“Is Dillon okay?”
“He’s a bit upset. Jackie’s on her way here so he’s gone out to meet her. She’s bringing Roz and Ellie,” she says, naming Dillon’s two girls by his second wife.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” I tell her. “Just shout, okay?”
“Okay.”
I kiss her cheek, and slip out of the room.
I stand there for a moment, hands in the pockets of my jeans. I don’t want to go back into the room with the boys, not yet. I don’t want them to see how upset I am.
I don’t know how to deal with this. I’m not great at emotion anyway, and this is right out of my comfort zone. I feel adrift, and even though I’m surrounded by my family, I feel alone.
Then Remy appears in the doorway. She takes one look at me, walks up to me, and puts her arms around my neck.
I hold her tightly.
“I love you,” she says.
I can’t reply. But she just kisses my cheek and says, “I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Remy
The next ten or twelve hours are the longest of my life.
I sit with Albie in the waiting room, curled up next to him on the sofa. Members of his family come and go through the evening and night, and the rest of them ring on a regular basis, especially Noah, who rings on the hour, so he must be setting his alarm.
Brock’s wife, Erin, comes in to pick up Robbie and Simon and take them back to her house for the night. They both want to stay, but they’re practically dropping asleep in the chair, and she promises she’ll bring them back first thing in the morning. As she tells them that, I see her glance at her husband, and I know what they’re both thinking—I hope Summer’s still here in the morning. The boys go in to say an emotional goodbye to their mom first before giving the rest of us and then their dad a huge hug before they leave. Zach then goes to Summer’s side, and he stays there for the rest of the night.
Charlie and Brock occasionally come out to give us an update. Ophelia emerges to get a drink once or twice, although otherwise she stays by her daughter’s side. Dillon comes back with Jackie and his daughters, who are both my age. Dillon goes into the room, and the girls settle themselves in for the night.
Albie rings Hal and Leon every time Charlie gives him any news, and the two guys promise to relate the news to Noah, Jules, Clio, Ryan, and everyone else at the Ark.
Everyone wants to help. But there’s nothing any of us can do now, not even Charlie and Brock. Now it’s just a matter of waiting to see whether Summer can fight off the infection enough to allow them to begin treatment.
Occasionally I doze off on the sofa, my head resting on Albie’s shoulder, but sleep is fitful, and each time I awake I look up to see him staring out of the window, out into the night sky. Just before midnight, it starts raining, and I hear a rumble of thunder way off in the distance. It seems as if Nature is coming out in sympathy for Summer, mirroring the battle waging inside her body.
Hospitals are always busy, with their beeping machines and constant movement, but the waiting room at the end of the corridor falls quiet, broken only by the murmur of voices or the sound of someone making coffee.
Around two in the morning, I doze off again. A little before, I was listening to Jackie telling Poppy about their recent visit to some of the other Pacific islands, and I dream that I’m on Fiji with Albie, sitting on the beach under a palm tree, the rain turning into the wash of the waves up the beach.
“The tide’s coming in,” Albie tells me. “Watch out.”
I open my mouth to tell him to stop worrying when a huge wave crashes over me, pulling me back down the beach. With nothing to hold on to, I roll over and over, water going in my mouth and up my nose, and I think holy shit, I’m going to die… And then a strong hand grabs mine and hauls me up onto my feet, out of the water.
“Saved you,” Albie says.
I jerk awake. It’s still dark, and my phone when I press it says 04:37. I look up at Albie. He’s leaning back against the sofa, his head on the cushions, but his eyes are open, watching me.
I lift a hand to slide into his hair, pull his head down until his lips meet mine, and we exchange a long, lingering kiss.
“Sorry,” I say when he eventually moves back, “I dozed off.”
“I know, you were snoring.”
“I was not.”
He smiles, pulls me to him, and kisses my hair. “No, you weren’t. But you did look stunningly beautiful.”
I go to reply to his lovely comment but stop as Summer’s door opens, and Brock and Charlie come out into the waiting room.
