed hold of Cynthia’s hand and ran for the ballroom doors.
* * *
St Patrick’s Hospital, Downtown Manhattan
The traffic had almost been on lockdown because of the rising snow on the streets and it had taken them twenty-five minutes to get across the city. When they arrived in the emergency room, Clara was sat in a chair in the waiting area just in front a row of cubicles all with their curtains closed. The woman looked pale and concerned and was toying with the diamantes on her necklace.
‘Clara,’ Cynthia greeted, as they rushed up. ‘Where is he? Have they said anything?’
‘Hello! Is there a doctor around here! We need a doctor! Where is Oliver Drummond?’ Hayley called, starting to part curtains and walk into cubicles.
‘It all happened so fast,’ Clara started. ‘One moment we were talking about Andrew … well, Regis Software and the next he just went down on the floor.’ Clara wiped at her eyes with a tissue. ‘But it wasn’t like the last time. This time he looked so pale, he was sweating, his breathing was shallow …’
‘The last time?’ Cynthia asked.
‘Hello! Please, can someone tell us something? You!’ Hayley said, grabbing the arm of a nurse.
‘What seems to be the problem, ma’am?’
‘It was a couple of weeks ago,’ Clara said. ‘We came here and the doctor diagnosed stress causing hyperventilation.’
‘He collapsed on me too,’ Hayley added before turning to the nurse. ‘Listen, we’re the family of Oliver Drummond. He was brought in less than an hour ago by ambulance …’ She looked to Clara for confirmation. ‘We want to know what’s going on.’
‘Just give me a second and I will try to find out for you,’ the nurse said.
‘Sit down, Hayley,’ Cynthia ordered.
‘I can’t. We don’t know what’s ha
ppening. If I knew what was happening I might feel a bit better, but he could be … he could be …’ She stopped talking when the enormity of what she’d been thinking got the better of her. This was her fault. This was because of the test. She had pushed it and he was worried about it and now … there might not even get to be a test. The tears were dripping from her eyes already.
‘Take it from someone who’s spent a lot of time in these places.’ Cynthia dropped to the chair beside Clara. ‘They need to be looking after him not us.’
Hayley began pacing. ‘I need to do something. Shall I get coffee?’
Both women looked at her like she was crazy.
‘Yeah, I know it’s meant to be bad but …’
A female doctor approached them, a clipboard in her hand. ‘You are here for Oliver Drummond?’
‘Yes. Yes we are,’ Hayley stated.
‘I’m Doctor Khan.’
‘How is he?’ Cynthia asked as she got to her feet.
‘He’s resting,’ Dr Khan answered.
‘What does that mean exactly?’ Hayley blurted out. ‘Asleep? Unconscious?’
‘Was it a heart attack?’ Cynthia added.
‘He isn’t unconscious,’ the doctor reassured. ‘And he hasn’t had a heart attack.’
Hayley couldn’t help herself. She grabbed Cynthia’s arm and squeezed. ‘He’s going to be OK. I knew it.’
‘What happened to him?’ Cynthia asked, putting her hand over Hayley’s.
Clara got to her feet. ‘It was another panic attack, wasn’t it? Hyperventilation,’ she stated. ‘Like the last time.’
Doctor Khan smiled. ‘You can see him now, but one at a time. He’s a little dehydrated.’
‘I told him about that this morning,’ Hayley said, shaking her head.
* * *
He felt like an idiot. All this fuss again for nothing more than … He didn’t even want to think the words panic attack. It still made him feel like he was a teenager, afraid to speak in public, worrying about exams or asking a girl to the prom. It wasn’t supposed to be in the make-up of a head of industry.
‘Knock, knock.’ Hayley’s head appeared around the curtain. ‘My turn now. How’s the patient?’
‘Not patient at all. I hate hospitals.’
‘Me too. Full of ill people like you.’ She sat on the side of his bed. ‘You dressed under there?’
‘If I’m not?’ he asked, a grin spreading across his face.
‘You are too sick to be making lewd suggestions.’
‘You’ve not spoken to Doctor Khan yet then?’
‘She may have mentioned the words “stress” and “panic”. You don’t have to worry, if it affects your libido we can deal with it together.’ Hayley patted his hand.
‘Is that supposed to be funny? I’m in here, perspiring and struggling to breathe. Kick a man while he’s down why don’t you?’
She slipped her fingers in between his then. ‘You know I didn’t mean it.’
‘I know you did.’ He smiled but let a sigh pass from his lips. ‘I don’t want to keep doing this. Because every time it happens I think …’
‘You’re going to die,’ Hayley finished.
‘You got it.’
‘You work too hard. And you’ve coiled things up inside for so long you’re tighter than … I don’t know … tighter than a Botoxed actress.’
‘I’m not sure how I feel about that.’
‘You need to do this test and then you need a break, whatever the outcome.’ Hayley smiled. ‘I can think of a few things to occupy your time, Clark.’ She walked her fingers up his bare chest.
‘I bet you can.’
Someone cleared their throat and Hayley yanked her hand away and turned her head to greet Cynthia.
‘Sorry,’ Hayley said, slipping off the bed.
‘Oliver, the doctor from the cardiac unit is going to come here to see you. For the tests,’ Cynthia spoke. ‘But, he said you don’t have to do this today if you’re not feeling up to it.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘No. I want to do it, Mom. Whatever happens, I can’t be in limbo anymore. Tell them I’m ready, Mom.’
