‘I think you’re being unnecessarily hard on yourself, Sylvia,’ Fran said. ‘On reflection, yes, it would have been better if Bonnie had known about you and Will right from the start, but I don’t think you had any responsibility to tell her. It really wasn’t anyone else’s business.’
‘But in the interests of friendship, and in view of Bonnie’s generosity to me – ’ Sylvia began.
‘I know all that,’ Fran interrupted. ‘But at the same time, you weren’t sure where all this was going. You thought you were having a bit of a fling, and Will wanted you not to say anything. I understand that Bonnie might feel hurt, but frankly I think she’s way over the top.’
It was the Monday morning after the opening and they were sitting at an outside table eating Sean’s baked eggs with tomatoes and basil. The first weekend of trading had been comfortably busy and free of problems, and managing it without Bonnie had made Fran feel more confident. Since the morning of Will’s accident, Bonnie had made only two fleeting visits to the Boatshed, spending the rest of the time at the hospital, waiting for Will to regain consciousness. Sylvia, distressed by Bonnie’s hostility, had abandoned the vigil, calling in at the hospital two or three times a day but continuing to run the gallery with Caro’s help.
‘So what do you think he was doing up on the bridge?’ Fran asked, savouring the scent of her freshly baked roll as she broke it in half. ‘Was he suicidal when he left you?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘No, he was angry and upset and he’d drunk far too much. But it was the anger that was predominant, that’s why I wouldn’t let him into the cottage, I simply couldn’t cope with it.’ She paused, putting down her fork. ‘I don’t think Will is the sort of person who’d try to kill himself. I did see another side of him that night, though, I saw that he was the sort of man who could get drunk and get into a fight, do stupid, irrational, possibly violent things, but suicide? No, not Will. That’s not what Bonnie thinks, though.’
‘Bonnie’s not very rational at the moment,’ Fran said. ‘She’s leapt to this conclusion on circumstantial evidence, and I think this is as much about her losing Jeff as it is about Will and you. Just hang on, Sylvia, it can only get better.’
‘I certainly hope so. Being ostracised is very difficult. I feel like some sort of pariah and I don’t know whether I should be at the hospital or not. Bonnie just seems to have taken Will over completely.’
‘What does Irene think?’ Fran asked, seeing Hamish’s car draw into the Boatshed car park.
‘Much the same as you,’ Sylvia said, ‘although of course she’s very concerned about Bonnie.’
Fran watched as Irene and Hamish got out of the car and walked towards the restaurant. Their shared ease and affection were obvious and she was shocked that she felt a stab of envy.
‘Come and join us,’ she called, making space for them at the table.
‘We fancied a really good breakfast,’ Hamish said with a smile.
‘The baked eggs are spectacular,’ Sylvia said. ‘Sean has excelled himself.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Irene said. ‘How are you this morning, dear? Any news from the hospital?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I called in earlier but there was no change. And it’s too difficult for me to be there with Bonnie feeling as she does.’
Irene nodded. ‘I know. We’ll call in ourselves later. Try not to let it get to you, Sylvia. The main thing is that Will comes through all right. Bonnie will sort herself out eventually.’
The door of the gallery swung open and Caro clattered noisily down the boardwalk, half running, holding Sylvia’s mobile phone in her hand.
‘Sylvia,’ she called. ‘Sylvia . . . you left your phone on the counter, I answered it. It’s Bonnie. Will’s conscious, he’s asking for you, you need to go to the hospital.’
David pushed the buggy along the coastal path enjoying the breeze on his face and the sound of the circling gulls overhead. He’d been sick since the night of the opening but, feeling better this afternoon, he’d offered to mind Rebekah while Caro covered for Sylvia at the gallery. He wondered what it would feel like to be pushing a buggy with his own child in it, having not just the pleasure but also the responsibility of fatherhood. There was a wooden bench ahead and he picked up his pace and made for it, sitting down and turning the buggy to face him as Rebekah blinked up at him.
‘Hi, Bek,’ he said softly, moving the edge of her jacket away from her face. ‘Want to come out for a bit? Sit on my knee?’ She smiled as though she understood him, and he unstrapped her, lifted her out and cuddled her close to his chest, rocking her gently back and forth.
He and Jodie had planned for her to move into his apartment the morning after the Boatshed opening and he’d been counting the days, but then he’d ruined it by being sick. He’d risked a glass of champagne at the opening, and then a second, and by the end of the day that, combined with too much food, had knocked him sideways. On Saturday morning, all he could do was stagger sweating between the bathroom and bedroom and watch the ceiling circle dizzyingly above his head.
