A Walk in the Park (30 page)

Lara was busy in the shop on Wednesday afternoon when Flynn called her.

“What's happening with Gigi?” he said without preamble. “I let her have the morning off for Christmas shopping and she was meant to be back here at work by one o'clock. But there's no sign of her, she hasn't called me, and she's not answering her phone.”

“I don't know. Did she drive to Bristol? Maybe she's caught up in traffic.”

“Well, it's not bloody good enough. We're rushed off our feet here and she hasn't even bothered to get in touch.” He sounded exasperated. “I've got an appointment in Cheltenham with a buyer and I can't even leave the shop.”

“Look, she wouldn't do it on purpose,” said Lara. “If Gigi's late there'll be a good reason for it. There's probably been an accident on the M4 and she's stuck in a mile-long jam with no signal on her phone. Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it now. I'm busy too. She'll be with you as soon as she can.”

“Great.” Flynn heaved a sigh of annoyance and hung up.

“Happy Christmas to you too,” said Lara.

By five thirty, though, she'd tried calling Gigi several times and still not been able to get through. Anxiety began to gnaw at Lara's stomach; this was no longer normal. Closing up the shop and abandoning her planned trip to the supermarket, she headed straight home instead.

The moment she opened the front door, Lara knew something was wrong. Gigi's handbag was still hanging over the chair where she'd left it last night.

“Gigi? Where are you?” Lara's heart clattered with fear as she hurriedly checked the kitchen and living room, flinging doors wide and finding the rooms empty. Then she was racing up the staircase, dry-mouthed with fear, almost too afraid to enter the bedroom…

There was a sound like a kitten mewing as she pushed open the door. And there was Gigi lying in bed, her hair drenched in sweat, her face waxen and contorted with pain.

“Oh, Mum,” she croaked, terror in her eyes. “Help me, I think I'm going to die.”

***

Lara was standing in a corner of the waiting room when Flynn burst into the ER.

“Where is she? What's happening?”

“The doctors are examining her now, then she's going down to surgery. I wanted to stay with her but they made me wait out here.” Lara's teeth were chattering with shock. “Her appendix burst. She has peritonitis. Another couple of hours, they said, and it might have been too late.”

“God, she was just there at home on her own… it doesn't bear thinking about. And to happen so fast…”

“She went to bed early last night with a bit of a stomachache, but we both thought it was just period pains. I didn't disturb her this morning because she hates being woken early when she doesn't have to get up for work.” Lara couldn't look at him; she'd been racked with guilt since getting home and discovering Gigi in such a state. “She was in a lot of pain after I left the house, so she tried to sleep it off. Then it got unbearable—the doctor said that would be when the appendix burst—and she realized she couldn't get out of bed.”

“Where was her phone?”

“On charge, downstairs.” Lara felt responsible for that too; fed up with the mobile beep-beeping at night to signal each incoming text, she had told Gigi not to keep it in her bedroom.

“So she was lying there for hours, unable to move.” Flynn's eyes were boring into her, she could feel them. “She could hear me ringing her but couldn't reach the phone.”

“Yes, all right, we know that now.” Was there anything in the world more horrendous than discovering your child was seriously ill and it was all your fault? The mental image of Gigi, burning up and rigid with pain, would stay with her forever.

“Look I was just—”

“Don't keep on about it, OK?” Lara turned away; he couldn't begin to understand how she felt. She was Gigi's mother and the reason they were here now. Flinching as Flynn put a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off. If he was kind to her, the guilt would become too much to bear and she might break down.

“Hello, are you Gigi's parents?” Another doctor approached them, calm and authoritative behind doctorly wire-rimmed spectacles. “Let me explain what's happening. Gigi's condition is deteriorating, so we're taking her straight into surgery. You can see her for a few moments before she goes down. Just to warn you, her pulse is thready so she's receiving oxygen and we've put up a drip. I'm afraid she's very unwell but we'll be doing the best we can…”

***

The nightclub was dark, it was noisy, and it was crowded. It wasn't Harry's natural milieu at all, but he was here and he was going to tolerate it. Well, for the next hour at least.

