I hadn’t asked her where Daniel was, why he wasn’t here. I had a fairly good idea every time I remembered the look of revulsion on his face.
I tried to start thinking up a plan, but my thoughts were a jumbled mess, and before I could process more than a few disjointed phrases about ‘sort business,’ ‘new place to live,’ ‘pack,’ ‘car,’ I had forgotten what I was trying to think about.
Later that afternoon a nurse came to give me a thorough inspection, and straight after they’d brought me a plate of flavourless mush and a tub of ice cream, my phone – thoughtfully left on the scruffy bedside table – rang.
I snatched it up, my anxious, hopeful heart plummeting back into disappointment when I saw it was my parents. Not that I was sorry to hear from them – their brusque, matter-of-fact manner was as comforting as a cosy blanket and a mug of cocoa.
‘Your friend said you’ve been in an accident, but you’re okay.’
‘Yes,’ I whispered, my throat contracting with unshed tears.
‘Nothing broken, no permanent damage, just plenty of rest and as much time as it takes.’
‘I think so.’
‘Sounds like you’d better come home. We’ve made up Goosander, and don’t worry about getting here, we’ll book a taxi.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Grandma’s paying, you can thank her. Try to get some sleep.’
She hung up before I could say goodbye.
* * *
I slept about as well as is to be expected when in a strange bed, an elderly woman wheezing on one side of me, another groaning and muttering all night on the other, the weight of my guilt and shame pressing down on my skull, the pain of my heartache sharper than my injuries. By the time the doctor did his rounds the following morning, I was ready to lie through my teeth while performing a tap-dance if it meant I could be discharged.
Alice had popped in for a few minutes the evening before. Ziva had stayed a while longer, chattering about nothing, answering my questions about the rest of Damson Day with brief, bland answers before directing the conversation back to something else. In the end, I couldn’t help asking her where Daniel was.
She stilled, face a careful blank, hands clasped in front of her in a pose I imagined she had adopted when delivering bad news to thousands of patients over the years. ‘He’s taking care of Hope. She’s spent a lot of time being passed between babysitters in the past couple of days, and after everything it’s only natural he’d want to keep her close.’
‘He’s not called. Or messaged.’ I tried not to choke on the words. ‘He hates me.’
‘Of course he doesn’t! It’s been a hectic day. Can you imagine how busy he is trying to get the farm straight?’
‘I can’t imagine being so busy he can’t take ten seconds to send a text.’To the womanhe had said ‘I love you’ to only a day earlier.
My heart was so heavy it pulled my gaze down to the sheet, unable to look Ziva in the eye.
‘He’s probably giving you time to rest…’
‘Right.’
Ziva was quiet for a moment.
‘I’m so very sorry.’
I shook my head, feebly. ‘I was going to tell him.’
‘You’ll get a chance to explain. For now, you need to concentrate on resting up and getting better. Daniel will be ready to talk in time.’
It was late afternoon by the time I left, clutching a bag of prescriptions as I hobbled to Becky’s car on my injured leg, which was refusing to bend more than about two millimetres. She’d brought me a clean pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, but there was still blood encrusted in my hair, and I both looked, smelled and felt like I’d been sleeping under a bush. We’d agreed that she would take me back to the farm to help me pack what I could fit in the boot of a car – fortunately I’d not added much to the items I’d brought from London. A taxi would then collect me. I’d sort out what to do with the hunk-of-junk car later on.
Arriving at Damson Farm in about the same state as the first time, I saw Luke’s van and another couple of cars parked near the orchard entrance, and as Becky helped me limp inside, the sound of voices drifted over the gate.
‘Does he know?’ I asked, my voice close to a whisper.
‘I told him you were on your way,’ Becky said.