‘Matt’s going to come and get your gear,’ he’d told Jodie on the phone. ‘Unless you want to hang on until I get over this.’
‘No, I’m dying to move in,’ she said. ‘Can’t wait. Owen’s here, he’ll help.’
So David had lain there propped up with pillows while her boxes, plants and few bits of furniture were carried up the stairs and distributed through the apartment.
‘I feel like a complete waste of space,’ he’d complained at one point.
‘You are,’ Matt said with a grin, dumping Jodie’s suitcase in the bedroom. ‘Can’t think why this gorgeous woman is even bothering with you.’
The movement around him, the coming and going, had made him dizzy and he was thankful when Matt and Owen left and he and Jodie were alone at last. ‘Sorry, Jo,’ he said sheepishly, gripping her hand when she came to sit on the side of the bed. ‘Now you can really see what a loser you’ve taken on.’
‘Stop it,’ she’d said, pulling her hand away and standing up. ‘You have to stop this, David.’
‘Stop what? I can’t stop the illness, you know that, you said you understood . . .’
‘I do. What I mean is that you have to stop behaving as though you’re a leper.’
‘A leper?’
‘Yes. You’ve still got the idea that your illness makes you a liability.’ She stopped for a moment and walked over to the window, and then turned back to him again. ‘It’s like you think the Hep C is all you’re about now, that it defines you, controls you. Well, it doesn’t, or at least it doesn’t have to.’ She walked back to the bed and climbed onto it, sitting beside him, with her legs stretched out in front of her. ‘It’s horrible that you have this disease but it doesn’t have to dominate our lives. I know you’ll be sick like this sometimes, but you seem to think that the disease is all that people see when they look at you. You’re more than your condition, Dave; at least, you are if you’ll let yourself be.’
A seagull swooped down onto the seat beside him and, steadying Rebekah with one hand, David pulled out a packet of Tic Tacs, flipped it open and spilled some onto the seat for the gull. Rebekah turned to look at David and he hugged her closer.
‘Big bird, Bek,’ he said, ‘a big bird,’ and he watched as the gull circled and swooped back for another mint. In that moment, clutching the baby to him and watching as a few more gulls lined up on the seat, David knew that this strangely wonderful feeling was called contentment, something he had never known before. He held Rebekah up above him and she gurgled joyfully, dribbling on his hair. ‘You dag, Bek,’ he laughed, lowering her into the buggy, and together they made their way back along the path to the Boatshed.
Bonnie was exhausted with waiting; waiting for Will to open his eyes, to speak, to show any sign, however small, that he was going to be all right. Even when she wasn’t at the hospital she was waiting. On her brief visits to the Boatshed she was waiting for people to stop updating her on the first few days of trading, so that she could get away. And when, at night, she finally gave in to exhaustion and returned home to sleep, her dreams seemed to be full of waiting for a variety of strange things to be finished so that she could wake up.
‘I’m back, Will,’ she said each time she returned to the chair by his bed. ‘It’s Bonnie, I’m here, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, Will.’ And occasionally she would think she had felt a change of pressure against her hand, but it was so minute that she couldn’t be sure. From time to time he would stir, and his eyes flickered open and closed again and he would mumble something incomprehensible, but there was no real improvement.
‘We’ll be able to tell more when he regains consciousness,’ the doctor had explained. ‘But apart from the extensive bruising, broken collarbone, cracked ribs and that head wound, I can’t find much else wrong. But when he does come round, he’s going to be very sore for a good few weeks.’
Bonnie stroked Will’s hand. ‘It’s okay, Will,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you home as soon as I can, there’s a room ready for you. I’ll look after you, nothing to worry about; you just concentrate on getting better.’ But apart from the odd flicker of his eyelids, or a slight shift of position, there was no change.
As she sat by the bed unable to read, unable to concentrate on the television flickering softly overhead, Bonnie thought he looked more and more like Jeff. There had always been a fraternal likeness, but as the hours passed, the resemblance seemed to grow until sometimes it was as though they were the same person. A couple of times she even found herself calling him Jeff, and she laughed awkwardly and corrected herself, thankful there was no one else around to hear her. So it seemed a cruel stroke of fate that on the Monday morning when Will did finally open his eyes and start to make sense, Bonnie was three floors down in the café, getting herself a cup of coffee and a croissant. Making her way back up to the ward, clutching the cardboard beaker and the bag with the croissant, she pushed open the door of Will’s room and found a nurse she hadn’t seen before, taking his blood pressure and talking to him.