This was all part of his New Life. He had to put himself into situations he would previously have found uncomfortable. When you were gay, it became necessary to meet other gay men, and since there didn't appear to be any local clubs for gay birdwatchers or gay poetry enthusiasts—none that he'd been able to track down, anyway—venturing into a place like this was the only remaining option.

Even if the drinks were ludicrously expensive and the music was already giving him a headache.

God, this felt weird though. Embarrassing. Sitting alone on a bar stool in a club in Carlisle, aware of being given practiced once-overs by other men but having to pretend you hadn't noticed.

Then the music changed and Harry straightened up. Finally, something he recognized. His gaze shifted to the supersized TV screen behind the bar where the videos accompanying the music were shown. And there he was, Enjay, wearing a white suit and matching fedora, holding center stage while half a dozen practically naked girls swayed and gyrated around him.

Harry's heart beat faster as he watched the video. “What The Girls Want” was Enjay's new single, just out this week. On the screen he was dancing, simultaneously trailing languid fingers over the girls' bodies and flirting with the camera.

“What the girls want is me me me… want me to choose ya, gotta shake ya booty…”

“The song's not bad,” said the barman, making Harry jump. “But the singer's a prat.”

“Not really my kind of music,” said Harry. “I'm more into classical.”

The barman flashed him an easy smile, as if this didn't come as too much of a surprise. “Each to his own. First time here?”

Was this a chat-up line? Was the barman straight or gay? Oh dear, he was rubbish at this; as he and Enjay had managed to prove to each other, they were both massively lacking in the gaydar department.

“First time.” Harry nodded, feeling rather too hot. Looking around, he belatedly discovered that no one else in the club appeared to be wearing a sweater.

“Great. Well, we're a friendly lot. So just relax, you'll be fine.”

Was
that
a chat-up line? Or was he simply being friendly? Flustered, Harry turned away from the bar and pretended to be scanning the dance floor for someone he knew. The next moment he almost fell off his stool because over there on the other side of the club
was
someone he knew.

It took a few moments to remember he didn't have to hide. It was fine; it didn't matter that he'd just been spotted by tall blond Duncan who worked in his local garden center and who, coincidentally, had also driven the twenty-odd miles from Keswick to Carlisle in order to be here tonight…

Ah.

“Hello.” Duncan had crossed the dance floor to greet him.

“Hello,” said Harry when they'd both briefly wondered what to do and ended up shaking hands. Were his own palms as clammy as Duncan's?

“I didn't know you were… you know…” Duncan's tilted head indicated their surroundings.

“I know, not really my thing. To be honest I'd prefer a cup of tea and a few biscuits in front of the TV.”

“I meant… the kind of place this is. For people who are…” For an instant fear flared in his eyes, as if maybe Harry had just happened to wander in unawares.

“Oh God, sorry, you mean gay.” Harry nodded vigorously. “Not used to this yet. All a bit confusing. Yes, I am, I definitely am. But I didn't know you were.”

Duncan hesitated. “Nobody else knows. Well, apart from my mum. So please don't say anything. I nearly dived under the table when I first saw you.”

“I nearly tried to hide behind my bar stool,” said Harry. “Which definitely wouldn't have worked.”

“Anyway. We're here, we've seen each other now. Are you… out then?”

“Of course I'm—
oh
.” Harry broke off, realizing he didn't mean “out of the house for the evening.” This new terminology was something else he'd have to get used to. “Yes,” he amended, “I'm out. I told all my staff last week.”

“You did?” Duncan looked envious. “How did they react?”

“They were great.” Warmed by the memory of Morag and Betty's response, Harry said, “They told me they should have guessed, that I was far too nice to be straight.”

“Good. That's good.” Duncan nodded, then took a deep breath. “Look, no offense, but just in case you were wondering, you're not my kind of guy. I go for big muscly types. Nothing personal.”