59
Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan
‘Easy does it. Mind the top step. That’s it. Nice and slow,’ Hayley said as they climbed the stairs to Dean’s apartment.
‘Will you quit talking like that or I’m going home,’ Oliver snapped.
‘Calm thoughts. You don’t want to stress yourself out.’
‘Hayley, I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine. You’ve had needles in here and lines in there and lots of pills …’
‘Just another day in the life of a junkie.’
She slapped his arm.
‘Ow, that was one of the needle holes.’
‘Was it? Sorry … I’m so sorry. I’ll make you hot chocolate.’
‘Does Dean have any Scotch?’
‘You can’t have alcohol.’
‘Why not? I’ve used it to manage stress for a considerable number of years.’
Hayley pushed open the door to the living area. Angel and Dean were sat at the breakfast bar staring at them as they came in.
‘Hel-lo. You look like you were waiting for us,’ Hayley remarked.
‘We could hear you all the way from the bottom of the stairs,’ Dean said.
‘Are you all right?’ Angel asked, looking Oliver up and down. She hadn’t called him Mr Meanie and her expression was one of concern.
‘I’m fine. Your mom worries too much. She thought I was going to go back to my home and have a medical emergency.’
‘In the bath, with Scotch. I’d be freaking out about it all night. You’re much safer here where we can keep an eye on you.’
‘Did you know that a heart attack is the number one cause of death in the United States?’ Angel asked. Perhaps Hayley’s thinking that Angel was getting used to her relationship with Oliver had been premature.
‘Wow, that’s a statistic we could really do without right now,’ Hayley said quickly.
‘I did know that,’ Oliver replied. ‘But I haven’t had a heart attack so we’re all good here.’
‘There are also some studies that link the use of tablets and computers with heart attacks,’ Angel continued.
‘Dean, have you been letting her have unrestricted access to your laptop?’
‘Don’t blame me for what she knows,’ Dean said, holding his hands up.
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Oliver said, holding Angel’s gaze. ‘But I’ve heard they can fry your brain and, if you play Rabbit Nation too long, you can go blind.’
A look of horror started to cross Angel’s face.
‘Then you grow big ears and fur and two long teeth,’ Oliver finished off. He was holding his own with her. This was good.
Angel scowled. ‘That’s not funny!’
‘Gotcha!’ Hayley said, pointing at Angel.
Dean got down from his stool. ‘Shall I make some coffee?’
Oliver pulled a face at Hayley.
‘Actually, I was wondering if you had any whisky.’ She looked to Angel. ‘And no comments about alcoholism killing the people that don’t die from heart attacks.’
‘Oliver, would you like to read me a Christmas story?’ Angel asked, blinking her eyelashes and pouting.
Hayley stood at the door of Angel’s bedroom listening to Oliver read the ‘Alfie and the Toymaker’ story. Angel was grinning, shouting out Alfie’s dialogue and getting grumpy when Oliver didn’t read the words quite right. This was exactly the same as what she did with Hayley. Oliver was getting the whole, crazy, Angel Walker experience. It meant her daughter was definitely warming to him.
‘All right, I think that’s enough.’ Hayley entered the room. ‘The amount of time Oliver’s been in here it must be at least the fifth read-through.’
‘It’s the sixth actually,’ Angel responded.
‘I’d lost count,’ Oliver answered.
&nb
sp; ‘OK, well it’s time to do some sleeping,’ Hayley said, pulling the duvet up over Angel as Oliver shifted off the bed.
‘Are you coming to the fundraiser tomorrow night?’ Angel asked, dragging the quilt back down and looking at Oliver.
‘Time for sleep, missy,’ Hayley interrupted.
‘I’m not sure,’ Oliver answered.
‘The room is going to look amazing. Mum’s coordinated all the colours perfectly, the menu is going to rock and there’s even a jazz band coming. And they’re using the logo I drew.’
‘You designed a logo?’ Oliver looked impressed.
‘It’s a …’ Angel began.
‘Sshh, it’s supposed to be a surprise for tomorrow. You haven’t been telling everyone have you?’ Hayley asked.
‘Only Uncle Dean … and my dad and maybe Vernon.’ Angel grinned. ‘And Randy but he doesn’t really count.’
‘Angel!’ Hayley exclaimed.
Oliver looked to Hayley then. ‘Can you give us a second?’
‘You’re kidding right?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I leave you in here a second longer she’s going to make you read that book again.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘Why don’t you go and open some fizzy wine and some low cholesterol snacks?’ Angel suggested.
‘What are you plotting?’ Hayley asked.
‘I just want to ask Angel something about Rabbit Nation. You’d be bored in a millisecond.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ She took a step towards the door. ‘Five minutes then I’m coming back in.’
* * *
Oliver waited for the door to close behind Hayley before he sat back down on Angel’s bed, a serious expression on his face.
‘This isn’t about Rabbit Nation, is it?’ Angel said, worry etched on her brow.
‘No, Angel, this is much more serious than that.’ He let out a sigh. ‘So … you know my brother, Ben …’ he began.
‘Your mum told us he was brilliant at just about everything.’
‘Yeah,’ Oliver replied. ‘He was.’
‘And you miss him.’