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“I know.”
“I said I wouldn’t let myself fall for you.”
I swallow hard. “I know. But doesn’t how I feel come into it?”
She looks away, across the fields, where the spring flowers are waving in the breeze. “Marc…”
“I love you.” There. I’ve said it.
Her gaze snaps back to mine, and her eyebrows rise. “What?”
“I love you,” I repeat, with more conviction.
“You can’t,” she states. “We’ve been together one week.”
“I don’t recall seeing an instruction manual. Is there a set amount of time you have to have dated, then?”
“We’re not dating.”
“No, we’re just having sex. There’s no emotion there at all.”
Her expression softens. “Of course there’s emotion.”
I move closer to her and brush my lips to hers. “Are you really telling me you don’t have any feelings for me at all?”
She reaches up into the kiss, I move back a fraction, and she lowers back down, a tad resentful. “No, I’m not saying that.”
“What if you are pregnant? Have you thought about it? About how we’re going to deal with it?” I can see immediately from her face that she hasn’t. She might have thought about having a baby, but she’s carefully blanked out any thought of the father from her mind.
“I hope you are pregnant,” I tell her. “But that’s not what this is about. I want to be with you. And that’s why I want to ask you…” I take a deep breath. “Poppy, will you—”
My phone rings.
My mouth stumbles on the words. “Dammit.” I yank the phone out, about to cancel the call. Then I frown as I see the number of the rehab unit where my mother’s staying. I blow out a long breath.
Poppy glances at the phone in my hand. “You should take that.”
“I can call back.”
“Take it,” she says. “Then we’ll finish the conversation.”
I meet her gaze for a moment. She knows what I was about to say. She’s going to take the time to formulate a reply. I curse the phone, but I do need to answer, so without another word I turn and walk away and put the phone to my ear.
“Yes?” I snap.
“Marc?”
I force myself to concentrate. “Yes.”
“It’s Wendy Orpington, the manager of the Crossroads Rehabilitation Unit.”
“Hello, Wendy.”
“Good morning. Marc, where are you?”
It’s a strange question, and I frown. “In Hawke’s Bay.”
“Are you sitting down?”
“What? No. Why?”
“I have something to tell you, and I’d prefer it if you were sitting down.”
There’s nowhere to sit, and now I’m worried. Has Mom had another relapse? “What is it?”
“Marc, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I have to tell you that your mother died last night.”
I stare across the fields, although I’m not seeing anything. “What?”
“I’m very sorry. She suffered a heart attack during the night.”
I go completely cold, and for a moment I think I’m going to faint. “Jesus.”
Poppy appears beside me, her hand on my back. “Marc? What is it?”
I can’t think straight and just look at her blankly. “What happened?” I ask Wendy.
“We went into her room this morning when she didn’t show for breakfast. She’d passed away a few hours before, in her sleep, from what we can tell. She’d shown no signs of heart disease, and she was doing well in her recovery. She didn’t suffer, we don’t think. We will hold an enquiry, but I’m afraid it was just one of those things. I am so very sorry.”
I can’t make sense of the words. Mom’s dead? My heart races, and my head spins.
Turning, I bend and vomit suddenly onto the flowerbed. It comes out of nowhere, and I’m powerless to stop it.
Poppy gently takes the phone from my hand, and I half hear her talking in the background as I struggle to regain my composure, my hands on my knees.
“Hello?” Poppy says. “I’m Marc’s friend, Poppy King. May I ask what’s happened? Oh Jesus, I see. When? Right. Oh, how awful. Yes, of course, I understand. No, I’m sure you did everything you could. He’s okay, just in shock. Look, I’m going to give you my mobile number, can you ring me if you need anything? Yes, Hawke’s Bay. I’ll get us on the next plane to Hamilton. Can you give me the address?”
