I ring my dad’s mobile number and he answers distractedly. I can hear the news on in the background. “Hi,” he says. “What can I do you for?”
“Dad—I need your help.” I stumble straight in with what Grant’s just told me, and my dad listens silently. I tell him there’s a part of me that loves Davey and it’s the first time I’ve ever said it. The first time I’ve ever admitted it to anyone, even myself. But I do. Even if we will never be together ever again, I love Davey. This man I’ve never met. This man who took a piece of my heart with him when he announced he was going to spare me and go it alone.
“I need to know what to do,” I say. “I need to know what to tell him. Statistics and…stuff.”
“Hannah,” he says and I hear that loving warning tone in his voice and I know I’m not going to like the answer. “For one, I am not an oncologist,” he says. “I am a GP.”
“I know, I know,” I say hastily. I stand up, begin walking back to my flat, all thoughts of George in the distance gone from my mind.
“Secondly,” he says, “Hannah, this isn’t your job. To save a man on the other side of the world.”
“It is, Dad,” I say determinedly. “It really bloody is. It’s just a phone call. Is his friend correct? If Davey doesn’t have this last chemo, will he die?”
My dad is quiet. And then he sighs. “Probably. Eventually, yes. Chemotherapy regimens are carefully dosed, carefully timed apart, for a reason and—”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say quickly. That’s all I need to hear. “I love you.”
“Hannah,” he says and I tell him I have to go. I need to work out what I’m going to say to Davey.
I hold my phone in my hand as I unlock my flat door. My hand fumbles at the lock and I drop my key, pick it up, try again, close the door behind me.
I sit down on my sofa, still staring at the phone. I don’t know what to do, what to say. I’m scared stiff—too scared even to dial Davey’s number. But I know I need to. I never thought the next time I spoke to him it would be like this.
I scroll down in my contacts list, find his number, hit the green button to phone him. The butterflies rise and fall in my stomach.Please answer, please answer.
But he doesn’t. It goes to voicemail and I hear Davey’s voice instructing me to leave a message. Simply hearing his voice, after all this time, hurts more than I thought it would, even if it’s generic and instructional.
I look at my phone. That can’t be it. That just can’t be it.
I really am swallowing down all pride now. I take a deep breath, hit the call button, ring again. And then, this time, he answers.
Chapter 23
“Hannah?” he asksuncertainly and I feel all the breath leave my body. Sheer relief that he’s picked up mixes with concern that he’s going to hang up on me any second, out of some kind of protest.
“Davey,” I say, and it’s been so long I don’t know how to act, how to behave with him. I’m at serious risk of crying. “Please don’t hang up on me,” I say more forcefully than I feel.
“I’m not going to,” he says quietly.
“You didn’t pick up the first time,” I say.
“I thought you were calling by accident. I didn’t want to pick up and end up embarrassing us both.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I say.
“I know. You called back.”
“I wanted…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I can’t lie.I wanted to see how you areis bullshit and I can’t bring myself to say it. “I miss you,” I say instead. “I really miss you.”
He’s quiet and I’ve blown it already. Not even a minute in.
“I miss you too,” he says. Relief hits me like a wave.
“Davey,” I say and he says my name in return. “I’ve tried to let go. It’s too hard.”
I hear him sigh and then eventually say, “Me too.” I’m smiling and he speaks again. “I keep looking you up online, but no one posts anything about you. You don’t post.”
“Neither do you,” I say.
