Cecilia stepped forward and hugged Logan then pulled back, her face etched with worry. 'He's stable for now.'
Reg kissed Cally and then clasped Logan's shoulder. 'He's fighting, hopefully.’
Logan nodded, his jaw clenched tight. 'And Octavia? How is she?'
'She's okay,' Cecilia said. 'They're keeping her in for observation because of the concussion, but she should be able to go home soon.'
'Can we see him?' Logan asked.
Cecilia shook her head. 'Only immediate family are allowed in ICU and not even us at the moment.'
Logan's shoulders slumped. Cally wrapped an arm around his waist. They sat down, Logan asked a tonne of questions, Cecilia cried, Cally forced herself to be strong, Anne shredded a tissue in her lap, and Reg looked as if he didn’t know what to do or say for the best. Logan leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Cally stared at a set of two drinks machines wedged precariously in the corner. 'Does anyone want a cup of tea?'
Cecilia nodded to the machines and screwed up her lips. ‘We had some coffee earlier. It was rank. Absolutely disgusting.’
Cally shifted to the front of her seat. ‘How about I go off and find us all a nice cup of tea? There must be a little shop somewhere.’
Reg exhaled and nodded. ‘I’d love one.’
Cally stood up. ‘Right, I’ll be back with tea.’
Cally was more than pleased to get out of the waiting room. As she went through the hospital in search of a decent cup of tea, she felt as if she’d rather be anywhere else than in the horrible room with the sickly smell, humming drinks machines, and overly bright lights. After following a coloured line on the floor in and out of corridors for ages, eventually, it led her to a line of lifts. She studied the floor directory for a second, pressed the button to go down with her elbow, stepped in and a few minutes later found herself in the hospital café. Realising that she was starving and that everyone else probably was too she bought a few rounds of sandwiches, five cups of tea, grabbed a cardboard cup holder, shoved the sandwiches in her bag and made her way back up to the waiting room.
The tea and sandwiches, despite the severity of the situation and the tense atmosphere, went down well. Eventually after they were long gone and what felt like hours, a doctor in scrubs appeared at the waiting room door. 'Family of Alastair Henry-Hicks?' he called out.
Everyone in the room sat up straighter. Cecilia and Reg stepped forward. Cecilia flicked her hand between herself and her husband. 'We're his parents,' Cecilia said, her voice tight with anxiety. 'How is he?'
The doctor's face was serious. He beckoned Cecilia and Reg out into the corridor. Cally watched through the slim pane of glass in the door and saw all sorts of emotions cross Cecilia’s face. In a flash she remembered being the one standing in frontof a doctor listening to stuff she had no clue about. Standing there holding up the sky.
About ten minutes later Cecilia and Reg came back in as Logan paced around.
‘He’s still critical, but he's showing some positive signs.’
'What happens now?' Anne asked.
'We wait.’
Tears streamed down Cecilia’s face and she let out a strange animal-like sob. Logan jumped up and hugged her. Cally bit her lip. She still had the bad feeling. She couldn’t shake that there was more to come. She wasn’t wrong.
25
It was the next day. The night before, Cally, Logan, and Logan’s mum Anne had, in the end, left the hospital and made their way to the Henry-Hicks London house in Chelsea. Cally woke up and, for a second, couldn’t get her bearings. She turned to her left to see the bed empty. Laying back on the pillows, she looked around the room for a minute and thought about the day before. It had been stressful, tiring, horrible, and tense in every way. On top of that, there had been the repugnant smell, the awful bright lights, and the feeling of being in limbo, desperately waiting for news. Plus, she’d hated the driving and the traffic. Nothing about the day had been nice. It had most definitely not been a perfect day.
In direct contrast to that, now, however, Cally found herself so very far from the hospital waiting room, it was comical. She blinked as she looked around at the elegant, opulent, and beautifully decorated bedroom surrounding her. It was so luxurious that it made her feel as if she was having an out-of-body experience. Walls with stately golden-yellow wallpaper looked back at her, a heavy peach throw blanket draped the foot of the bed and to the left, in a window alcove, a plush loveseat upholstered in rich velvet, and a comfortable armchairsat nudged up to the curtains. Little decorative cushions were perched here and there, and between the loveseat and the armchair, a small round table with a vase of flowers looked as if someone had polished it for a long time. Cally wasn’t sure whether she wanted to get up or not. For a good few minutes, she just stared at the windows dressed in their swathes of luxurious, heavy cream-coloured curtains, and their elaborate draping and tassel details. On the far right, against the wall, a stylish cabinet with a glass front held two matching lamps with cream-coloured shades and a grandmother clock ticked in the corner.
Cally shook her head; she was a long,longway from the dreary rental house she’d lived in the last time she’d been anywhere near a hospital. In the guest room in Chelsea, the overall feeling swallowing her was like everything else to do with the Henry-Hicks lot: decadent yet understated luxury, and timeless elegance to the max.
Not sure whether to go downstairs or leave Logan alone and not really totally aware of where she was, she slipped out of bed, pushed the door open to the en-suite, and stood at the double sinks staring at her reflection. When she’d hastily shoved a few things in a bag in the cottage, she’d not bothered with anything from the bathroom – she needn’t have worried. The en-suite was stacked with all sorts of fancy high-end lotions and potions; Asprey soap and matching cream stood by both sinks, a white robe with its belt tied up neatly hung in a little cabinet, and a massive stack of white towels and flannels was perfectly folded underneath the sinks. Cally sat on the loo and peered at the rolltop bathtub, picked up a bottle of Kiehl’s soap, examined its ingredients and put it back down again.
She’d mused it many, many,manytimes since she’d met Logan, but the same thought again filtered through her brain: how the other half lived. The “London” house as the Henry-Hicks clan always referred to it, served as a base for whenany of them were in London. Like Doreen at Lovely Manor and the housekeeper in Scotland, the London house had staff which explained how when they’d rocked up the night before exhausted, they’d found food in the fridge and fallen into freshly laundered beds.
On the side of the sink, Cally realised that clean clothes were neatly stacked and ready for her: a navy blue luxury top and matching casual bottoms together with clean undies and a plain white pressed t-shirt. She vaguely remembered Logan saying something to her about it the night before when she’d undressed. He’d whisked her underwear, tights, and shirt away saying he’d take everything downstairs to be sorted. Half asleep by that stage, she’d not really taken much notice. She shook her head and pondered what it was like to live in the lap of luxury. A glimpse into the life of the elite. When the going got tough, other people washed your underwear.
After showering and luxuriating in how even the showerhead and water felt like a whole other world from her tiny flat above the deli, Cally pulled on the clothes and admired how the fabric felt on her skin, not really understanding how a simple top could be so soft. Had a little fairy spun the top in silk? How was it screaming luxury at her? How did it make her feel as if she might float? She had no idea but wanted in on it somehow in her life. Logan was more and more a keeper every single day.
Once she got down a few sets of stairs and navigated her way through a large hall to a kitchen, she definitely wasn’t floating. The look on Logan’s face put paid to that. He was sitting at a large, long, ornate marble kitchen island looking at his phone. He looked worse than dreadful. He sighed and closed his eyes as Cally walked in. ‘Morning.’
‘Morning. Any news?’
