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“Harriet said they thought it might be a brain tumour.”
“That’s what the doctor said, but of course we don’t know yet.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel.” He sounded so regretful, so genuine, that she had to blink rapidly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I thought maybe you’d suspected something like this.”
“I wondered.” He sighed. “But it’s still crap.”
“We don’t know for sure,” she protested quickly, only to fall silent when Ben did not reply. “We’ll get the results in a few days.”
“Will he be able to come home today?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Do you need a lift?”
Rachel hesitated, because of course she did, but she also suspected she should ask Harriet. She feared her sister was feeling cut out, even though Rachel hadn’t meant her to be. She just hadn’t wanted her to have to make an unnecessary journey late at night. “I don’t know if Harriet was planning on coming,” she said, only for Ben to reply, “She’s got a big baking thing on this afternoon. Scones for some tea shop in Pickering.”
“Oh, wow—” Harriet hadn’t told her about that.
“I can come.” He sounded firm and decisive, almost bossy, and although Rachel knew that in the past his tone might have made her hackles rise, now she only felt relieved—and glad.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’ll text you when I know if he’s allowed to come home today.”
As she ended the call, she realised she felt just that little bit better—and less alone.
*
Two hours later,her dad was back from his MRI looking pale and tired but acting as irritable as ever, and the doctor was assuring Rachel that he could be discharged that afternoon; they would call with the MRI results within the week.
Another couple of hours after that, Ben was striding into the ward, smiling and looking as if he could conquer the world. Rachel, meanwhile, felt as if she could collapse into a heap. She suspected she smelled like stale coffee if not something worse, and her hair was definitely greasy. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t agreed for Ben to pick them up, except despite her hair and smell, she was glad. She wanted him here, even if she wasn’t about to let him know that.
“Hey, Mr M,” Ben said with an easy smile for her dad. “You want to get out of this place?”
Her father looked at Ben with both affection and relief. “Do I ever,” he said.
It took a bit of paperwork and rigamarole, but a short while later Rachel was pushing her father’s wheelchair out to the front of the hospital while Ben drove his Land Rover up. As she helped her father into the passenger seat—help he accepted irritably but accepted all the same—she let out a weary breath, glad to have got this far.
As she climbed into the back of the rover, moving aside a bunch of papers as well as a pair of muddy boots, she thought she might have the longest bath ever upon her return. Ben kept the chat with her father light as they drove home, until her dad drifted off into a doze and Ben met Rachel’s gaze in the mirror with a small smile.
“Guess I tired him out,” he said softly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much,” Rachel returned with an answering smile. The tension she’d felt from before, when they’d been at the ceilidh, seemed to have disappeared, at least for now. Maybe it would return once this immediate crisis was over, but she was grateful for the reprieve, however short that turned out to be.
They remained in a companionable silence for the rest of the journey back to Embthwaite Farm, and her dad stirred awake as Ben pulled up the rutted lane that led to their adjacent properties.
“Home already?” he mumbled, before straightening, running one hand through his wispy hair.
Harriet wasn’t home yet from her baking gig, and so Rachel helped her dad to the living room—he insisted he didn’t need to go to bed—and settled him with the TV on and a cup of tea.
“Do you want one?” she asked Ben as she headed back to the kitchen. She was surprised at how easy it felt to ask him; somehow the events of the last twenty-four hours put her little snit about him not kissing her into lamentable perspective.Big deal,some part of her subconscious had told the rest of her panicky self.Get over it.
“I would, but I need to get back,” Ben said, already at the door. The part of her that had felt so mature and affable suddenly shrivelled up and died. Okay, maybe she was still in a snit. Sort of.
“Okay, of course,” Rachel said quickly, trying to sound like she didn’t care anyway, that she wasn’t mad, or heaven help her,hurtby his refusal of a simple cup of tea. For heaven’ssake.
“Another time?” he asked, cocking his head, and Rachel nodded, managing a smile, feeling a bit better.