Everyone sits up and nudges those beside them who’ve dozed off. “Any news?” Poppy asks.
But Brock shakes his head. “No change. We’ve come out for a coffee.” He looks at his brother, who walks over to the machine and starts pouring himself a cup.
“Her temperature’s still the same?” Albie says.
Brock nods. His gaze, however, is still on Charlie. Then it slides to Albie. He doesn’t say anything, but even Albie, who has trouble reading people, can see he’s worried.
“Dad?” Albie asks. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.” Charlie turns and sips from his cup.
“So… she’s no worse?” Albie asks. “That’s good, right?”
Brock pushes back the sides of his white coat and slides his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “We’d hoped she might show some signs of improvement by now.”
“She will,” Charlie says.
Brock hesitates. “Charlie…”
The cardboard cup holding the coffee crackles slightly as Charlie’s hand tightens on it.
Then he pulls back his arm and throws the cup and its contents, and it meets the wall opposite with a smack. Liquid splashes across the wall and floor.
We all jump and gasp, and Poppy exclaims, “Dad!” Albie sits up, then rises slowly to his feet.
Charlie turns back to his brother, and it’s only then I realize he’s not wearing his glasses, because his eyes are blazing. “She is not going to die tonight,” he yells.
Brock has gone still, but he doesn’t back down. “Charlie, you know as well as I do, we’d hoped she’d improve by now. It’s not your fault—you’ve done everything a man could, and more. And it’s not Summer’s fault; she hasn’t given in. She’s just very sick, and we have to face the fact that the infection’s beating her.”
Tears slide down my face. Jackie, Roz, and Ellie are crying too. Poppy’s pale but silent. Albie’s just watching his father.
Charlie walks forward until he stands inches from Brock. “She’s not going to die tonight,” he repeats quietly. “I won’t permit it.”
A look of frustration crosses Brock’s face, but Charlie doesn’t wait for a reply. He walks away, back into Summer’s room, shutting the door gently behind him.
“I’ll clear up,” I say softly, wiping away my tears and rising to grab some paper towels from above the sink. Roz joins me, and together we mop the wall and do our best to soak up the liquid from the carpet.
“I’ve never seen him like that,” Poppy whispers.
Brock runs a hand through his hair. “He’s taking it personally.”
“Is there any other way?” Albie asks.
“I guess not,” Brock says. “But as doctors, we’re trained to keep a little piece of ourselves removed, and he can’t do that with Summer. If the worst happens… he’s going to take it very hard.”
“Yeah,” Albie says. “He will. And we’ll be here for him.”
His words surprise me and reveal something to me about Albie I hadn’t considered before. Although he finds some emotions puzzling, he’s not scared of them. He’s not afraid of people showing what they feel. I’ve heard stories of people who cross the road when they see someone who’s been recently bereaved because they don’t want to talk to them; instinctively, I know that would never happen with Albie. He’s like St. George, facing up to the dragon; he’ll stand strong and meet a s
ituation head-on, and, like his father, he’ll never back down.
“He has to know he’s done everything he can,” Albie says. “Only then will he be able to let her go.”
Brock nods slowly and goes to say something else, but there’s movement behind him, and he turns as a nurse comes out of the room and runs off down the corridor.
“Wait here,” he says and goes into the room.
I throw the paper towels in the bin and go back to Albie, who slides his arm around my waist. We watch the nurse return with a tray containing a variety of syringes. My heart races as we wait. I can hear voices from the room, someone—Charlie I think—speaking firmly.
It’s not long before Brock comes out again. He takes a deep breath. “We’re going to try something else. There’s a new drug Charlie’s been keeping an eye on that’s shown some success with respiratory infections. It’s still going through trials, but Charlie wants to try it on Summer, and Zach and her parents have given their permission.”
“Does the new drug have side effects?” Albie asks.
“Yes,” Brock says. “And normally we wouldn’t try it on a patient as ill as Summer, but…” he tips his head from side to side, and I know what he’s saying—they need to do something, and it’s worth a try.
