Page 68 of Mistletoe and Mulled Wine at the Christmas Campervan

‘Uhm …’ Lucy politely waited, a few footsteps behind them.

‘Oh, are you together?’

Lucy nodded as Jack’s father explained, ‘Yes, this is Jack’s girlfriend, Lucy.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, it’s family only just now. I know it’s hard, but can you please wait … just a little longer?’ the doctor told her kindly, yet firmly.

Where were they going? What was she going to tell them? ‘Is he going to be alright?’ Lucy blurted out.

‘He’s stable. But I need to talk everything over with Jack’s parents.’

Simon must have seen the panic flash over her face. ‘We’ll let you know more, as soon as we can, Lucy.’

‘I’ll wait. I’ll be here …’

She wasn’t leaving him. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Olly phoned about five minutes later to see if there was anything he could do. But without clogging up A&E with extra bodies, options were limited right now. She gave a wry smile as she suddenly pictured the whole family sitting there with her: Mum, Nonna, the works. Olly would most likely have told them by now. They would if they could, she knew that. She’d always have their support.

‘Could you order a miracle?’ Lucy mooted to Olly aloud.

‘I’ll try my best,’ Olly soothed. ‘Have a word with the big man upstairs. It is nearly Christmas, after all.’

‘Thanks.’ She felt so small, vulnerable, with the doctor still away talking with Jack’s parents.

‘Well, ring me if anything changes. Or if you want a bed here for the night. Some company … Whatever you need, Sis, we’re there for you …’

‘I know, and thank you.’

‘Take care. Love you, Sis.’

‘You too. Bye … and thank you … for finding him.’ Her voice cracked.

‘Hey, no worries. Chat later, yeah.’

She turned off the call. And she felt small, so very small, in a shifting world that could change in an instant.

A door squeaked open, the same one the doctor had come out from, the sound of rubber soles on lino.

Two figures. Simon, pale-faced, holding Denise’s hand.

Oh Jesus! What was it?

Every instinct that filled Lucy was to know and, at exactly the same time, to not know.

‘How is he?’ She was up on her feet, moving towards them.

A butterfly-wing glimmer of a smile spread across his mother’s lips, and hope flickered like a candle in the wind within Lucy’s chest, as his father said, ‘So, it’s a bruised spleen. They haven’t needed to do surgery, thank heavens, as it’s not been ruptured.’

What did that all mean?

‘He’s been lucky. Several broken ribs too, and he’ll be pretty sore for a while. There’s a few cuts and bruises, a couple of stitches to his forehead. They’re going to monitor him closely overnight, but it sounds like he’s going to be alright, Lucy. He’s going to be alright,’ Simon repeated stoically.

Relief engulfed the three of them. His mum gave a loud sob. Simon’s arms were outstretched to them both, as he said, ‘Thank God.’

And Lucy felt the warmth and the comfort of his fatherly hug.

Oh Lord, how must it have felt that last time … when it hadn’t been relief but a hammer blow of grief, when they had lost their eldest son? Lucy couldn’t imagine what emotions they were going through. How on earth did they manage to bear it? Losing a son, a brother, so young. But you didn’t get any choice, did you? Fate could deal the cruellest or the fairest of hands. It was all so damned arbitrary. She understood a little more how life, how emotions, might be difficult for Jack.