Page 18

Emma didn’t ask whose fault it was, whether someone had crashed into her or the other way around. She only nodded slowly – an acceptance of what Holly was offering, of the mutual connection they shared.

‘Where did it happen?’

‘Just around the corner, on the A39.’

Something dark flashed across Emma’s face. ‘Horrible road. Too many idiot drivers coming too fast. Twenty-eight fatalities in the last three years.’ It was said quickly, a statistic pulled from thin air. Maybe it was where Richard had crashed too.

‘We were lucky Lily wasn’t a fatality,’ Holly said softly. Her baby was, a voice inside her mind whispered. The same voice that told her, repeatedly, that it was her fault. It was a voice that sounded a lot like Lily’s voice, tearstained and broken, as it had been when Holly had seen her in the hospital after the crash.

She’d crept around the corner into Lily’s room, following the nurse’s directions on where to find her. Their parents were standing beside Lily’s bed.

She remembered rushing in, pushing in between her parents to see her sister. ‘You’re ok.’ Her voice was a wobbly breath. Because the bruises, the cut on her face, the dark purple line from where the seatbelt had cut in above her collar bone, were nothing, surely, because her sister was alive, was here, awake, and—

‘No, I’m not ok,’ Lily said. Her voice was numb, and she wouldn’t look at Holly. Holly felt her heartbeat rise as she looked over her sister, looking for some damage she hadn’t noticed right away. She felt a trembling start up in her core – as if her body knew what was to come.

‘You’re both alive,’ her mum said, giving Holly’s arm a squeeze, before reaching for Lily’s hand. Her face was still tearstained, but she was clearly trying to control her voice, to make it calm, bolstering. ‘Let’s focus on the good things. That’s what matters most right now. Isn’t it, Harry?’ She shot a look at Holly’s dad, who ran a hand through his red hair and nodded silently, his eyes scanning over Lily as if he, too, was looking for signs of further damage. ‘And the other drivers are ok too,’ her mum added. Holly felt the words cut into her, the reminder of the other car, spinning around the corner and coming straight at them. And then the one behind – too close behind. But relief slid through her. No one had died. It would be ok.

Holly’s dad glanced at her then, watching her a little too carefully, Holly thought. ‘Yes. We should be thankful everyone survived,’ her dad said, his voice gruff.

‘That’s not true.’ Lily’s voice – quiet and numb and lost. ‘Not everyone survived.’ Holly’s stomach lurched as her gaze searched for Lily’s. But her sister’s eyes stayed closed, even as tears leaked out, tracing twin paths down her pale face. ‘I lost the baby.’

It was a sob, and Holly’s whole body went tight. I lost the baby. No. It couldn’t be true. She looked to each of her parents, hoping one of them would contradict Lily. Her mum teared up, and her dad looked at the floor.

‘I lost the baby,’ Lily said again, her voice a little stronger. ‘Because of you.’ Her eyes snapped open now. There was angry fire there – enough to make Holly take a step back. ‘Because you were more interested in getting your fucking phone to prove a point than concentrating on the road.’

Holly was crumbling, unable to take her eyes away from her sister. Away from the burning anger there. The blame. ‘No, I . . .’ But she couldn’t think of what to say. The car had come at them, but she’d reacted too slowly. She had tried to take the phone back, and she hadn’t been looking, and it had lost her precious seconds. And now, Lily’s baby . . .

‘I’m so sorry,’ Holly whispered.

‘Lily, love,’ their mum said tentatively, ‘maybe we ought to—’

‘Get out,’ Lily said sharply. Her face lost some of the paleness as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked to their mum. ‘I want her out!’ Her voice was scratchy, painful sounding. But it was full of a certainty that hit Holly like a physical force.

Her mum turned to her, her eyes carefully shuttered. ‘Holly, why don’t you—’

But Holly was already backing away, already turning to flee from the hospital room, unable to bear the grief and rage on Lily’s face, unable to face up to the reality of what had happened, the consequences of her mistakes.

‘How is your sister now?’ Emma’s question brought her back to the present.

Holly hesitated. ‘I don’t really know. She doesn’t speak to me.’

Emma nodded, no judgement in the motion. ‘Happens.’ She looked at the photos on the mantel again. ‘That’s the last photo I have of him.’ She nodded towards the most recent photo, with the little boy. ‘Of my grandbaby. I didn’t lose him the same way I lost his father, but I lost him in all the ways that count.’

Outside, the rain sounded as though it was getting heavier, if that was even possible. ‘Why doesn’t he talk to you anymore?’

‘That’s between him and me.’

‘Have you . . . Did you ever try to get in touch?’

Emma sniffed. ‘He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to see me and I have no business stepping into his life now. It’s too late. It would do more harm than good, and it’s a selfish desire of mine to see him again. It’s not what’s best for him. That’s why I wrote the damn letter in the first place – so I could get it off my chest without having to put the weight of it on him. And so that I didn’t have to have a conversation with anyone about it.’ She levelled her eyes at Holly as she spoke the last sentence.

She didn’t have any right to argue with that, so Holly went quiet, listening to the howling wind. She imagined children tucked up in bed on Christmas Eve, the excitement of being warm and cosy with a stocking waiting for Santa, while it was cold and wet and wild outside. What would Santa feel, if he was real, having to go out in that? Would Rudolph just refuse point-blank to come out of the stable?

‘And . . . how are you handling . . . the cancer?’

‘You like to pry, don’t you?’

‘It must be your warm and open nature,’ Holly said dryly.