“No problem.” Harry relaxed; he wasn't remotely attracted to Duncan either. “I'm not really sure yet what my type is. But I'm here, I'm making a start.”

“No hurry,” said Duncan.

“None at all. I can just take my time. Actually, I think I'm starting to like this club.” Harry felt himself relax some more. “It feels kind of like… being on vacation.”

“I know what you mean. Me too.” Duncan nodded happily in agreement. “In the best place in the world.”

Lara and Flynn occupied chairs on either side of the hospital bed. Between them, Gigi lay sleeping. Last night the ruptured appendix had been removed but they weren't out of the woods yet. Her abdominal cavity had been flooded with bacteria; now they just had to pray the intravenously administered antibiotics would be up to the task of defeating them.

So far they weren't. Gigi had a raging temperature and was still intermittently moaning with pain in her sleep. She was as white as the sheet covering her. Just seeing her so clearly unwell tore Lara in half; when you were used to someone bouncing around and never being ill, it was a terrifying scenario.

All
my
fault too.

Flynn pushed back his plastic chair and said, “I'm going outside for a bit. Won't be long.”

Lara nodded; it was eight in the morning. “You can leave if you want.”

“Why would I want to leave?”

“Well, you'll need to get to work.”

Flynn gave her an odd look. “Are you going to work?”

Oh for God's sake. “No, of course not!”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious? I'm not leaving Gigi!”

“Because she's your daughter?” He paused, his gaze boring into her. “Guess what? She's mine too.”

He left the ward and Lara watched him go. If it was possible to feel any worse than she already did, she was feeling it now. And Flynn was right; she'd assumed he wasn't as devastated as she was by what had happened.

“Sorry,” Lara murmured when he returned fifteen minutes later.

He nodded without replying, then sat back down and resumed holding Gigi's left hand.

“It's just that I've always been used to being the only one.”

“I know.” To her relief he didn't add, And whose fault was
that
? “But you aren't the only one anymore. I'm here now.”

More guilt, almost more than she could bear. Covertly watching as Flynn leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair off Gigi's waxen cheek, Lara noted the strain in his eyes, the dark shadows beneath them, the tension on his stubbled jaw. It had been a sleepless night for them both.

He
loves
her
just
as
much
as
I
do.
Please God, just make the antibiotics work and let Gigi get through this.

Then she jumped as Gigi's head moved and she cleared her throat. Without opening her eyes she croaked, “Are you both still here?”

“Yes.” Flynn gave her fingers a squeeze. “I am.”

A lump formed in Lara's own throat. Ambushed by love she said, “Me too, sweetheart.”

“Good. I'm glad. But could you please stop bickering?” whispered Gigi.

***

By midafternoon Gigi's eyes were open and the color was slowly returning to her cheeks. She was still sore and uncomfortable but her condition had improved enough to have her fretting about the state of her hair. Which was evidently
gross
.

“No, you
can't
wash it yet,” said Lara. Teenagers, honestly.

“Urgh, it's like string.”

Flynn said helpfully, “How about if I borrow a razor? We could shave it all off.”

“Ha ha.” Her mouth dry, Gigi took a sip of water from the plastic cup he was holding for her. A dribble of water ran down her chin and Lara leaped forward with a tissue.

“Thanks.” Gigi smiled briefly then turned and smiled again at Flynn. “Thanks. You know, you two could do me a favor if you want.”

“No problem, fire away,” said Flynn.

“Go ahead,” said Lara. “What is it?”

“You could move your chairs so you're both sitting on the same side of the bed. It would really make things a lot easier, instead of me having to keep going from side to side like I'm watching a tennis match.”

***

Three days later Evie visited the ward, bringing treats and toiletries and the just-out Christmas edition of Gigi's favorite gossip magazine.

“Thanks.” Gigi greeted her with a kiss, then raised her eyebrows at the well-thumbed corners. “Have you been reading this?”

“I had to. Harry called the house to let us know there was a bit about him in it, so I rushed out and bought a copy. Oh, and these are from Bonnie and Ray.” Evie opened a bag and pulled out a pair of light-up Elton John spectacles.

