“No, no. Yes, I mean, he’s fine. Well, he’s notfine, of course, he’s in the hospital. His right leg is broken in two places—the femur and the tibia—and he managed to fracture his wrist in the fall, a Colles fracture and, from what they tell me, not serious. When they got to him, he was unconscious. Thank heavens he always wears that helmet, otherwise I don’t want to think what might have happened. He’s awake now, though, and seems alert. I spoke to him over the phone an hour ago. It all happened early this morning.”
“Was Dad with him?”
“No, he was alone. Thankfully, a police car was coming from the other direction and saw the accident happen. Called an ambulance and everything. They said he was lucky to get off so lightly.”
“I’ll come back this weekend.”
Bev, who was clearly trying to pick up the gist of the conversation, nodded her agreement. Spencer knew Marshall would understand.
“No, don’t come home, Spencer. I’m only calling to let you know. There’s little point coming back. He’s at Bournemouth General but nobody’s allowed to go and see him at the moment, because of health restrictions. They’ll be keeping him in for at least three days. Your father and Peony are in touch with the hospital and getting updates from the doctors. But the wardis closed to visitors, to guard against anyone infecting patients with the virus.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Not really, love. Sorry, I didn’t want to worry you, but I thought you ought to hear the news from me. No doubt when you’re back in a couple of weeks, he’ll still be on crutches.”
“Soaking up the sympathy. Playing it for all it’s worth. Can’t wait to see that.”
“I know,” said his mother, chuckling half-heartedly. “He’s going to be a handful. Hopefully, he’ll rethink the bike once he’s better, especially after Peony gives him a piece of her mind. Anyway, son. How are you? Are things going well? Garrett says you’re bringing someone home for Christmas. Did he get that right?”
Spencer considered telling her his news—all of it—but decided she had enough to worry about with her eldest son laid up in hospital.
“Everything’s fine, Mum. And yes, I’m hoping to bring someone back. But I’ll let you know more later. Send everyone my best and tell my brother he’s a jerk. Love you.”
After ringing off, they headed back to the office, while Spencer gave Bev the full download about his brother. They stopped outside the main doors to the office block, Spencer still lugging his box. He felt strange, standing outside a place that had been his second home for the past two years, somewhere he was no longer welcome.
“Better get back to work,” said Bev. “And you’d better go home and put your feet up. Have you got anything to keep you busy?”
“Not really. Although maybe I should start my search for a new flat.”
“There you go. Give yourself a project. You’ve got all the time in the world now.”
“Feels weird, having no real work. Don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”
“Enjoy it while you can, Squirrel. You’ll soon be rushed off your feet at theHerald.”
Uncharacteristically, she stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug.
“I’m going to miss having you around,” she said, squeezing hard before letting him go. “It’s not going to be the same. Promise me we’ll stay in touch?”
“Promise.”
* * * *
Spencer woke at the usual hour on Friday morning, and only after he had showered, picked out his daily outfit, slipped on his shoes and jacket, and had already hurried down the stairs to brave the cold morning, did he realise he had no office to go to. Outside on the street, with the front door closed behind him, he giggled at his stupidity, into the sunny but frosty morning air and checked his watch—eight o’clock.
Fortunately, a couple of pings on his phone alerted him to messages that had arrived overnight, so he decided to head to the coffee shop along the arcade. After getting a morning takeaway fix—the largest coffee they made in a cardboard cup together with a cream cheese bagel—he strolled to the local park, putting in his earbuds and playing Marshall’s message.
“Hello, sexy,” came Marshall’s hushed, but warmly familiar voice. “Just thinking about you. You’re probably still asleep, so I won’t call and wake you. I’ve had to sneak away to record this, because the ceremony is about to start. Probably means I’m going to be tied up until after the dinner. I hope you’re listening to this privately, and not where anyone else can hear, because I had this amazing sex dream about you last night. Baby, you were on fire, taking charge and riding me cowboy style, wearing onlyyour pink-and-black polka dot bow tie. Hot doesn’t even begin to describe it. Fuck, Spence, when I woke up I’d messed my pyjama bottoms, if you know what I mean? I kid you not. Don’t think I’ve had a nocturnal emission like that since the age of fifteen. Look what you do to me? We’re definitely going to have to act that particular fantasy out, baby. Ooh, and by the way, I managed to book the red-eye out of here tonight at midnight. There’ll be a short layover in Amsterdam, so I won’t land in London until midnight local time. I’ll text you first to see if you’re still awake. If not, I’ll bring over breakfast at seven. Hope that sounds okay. Take care, Spencer. I hope you realise how much I love you. See you Saturday.”
Between finishing the bagel and checking other messages—one containing a photo of his toothy smiling brother with his arm in a sling and his leg in plaster, probably taken by a nurse—Spencer played the recording back repeatedly. Each time, his heart tugged at hearing how Marshall felt about him—the same way he felt about Marshall.
Coffee in hand, he sauntered along the pavement, taking the detour into the public gardens and plonking himself down on an empty bench. Despite the chill and residual frost, the air felt wonderfully clean. Commuters on their way to work hurried by, their heads down. Relaxed and feeling an extraordinary lightness, he stretched out his legs and tilted his face to the sun. Warmth bathed his skin, and a smile bloomed on his face. Of all the things that had happened to him in the past month, having Marshall in his life had been the best.
Deciding to keep moving, he got to his feet and began strolling across the park, enjoying letting people hurry past. Interrupting his thoughts, the phone in his hand started ringing and, for a second, he wondered if Marshall might be calling from abroad, even though the caller ID came up as unknown.
“Spencer Wyrrell,” he answered.
“Spencer. Thank fuck you’re answering. Where are you?” Darcy’s usually confident voice sounded on edge.