“How long before we know if it’s working?” Albie asks.
“An hour or two,” Brock says. “Keep your fingers crossed.” He goes back into the room.
The rest of us exchange worried glances and then return to our seats. Albie blows out a breath, and I curl up beside him again.
“I wish there was something I could do,” I whisper.
“You are doing something,” Albie says. “You’re here with me.”
I don’t reply, but his words warm me through.
Time passes, the hands on the clock on the wall inching around. Every time I hear movement outside Summer’s room, my heart begins to race and my palms sweat as I anticipate the worst.
But, as it always does, the world continues to turn. The rain stops and the stars come out, and then very, very gradually, even though it’s an hour or so before sunrise, the sky begins to lighten.
And then finally, around six-thirty, the door opens, and Brock comes out. We all stand, able to tell from his face that he has news.
“Her fever has dropped,” he announces. “Her blood pressure’s down too and her pulse has slowed a fraction. It’s a great start.”
I feel a rush of relief. Albie pulls me into his arms, which are so tight around me they’re almost cutting off my blood flow, but I don’t care.
“What now?” Albie asks, his voice husky.
“We’ll continue to monitor her for a few hours,” Brock says, “and see if we can get her temperature down a little more. As soon as we feel it’s under control, we’ll prep her for surgery. Obviously, we’ve a long way to go, and she’s still very ill. But for now, I think she’s out of immediate danger.” He smiles as we all exclaim our relief. “It’s going to be another long day,” he says. “I suggest you all go home and get a few hours’ sleep. I promise to keep in touch if anything happens.”
*
Jackie takes her girls home, and on Brock’s instructions, Poppy, Albie, and I catch a taxi and go to his house on the seafront. Erin’s up when we get there, so Brock’s obviously contacted her, and she’s prepared us a couple of rooms.
“How are the boys?” Albie asks her.
“They crashed out pretty quickly,” she says. “It’ll be nice to give them some good news when they wake. Now, off to bed you three. Brock’s going to ring me if anything changes, and I promise I’ll come and wake you.”
Albie kisses his aunt on the cheek, then takes my hand and leads me off to one of the spare bedrooms.
It’s a beautiful house, with five bedrooms and a gorgeous view overlooking the Pacific. “They moved here when they first got married and had Hal,” Albie tells me as we get ready for bed. “Ryan was only four or five, I think.”
“It’s gorgeous. I love it. And what a great location.” I look out of the window. The lawn runs down to the beach, which has turned gold in the rays of the early sun. The sea sparkles, and everything looks crisp and clean and new. “It’s a lovely place to bring up kids.”
Albie comes over to me and turns me in his arms to face him. I’m wearing one of my satin one-pieces because I know they’re his favorite. He likes running his hands over my body and feeling my curves beneath the silky material.
But now he cups my face and looks into my eyes. “I’m not letting you go,” he says. “You know that, right?”
My lips part, and I blink up at him. “Al-bear…” I say softly.
He pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly, and I bury my face in his shoulder. “I love you,” I whisper. “You know that, right?”
“Oui, ma chérie,” he whispers back. “Je t’aime aussi.”
I move back a little and look up at his face. “You said it in French!”
“I have a sneaky admission,” he tells me. “I’ve been learning it in secret.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
“Sérieusement. I need to work on the accent. But I wanted to learn how to say something to you before you left…”
I’m so touched I can barely speak. I look up into his eyes. “What… did you want to say?”
He hesitates. “I was going to wait for a more suitable moment.”
“Tell me, now, Albie.”
He takes a deep breath. He speaks slowly, stumbling occasionally over the words, but his accent is nearly perfect.
Remy, he says. He says it the French way, pronouncing the ‘r’ properly, and I just melt inside. I want to beg you to stay, but I know you have to go and see your mother, and I don’t want to put pressure on you and have things end badly between us. But you should know that I love you. You struck a flame inside me that will never go out, even though you may cross the oceans to the other side of the world. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to have children with you. I can’t think of anything more wonderful than making love with you and knowing we could be making a baby.