“Cool!” Putting them on and posing like a celebrity while they flashed on and off, Gigi said, “What does it say about Harry?”

“Found it.” Lara had been riffling through the pages. Reading aloud, she said, “Ooh dear, looks like a parting of the ways for the Odd Couple. Just a few weeks ago, Harry Wells and EnjaySeven were best pals, but now that everyone's favorite nerd has announced he's gay, ladies' man Enjay is severing all contact.

“‘I'm totally surprised to hear this,' Enjay announced yesterday. ‘I had no idea. Anyhow, filming in the UK is over. Nothing against Harry, he's a good guy, but we now have even less in common than I thought. I doubt I'll be seeing him again.' Whoa, Enjay, Harry's only gay, he doesn't have rabies. It's not catching, we promise!”

“What a git.” Gigi pushed the flashing spectacles to the top of her head and said crossly, “Poor Harry.”

“And there's a photo of Enjay with his new girlfriend.” Lara held up the magazine so they could all see. “Apparently they're spending Christmas together at his villa in Antigua. You have to admit, she is stunning. Then again, he wouldn't go for an ugly one, would he?”

“He's such a lech though.” Her lip curling, Gigi said, “He's never going to stick with one girl. Give it a few weeks and he'll have found someone even prettier.” She paused. “Speaking of pretty girls, wait till you see what Annabel gave me this afternoon. Mum, can you get it out of the cabinet? I can't reach.”

“Annabel was here?” Lara didn't like the way this made her feel. Not content with bagging Flynn, did Annabel have stepmotherly designs on Gigi too? There was being nice and then there was being downright ingratiating.

“Isn't it amazing? I've never owned anything so beautiful in my life!”

“Mm.” Lara held up the purply-gray silk negligee, shimmering like iridescent suede beneath the unforgiving fluorescent strip light.

“And guess where it's from? Harvey Nichols!” Gigi's eyes were like saucers. “Can you imagine? Annabel finished a twenty-four-hour shift this morning and went straight down to Cabot Circus to buy it for me. She said it gets so hot here on the wards you don't always want a fluffy dressing gown.”

Feeling ashamed, Lara said, “It's gorgeous.” Oh good grief, Harvey Nichols.
What
on
earth
had
it
cost?

“Mum, we were talking about Christmas Day. I said she could always come to our house for lunch if she wanted.”

“You did?” It came out quite high-pitched. That wasn't what she wanted
at
all
. Her brain recoiling from the prospect, Lara said, “I thought it was, you know, just going to be
us
.”

“I know, but Annabel has to work on Christmas Eve and on Boxing Day… and it would be nice for Dad to have her there.”

Oh God, she was officially a mean person and her daughter was a lovely warm generous one. Lara felt ashamed of herself. Carefully folding the silk robe back up and returning it to the bedside cabinet she said, “Well, if she doesn't have anywhere else to go…”

***

“She's doing really well,” the doctor told them on the fifth post-operative day. “No signs of septicemia, thank goodness. Everything's looking nice and clean. And the scar's healing nicely. I think we can take this drip down now.”

“Excellent.” Gigi beamed up at him. “How soon can I go home?”

“Let's just keep an eye on you for the next couple of days.” The doctor closed her notes. “But I'm sure you'll be out of here by Christmas.”

“Trust me, I'll be out of here if I have to crawl on my hands and knees,” said Gigi. “No offense, but I'm not missing Christmas at home for anything. Are you single or married?”

He smiled at her bluntness. “Actually, I'm single. Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondered.”

“What did you say that for?” Lara gave her a nudge when the doctor had left the ward.

“He's about your age, he's quite good-looking, maybe we could invite him to lunch on Christmas Day.”

“
What?
”

“To even things up a bit,” Gigi explained. “Just a thought.”

“Well, don't think. And don't you dare invite him!”

“But he might be lonely, and it would really help you—”

“Stop it. I don't need that kind of help.” Lara held up her hand to halt Gigi in her tracks. “No, no,
no
.”