CHAPTER 16

 

Allie let herself into Meg’s cottage, exhausted but reluctant to go back to her own place, choosing instead to surround herself with the familiarity of Meg’s. She couldn’t quite believe that less than twenty-four hours had passed since the heart attack. Pat and Bella had rung and invited her to stay with them, but after spending most of the day at the hospital, she just wanted to be alone, to not have to talk to anyone. That morning she and Dr Wilcox had discussed what Allie now understood were very likely symptoms leading up to Meg’s attack. Jenny had promised to let Allie know as soon as she had spoken to the specialist.

Walking into the living room, she was relieved to see that it had been tidied and the assorted medical detritus disposed of. Placing her bag on the sofa, Allie went into the kitchen. As usual, everything shone—it was the one room in the house that was always tidy. Meg quite simply refused to cook, and Allie had long since given up trying to encourage her.

Allie prepared a cup of tea, worried, despite Dr Wilcox’s assurances, that Meg was still unconscious. It had been nearly twenty-four hours; surely she would wake up soon.

“Stop it,” Allie admonished herself out loud, pushing the tendrils of panic away. “Meg’s going to be fine.”

Gathering her tea, she made her way through the cottage, turning off lights and closing blinds. In Meg’s room, she stopped suddenly. Meg’s scent overwhelmed her, causing her to almost drop the cup from her trembling hands. Placing it carefully on Meg’s dressing table, she entered the room slowly. The scarf Meg had bought at the markets was draped over the bedroom chair, a splash of vibrant gold and orange. Shoes, bags, newspapers and various clothing items were scattered around the room. Allie sat on the bed, running her hands over the luxurious coverlet before getting back up to fetch her tea.

Allie took it back to the bed, wrapping her hands around the delicate porcelain for warmth. Her eyes wandered around the room until they settled on a framed photo of herself and Meg. Putting her cup down, she stretched across the bed to pick it up from the side table. Smiling, she remembered the day the photograph had been taken. They’d been invited by friends to spend New Year’s Eve in Banff, and had spent the day skiing a particularly tricky pass. Flushed with their success, they had treated themselves to a hot chocolate by the fire in the hotel. A roving photographer, selling photographs to visitors at the resort, offered to take their picture.

Running her thumb along the image of Meg’s laughing face, Allie was engulfed by distress so thick she could almost taste it. Suddenly the prospect of losing Meg hit her, taking her breath away. Curling up in a ball on Meg’s bed, Allie held the photo close to her chest and let the tears take over.