Page 66 of Mistletoe and Mulled Wine at the Christmas Campervan

‘Oh, no. That’s terrible. Can we help at all? Is there anything we can do?’ Claire offered, realising the severity of the situation, with husband Craig standing by in support.

Lucy felt a lump rise in her throat at their kindness, despite their special party now being in tatters.

‘No, I don’t think so. I-I just need to find out how he is … I’ll call. Give you a refund … whatever you need …’ She was already getting into the Jeep.

‘Don’t you worry yourself about that right now, pet,’ Craig soothed. ‘Go on, get to where you need to be …’

And where she needed to be, was with Jack.

The journey passed in a whirl of anxious thoughts and autopilot driving. Lucy sending up little prayers in her head. Please let him be alright. Please let him be alright. Please let him be alright. Even giving Jack a stern mental talking-to at one point: Don’t you give up. Don’t you dare let go.

She wasn’t sure of the extent of any injuries. Olly had only shared that he’d overheard the ambulance team say there were likely to be broken bones and there was concern about internal bleeding.

Internal bleeding. Those two words filled her with dread. That did not sound good. Willing the tears to stay back, she tried her best to focus on the road ahead. The last thing she needed was fuzzy vision as she drove.

Olly had told her to go to Cramlington A&E. She knew the way. Just had to keep going. Keep steady.

Driving along those dark winding lanes, she came across a road sign: Diversion. Damn, it would take even longer now. Police car there, parked at the roadside, blue light flashing. Bloody hell, she’d have to turn around. And then she realised, with the coldest of chills: this was it, the site. This was where it had happened … She slowed, driving right up to a red-and-white heavy-duty plastic barrier.

That’s when she saw Ruby all crushed up and mangled, half off the road and into the hedgerow … the tree that had hit the front end still embedded into the red bonnet, chips of glass from the windscreen scattered in heart-wrenching sparkles over the tarmac.

A policeman started walking towards her … Tapped on her window, ‘Sorry love, you’ll have to turn around, find another route.’

She couldn’t answer for a second or two. Her throat dry, clogged with emotion.

‘Okay, yes … uh … it’s Ruby … it’s my boyfriend’s campervan.’

She abandoned her Jeep in the public parking area, and began running for the A&E. Her heart was pounding; the blood in her veins thumping loudly in her head. The sick feeling having never left the pit of her stomach since answering Olly’s call … since seeing Ruby like that.

Please let him be alright. Please let him be alright. The mantra was still going over and over in her mind.

In through big glass doors. Bright lights. Chemical smells. People milling about. A toddler crying. Concern heavy like an invisible cloak.

Reception – she’d have to find out where he was, what was happening.

As she headed for the desk, saying Jack’s name, which came out more like a plea than a question, a voice stopped her: ‘Lucy?’

Turning, she spotted a tall man with a slight paunch rounding out underneath a navy woollen jumper. A kind face, filled with concern, topped by thinning mousy-blond hair which might have been sandy once, like his son’s. He was stood just a few feet away from her, having risen from his plastic waiting seat, looking rather pale. A smart grey-haired woman, her eyes filled with care and hurt, was sat down next him.

‘Hello … are you Jack’s parents?’ Lucy blurted out. They nodded. ‘Oh God, how is he?’ Lucy faced them, holding her breath as she waited for their answer.

‘He’s having a CT scan, love. We’ll know more in a while,’ Mr Anderson spoke. Steady, steadfast, yet evidently in shock, bless him. He looked shattered.

‘But did they say anything? What do they think he’s done? How bad is it?’ Lucy was scrabbling for clues, still trying to process what was going on.

Jack’s mum was giving a supportive smile, but behind her grey-blue eyes (that, oh God, yes, looked so like Jack’s) she looked as if someone had taken the wind out of her sails.

Of course, they had been through so much before already … It couldn’t be happening again, not to Jack, not to their other son, that would be too cruel … it couldn’t.

‘They think he might have ruptured his spleen. Broken some ribs, there’s cuts and bruises apparently, some to his face too,’ Simon explained.

Lucy felt a bit giddy. A ruptured spleen was bad. That must have been the internal bleeding that Olly had mentioned.

She’d watched enough Casualty-type programmes to know that it could be life-threatening. And Jack’s beautiful face … oh. She wanted to hold him, to help him, but knew she’d have wait, let the hospital team do their job.

‘Have you seen him?’ Her voice sounded small, fragile.

‘No, not yet. A doctor came out to explain the situation when we got here. They’ve taken him straight to the scanner. Perhaps then into surgery.’