‘Oh good,’ the nurse said, straightening up and smiling at her. ‘He’s back with us at last, aren’t you, Mr Logan? I’ve sent for the doctor. I guess you must be Sylvia – he’s been asking for you.’
She undid the blood pressure cuff and smoothed down Will’s sleeve. ‘Keep talking to him, please. The doctor will be here in a minute.’
Bonnie put the coffee down, dropped the croissant and took hold of Will’s hand. ‘Will, Will, it’s Bonnie, I’m here,’ she said, brushing the hair back from his forehead. ‘Can you speak to me, Will? Can you see me?’
His eyes were glassy and seemed slow to focus. He shifted his position slightly and finally gave her a weak smile. ‘Bonnie?’ he asked cautiously, as though testing how his mouth worked.
‘Yes, Will; yes, it’s me. Oh, it’s so wonderful that you’re awake.’ She bent down and kissed him, holding her cheek close to his, stroking his face gently. ‘You’re all right, Will, you’re going to be all right.’
Will nodded, swallowing hard.
‘He’ll be thirsty,’ the nurse said, handing her a bowl of iced water and a small sponge on a stick, ‘but he can’t have anything to drink until the doctor’s seen him. Just let him suck this if he needs it.’
Bonnie dipped the sponge in the water and held it close to Will’s lips. He sucked it, swallowing cautiously. ‘More?’ she asked, offering it to him again, but he shook his head.
‘Sylvia,’ he said. ‘Where’s Sylvia?’
‘Oh, she might pop in later,’ Bonnie said, putting the bowl down on the table. ‘But you don’t have to see her. I’ve told her to stay away. She’s the last person you need around you right now.’
‘No,’ Will said in a stronger voice. ‘Sylvia, I want to see her, please, Bonnie . . .’ And with unexpected force, he grabbed her wrist. ‘I want Sylvia.’
‘You can go back in now,’ the doctor said a quarter of an hour later. ‘It’s looking good. We’ll have to keep a close eye on him for a few days, but he doesn’t seem to be suffering any memory loss. He keeps asking for Sylvia – that’s your friend, isn’t it?’
Bonnie twitched her shoulders. ‘I’ve called her, she’ll be here soon. She’s just a friend, though. I’m his sister-in-law. He’s going to be all right, then?’
‘Yes, yes, I think so. I did a few cognitive tests and they were fine. All the signs are good now that he’s come round. Take it easy, though. He needs to stay calm. Good to keep him talking for a while. The nurse’ll keep an eye on him and tell you when he needs to rest.’
Bonnie went back into the room. Will was propped up now, and a little colour had returned to his face. ‘Dear Will, thank goodness,’ she said. ‘You’re looking so much better – ’
‘Sylvia?’ he asked, interrupting her. ‘I must talk to Sylvia.’
Bonnie felt like a balloon that had been pricked. ‘She’s on her way,’ she said abruptly. ‘Whatever happened to you, Will, do you remember?’
He nodded slightly. ‘Most of it . . .’
‘Best not to talk about it now,’ she said, ‘plenty of time for that later.’
‘Sylvia!’ he said as the door swung open, and Bonnie felt her skin prickle with resentment as Sylvia crossed to the other side of the bed and took Will’s hand.
‘Looking better, isn’t he!’ Bonnie said, feeling as though she had some ownership of the process of Will’s improvement.
‘Yes, yes, he is, much better,’ Sylvia said, smiling down at him and leaning over to kiss his cheek. ‘Welcome back, Will, it’s so good to see you awake.’
Bonnie sniffed slightly and shifted her position in the chair. With some obvious discomfort, Will turned his head back to her.
‘Bon,’ he said, ‘d’you mind . . . I need to talk to Sylvia . . .’
There was a moment of excruciating silence as she looked at him, and then at Sylvia. ‘Oh well, I suppose . . . if that’s what you want . . . I’ll wait outside, just call if you need me.’
Unable to look at Sylvia, she walked out of the room and slumped down on the seat outside. Her heart was beating painfully fast, and she felt as though she might burst with the hurt and the outrage of it. Coiling her fingers into a fist she punched the square metal arm of the bench hard, very hard, over and over again until her knuckles began to bleed, and she began to weep bitter, wrenching sobs until a nurse, with a cup of tea and a box of tissues, sat down beside her explaining that it was quite common for people to cry with relief when someone regained consciousness.