She winked at me, and I watched her leave. I twirled around in my seat and started up the laptop, watching it boot up as tried to figure out what to do about Harvey. After entering the password and clicking a few keys, I was ready to start work on the Excel sheet I’d opened. It was so hard to concentrate when all I wanted to do was go find Harvey. I wanted to tell him exactly what I was feeling and to demand to know what his problem was. Why had he walked out on me last night? I decided to wait till he returned; he’d be back soon enough.
An hour passed by, dragging me kicking and screaming through the minutes, and my butt went numb. Over time I began to realise that my heart had picked up speed and was now hammering in my chest. My breathing was laboured, as if I’d run up a flight of stairs. I grew agitated; my fingers shook and sweat dribbled down my spine. Just as I thought I was having a panic attack, I pushed away from my desk and paced around the office. The last time I’d felt this uneasy was after my nightmare about Eric… and something bad had happened.
My phone rang, vibrating its way across the desk. My hand pressed down on my beating heart as I walked over to grab it. I answered the incoming call and put it to my ear.
“Hello?” I said, believing the caller would be able to hear the thud of my heart.
“Mrs Sara Chambers?” said a female voice.
“Yes?”
“My name is Doris Everett, and I’m a nurse down at Ashton Hospital. We have you down as the emergency contact of a Harvey Guyer.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and dared to ask, “What is it? Oh my god, is he OK?” It felt like déjà vu, but instead of coming to my house to tell me, they were doing it over the phone. Had I lost him just when I realised I’d found him?
“I’m afraid Mr Guyer has been in an accident.”
My throat swelled and I couldn’t speak. Everything fell silent around me, and the phone slipped out of my hands, bouncing as it made contact with the floor.
“Mrs Chambers? Hello? Are you still there?”
20
Sara
The drive to the hospital was painful. My fingers clenched my purse tightly as the taxi driver did his best to avoid the traffic jams. I drummed the pads of my fingers against the leather, and my teeth sank down on my bottom lip in desperation, willing the cars to move. I’d almost got out to walk a few times, but each time we’d suddenly start moving again, inching closer to my destination, so I sat trapped inside the stuffy vehicle that smelled of sweat and cigarettes.
“Is there not a shortcut we could take?” I asked.
“Nope. This is the only way to the hospital.” The taxi driver sent me an apologetic smile. “We’ll get there.”
The other vehicles started rolling again, and we were on our way. The outside blurred by through a fog of tears, but I didn’t pay attention; I was restless and so frightened. In my shell-shocked state, I forgot to find out if Harvey was OK. I’d abandoned my phone in the middle of the floor as I fled the office. I grabbed only my purse, ran for the lift and jumped into the first taxi I saw.
No, he’s going to be fine. He promised me he would be there for me… no matter what.
It was a foolish thought. Not even Harvey could stop a freak accident or death knocking at the door, but I kept on telling myself this, anyway; it was a mantra stuck on repeat. The cabbie pulled up to the kerb, and the passenger doors automatically unlocked once I flung my money at him, not caring if I overpaid. My fingers shook as I grabbed the handle and let myself out.
I hurried toward the hospital’s emergency entrance, half walking half running, speeding up then slowing down as I figured out in my panic which way I needed to go. Finally I saw the main reception desk ahead.
“Where is Harvey Guyer, please?” I asked, my voice trembling, barely holding back the tears.
The nurse smiled at me and after some infuriating questions—“hospital policy” nonsense—she told me the room number and floor. Waving her arm, she pointed me in the right direction.
He has a room… he must be alive. Oh, god. Don’t you dare be fucking dead, Harvey!
I twisted my head from side to side, desperately looking for the room, trying to make sense of the numbers outside each door, as if I’d forgotten what numbers even were.
Eventually my subconscious mind solved the Arabic numerical puzzle, and I found the right room. I stopped dead in the doorway. The breath that left my lips was almost a moan as my eyes focused on Harvey’s bulky form on the bed. Like a beacon, monotonous beeping guided me toward him. The small machine signalled from beside his bed.
I reached out to touch his hand, and the tears that I’d tried to hold back fell silently down my cheeks. I took his fingers in mine and squeezed, then studied his bruised face. His eyes were closed, moving beneath their lids; I saw the occasional flutter or twitch of an eyelash.