‘You’re so fit and healthy for a man of your age. Ofanyage,actually.’
‘Exactly. And I intend to continue being perfectly fine, so pleasestop worrying!’ He smiles and leans over to pinch my nose, the way he used towhen I was little. It would always make me squeal with laughter.
There’s a lump in my throat as I force a smile. We’re justtrying to lighten the situation with all this brave talk. But we both know it’sserious.
Without warning, a wave of emotion crashes through me.
I can’t afford to lose him!
As desperate tears spring up, I push back my chair and startclearing away the breakfast things. And Dad gets a call on his mobile. It’sMax, one of the auditors, wanting to check something with him, and Dad grabshis jacket, saying he’ll be at the office in ten minutes.
After he’s gone, I curl up on the sofa in the living room,thinking. I almost wish I was going in to work today, because at least thatwould keep my mind off Dad and the fact that he’s going into hospital in a fewdays so that surgeons can discover more about what’s going on inside him.
Writing is the thing that always transports me away fromeverything, and usually I love the feeling of getting lost in the world of mycharacters. I go through all the emotions they’re feeling as I’m writing theirstory, and sometimes I feel quite exhausted at the end of the session if myheroine has been through a particularly bad time. But it’s a good exhaustion.It means I’ve accomplished something.
But now, even thethoughtof sitting down and tryingto continue my competition story makes my head start to hurt. It’s no use. I’mgoing to miss the deadline, and that’s that...
Then something Katrina said drifts into my mind.
Write what you feel. It doesn’t matter what it is, justas long as it gets you back into the writing groove.
What would I write if I could work on anything I wanted to?It needs to be something inspiring...
I lie back, closing my eyes. And next second, a memory ofLogan showing me the plans for the new Celestial Cafe pops into my head.
It would be a lovely setting for a story – a restaurantthat’s open to the stars. Maybe it would involve a date that goes wrong? Thegirl could have got the day or the time wrong so that when she turns up, shethinks she’s been stood up. But then... as she’s waitingthere, feeling down, the waiter, who’s rather cute, suggests another glass ofwine. And instead of saying no and leaving, the girl – I’d call her Marla, Ithink – stays and chats to him...
I feel the little surge of excitement inside that always happenswhen I’ve thought of a promising idea for a story.
Not giving myself time to change my mind or start havingnegative thoughts, I rise and go upstairs to my laptop. Sitting down at my desk,I open a new document, take a deep breath and start writing. And amazingly, thewords start pouring onto the page. I describe Marla’s nerves as she arrives atthe stunningly designed Celestial Café and the quiver of excitement she feelsat the prospect of meeting her date...Dan? Connor? Lorcan?...who she’s only seen through the dating website.
Lorcan. I’ll call him Lorcan...
The words are flowing, and I get so absorbed in the world ofmy story, that when I finally sit back, rolling my stiff shoulders, I realiseit’s growing dark, I haven’t eaten all day, and Dad will be home soon...
I haven’t eaten all day.
I wander into the kitchen, feeling hungry. My snacks, laidout carefully this morning – a banana for eleven o’clock, chicken and salad formy lunch, and a little dish of nuts for my three o’clock snack – are all still there,untouched.
I feel my head, relieved to find that despite forgetting allabout my food schedule, there’s no sign of an approaching migraine.
Writing it off as a fluke, I open the fridge to start makingdinner...
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The days tick by as the day for Dad to go intohospital for exploratory tests approaches.
The only thing keeping me sane is writing my new story. Everyday, when I get back from work, I sit down at my laptop and immerse myself in Marla’sworld, and it’s helping. It really is. Before, I’d have been plagued withmigraines because of stress over Dad and my writing deadline, but touch wood,my head’s been much calmer since I started writing again.
His tests are happening on Tuesday, the same day as the teamaway day at the spa hotel, so I’ve already told the manager that I won’t beable to go with them because I need to be there for Dad.
Dad, however, is equally adamant that I should go and we’vealready had several friendly stand-offs on the subject.
Katrina is of the opinion that Dad might actuallywanttobe alone while he’s going through the tests. ‘There’s nothing worse than havingsomeone fussing over you and asking you if you’re all right, when there’snothing they can actually do,’ she says to me on Monday morning as we’reworking through the bedrooms together. ‘Also, it makes the whole thing seemmore serious if you’ve got someone holding your hand and looking worried.Perhaps he just wants to go in, get it over with and leave. No drama.’ Sheshrugs. ‘The main thing is that you’re there with him when he gets the results.’
I nod doubtfully, at the same time feeling a little nervousleap inside at the thought of going to the spa day with everyone, after all.
‘Anyway, do you want to start on the Birtwhistle Suite? Stan’sbooked a birdwatching trip and he’s left a brochure for me at reception. Helikes doing things the old-fashioned way, which I think’s really cute.’ Shesmiles fondly. ‘No booking online for that man of mine. He wants the wholetravel agent face-to-face experience.’