My eyes sting, and I try to blink away the tears. “Oh, Albie.”
His eyebrows rise. “Is my French that bad?”
I bury my face back in his shoulder. Oh God, this is so incredibly hard.
He slides a hand down my body, over my tummy, with a kind of awe, continuing in English. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but it would be an incredible miracle, wouldn’t it? To make a new person from a piece of me and a piece of you.”
“Oui. Bien sûr.” Of course it would.
“Je t’aime, Remy,” he says. “Je t’aime, et je t’aimerai toujours.” I will love you forever. “I don’t know how it’s going to work yet, but right here, right now, you need to know this isn’t it. It’s not the end. I nearly lost my sister tonight. I’m not going to lose you too.”
He speaks fiercely, and I can see his father’s steely determination in his eyes.
“Ooh,” I say, acting sassy, but fighting back tears. “Are you putting your foot down?”
His lips curve up. “Maybe.”
“Okay,” I whisper, and I raise onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Albie
Five Days Later
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I’ve just walked into Noah’s living room, and the first thing I see is Hal, dressed as Napoleon Bonaparte.
He looks me up and down, takes in my Napoleon costume, and purses his lips. “I suppose that was likely to happen.”
Remy bursts into laughter at the look on my face, and she reaches up and presses her lips to my cheek. “Don’t worry about it,” she tells me. “There’s no law that says there can only be one Napoleon!”
“I guess not,” I mumble, but throw Hal a glare. He just chuckles. “Want a drink?”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes at Remy, then smile, take her hand, and lead her into the room.
&
nbsp; It’s Friday night, and Noah is hosting a French fancy-dress dinner in honor of Remy’s last weekend in New Zealand.
He asked Remy and me whether we wanted to go ahead with it, bearing in mind that Summer is still in hospital. But Summer told us that if we didn’t go ahead, she’d have something to say about it, and nobody wants to take on my sister when she’s in that kind of mood.
After she was given the new treatment, her temperature continued to drop, and eventually she was stable enough to have the operation to remove the diseased portion of her lung. She came through it well, well enough that just two days after, Dad and Brock decided to go ahead with the gene therapy. It’s very early days, but so far the results are promising, and she seems to be out of the woods.
So this is a sort of celebration, too, because there was a time when I thought I was going to lose Summer, and it’s a huge relief to know her number isn’t up just yet.
So here we are, in Noah’s house. Usually we’d be surrounded by dogs, but for once they’ve all been left at home, and Noah’s two are in the conservatory with their beds and a bone.
It’s great to see everyone’s made an effort with their costumes. Remy has come as Jeanne d’Arc, with a long-sleeved T-shirt and trousers that bear the printed pattern of chain mail, and a sword she found in the local two-dollar shop. I can see that Izzy is playing Josephine to Hal’s Napoleon. Leon is clearly one of the Louis Kings, probably the sixteenth, because Nix is wearing a wig that suggests she’s Marie Antoinette. Jules looks very chic with a suit, pearls, and a hat, so I think she might be Coco Chanel. Clio is wearing a sixties-style dress and has ruffled up her hair—she can only be Brigitte Bardot.
Poppy looks a little bizarre in a black bodysuit with a glow-in-the-dark skeleton on the front, presumably a hangover from a Halloween costume.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask her.
“I’m Marie Curie,” she says as if it was a stupid question.
“Right.” I laugh and give her a hug.
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, while we have a glass of wine and chat, everyone arrives, and soon the living room is filled with people. Fitz has somehow managed to dye his black curls white for the evening, and with an eighteenth-century jacket and a ruffle at his neck, it appears he’s Maximilien Robespierre. Ryan’s wearing a soccer kit and carrying a soccer ball, and he announces he’s Zinedine Zidane. Stefan has a bowler hat and a black mustache.
My Roommate, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 3) Page 21