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“I’ll pick you up after work and we’ll take it from there.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Me neither.”
There’s a short beat. I desperately want to hug him, but I sense Dad hovering around in the background so I settle for a smile and a wave. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Turning on his heel, Nick jogs across the street to his car. I stand on the doorstep, watching the Jag reverse out of the parking space. He winds down the window, waves at me, and then he’s gone.
With a happy sigh, I close the door and skip back into the sitting room.
“So, what do you think?” I ask excitedly.
Dad takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, he’s great. I really like him. Bit of a posh boy, isn’t he?”
“Do you really think Nick’s posh?”
“Don’t you?”
“I suppose he is well-spoken. But I kind of like that about him.”
“Just as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”
I grin broadly. “Thanks for the support, Dad.”
“So, how did the two of you meet?”
“I had a couple of sessions with him to help me quit smoking.”
“And have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Quit smoking?”
“Yeah. Nick’s treatment was very effective.”
“Good.” A shadow flits across Dad’s face, and I wonder what he’s really thinking.
A chill courses through me. I let out a huge sneeze and feel the onset of a nasty cold, no doubt the result of spending most of the evening in the rain. Rubbing my nose, I say goodnight and make my way upstairs. My footfalls are slow and heavy, like I’m wading through wet sand. As I collapse on my bed, it feels as if cold ice is pouring through my veins.
Something tells me I won’t be going to work tomorrow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Slow Burn
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Dad asks, tossing a packet of painkillers on my bed. “I don’t like leaving you in this state. Are you sure you don’t want me to call Dr Green?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.” I sneeze into a tissue and rub my nose for the umpteenth time. As predicted, the chill from last night has developed into a full-blown cold, and it looks as if I’m going to be spending the day in bed.
Dad’s face is strained with concern. “I’d like to stay here and keep an eye on you, but I really have to go to this meeting with my publisher. Have you phoned your workplace to let them know you won’t be coming in?”
“Yes, I’ve left Tim a voicemail. Now, please, you’d better hurry, I don’t want you to be late.” I falter, overcome by a fit of coughing. Grabbing a fresh handful of Kleenex, I dab my watery eyes.
Dad takes a step toward the bed but I hold up my hands in protest. “Stay away from me. Honestly, Dad, you don’t want to catch this bug; it’s truly awful.”
“Okay. Do you want me to bring you back anything? Cough mixture, perhaps?”
