She was right and Edward knew it. If he was honest with himself, they all needed some support and tools to work through this trauma.
Sometimes when he lay in bed at night, he could smell the smoke, hear the sounds of Amber’s laughter, his throat felt closed over and he had to call the nurse who told him he was having a panic attack and who sat with him and helped him breathe through it until he had stopped feeling sick.
Eve had arranged a place for him to stay while they worked out the next steps, a serviced apartment with a lift and a swimming pool, which the physiotherapist said would be good for his recovery.
Every time he mentioned work, Eve hushed him but he worried. He had made a deal with Henshaw and Carlson that relied on the sale of Cranberry Cross. Now it was a smoking pile of history and even with insurance it would be a stretch to make it work. He could have got a higher price from a cashed-up billionaire than what the building was insured for but he had to make it work somehow.
‘Hey you.’ He heard Eve come into his room.
‘I have a friend with me,’ she said as Tom came out from behind her.
‘Ed, what a mess,’ he said and he hugged his friend tightly.
‘It’s all going to be okay,’ Tom said and he sat down next to Edward and pulled the small table towards him with Edward’s untouched lunch still on top.
‘Let me take this,’ said Eve. ‘And I’m going to get a coffee, so you two can work out the business stuff I know Ed’s been worrying about.’
She swept in and took the tray, kissed Edward’s head and then left the room.
‘She’s a keeper that one,’ said Tom.
‘I know, God how I know,’ said Edward.
Having Tom in the room was comforting. There was something about the reliability of work, and the deadlines and commitments that made him feel secure.
Perhaps he had worked too hard in the past but right now, he needed to know his position so he could move forward.
‘How are you recovering? Physically? I won’t ask about the mental load because I’m sure that’s a mess you haven’t dealt with yet.’
Edward sighed. ‘Okay, it’s slow, lungs are a bit battered but I’m told they will recover, probably not to full capacity but not terrible. I probably won’t be running the London Marathon anytime soon.’
‘You’ve never run a marathon, have you?’ Tom looked confused.
‘Not physically but finishing a one-hundred-thousand-word novel feels like one,’ he said.
‘Fair enough.’ Tom pulled a small notebook from his pocket.
‘Shall I go through where you are and what I think are the options?’
Edward nodded. He was prepared for the worst outcome. He could become broke – he had seen plenty of authors lose their fortune through bad investments or poor deals.
But whatever Tom told him, he knew it would be smart and in Edward’s best interests.
‘I don’t know how I can pay for my books now, since the house is gone. It’s insured but not for what I think I could get in the market if it was still in one piece.’
‘You didn’t sign the papers,’ said Tom with a little smile.
‘What?’ Edward tried to remember what happened in the meeting but everything felt like a blur and he only remembered talking to Zara about Eve in the lift.
‘You left and I said I would sort the paperwork out. I was planning to email it to you on the following Monday and then this all happened.’ He gestured to the hospital room.
Edward tried to understand. ‘So that means they still own my books?’
‘They do, which is fine, since Serena is gone. I mean let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater.’
‘This goes against what I was hoping for,’ he said. ‘To start again, to make a point.’
Tom gave a small but not unkind laugh. ‘I think you made your point, my friend, you nearly died. This will send your book sales through the roof. They’re not going to let you go in a hurry.’
