"Don't be silly. You're as much a part of this as anyone." I pulled the towel from my head and threw it over my shoulder, running my fingers through my wet hair.

  "She'll be fine, lass. Jon's right. We should wait and see what they say at the hospital."

  I nodded, my lips trembling. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Frank."

  "Come here." He walked towards me, his walking stick supporting his weak right side. I met him halfway, drawing strength from his calm, controlled, all-encompassing hug.

  Frank was the closest thing I had to a parent.

  Both of mine had died years ago, leaving me feeling alone and abandoned at an early age. I had no other family, none that I knew of anyway. Maybe there were some distant cousins knocking about in Puerto Rico, where I was born, but nobody significant.

  Frank cleared his throat. "You okay now?"

  "Yes, thanks. I needed that," I said.

  "There are plenty more where that came from, you know."

  I smiled at him. "Come on. I'll race you downstairs. Last one down makes a cuppa."

  I sped off, listening to him rant and curse, and then chuckle.

  Chapter 2

  Emily looked washed out propped in the back seat of the car as we drove to the hospital for her tests. Her chestnut brown curls hung lifeless and dull, her complexion sallow. She fell asleep with her head lolling in an unnatural position. She’d have a stiff neck later.

  Doctor Desmond Wilson, was a white haired man in his fifties, who, according to Google, had a fantastic reputation as a neurologist. He was average height and build, not good-looking in the typical sense, but the glint in his eye made me trust him.

  We sat around his huge oak desk, explaining Em’s symptoms. He listened without rushing us at all, which I was glad about. Afterwards, he examined Emily who, once again, lolled in Jon's arms.

  "We'll be doing a series of tests—blood and urine tests initially to rule out infection or autoimmune conditions such as lupus. Do any of you have a history of any neurological disorders in the family?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "I'm not too sure. My parents brought me here from Puerto Rico in the eighties. I never met any extended family. My parents are both dead."

  "What caused their deaths?" he raised one bushy grey eyebrow.

  "Nothing related to this. Mum died of liver cancer and Dad a car accident."

  It sounded so matter of fact to my ears. Oh, Mum just had liver cancer and Dad a tussle with a car. Both are dead. The doctor must have thought me cold and unfeeling, but he couldn’t be further from the truth.

  My mum died when I was eleven years old. We had no warning or time to prepare.

  It started as a twenty-four hour bug. But a whole week went by, then two. Dad forced her to go to the doctors in the end. The doctor sent her straight to the hospital where she died two days later. We never knew if she'd had any symptoms prior, but if she had, she kept them to herself.

  Dad died just as suddenly. I was seventeen years old and away from home training to be a vet. One Friday night, on his way home from the pub, he stepped in front of a car. He never felt a thing, according to witnesses.

  The police never charged the elderly driver. I didn't blame her. I'd seen him walk into the road hundreds of times after a skin-full.

  But I couldn’t go into this amount of detail, not here, not now. We were here for Emily. I’d dealt with enough tragedy to last a lifetime; I couldn’t bear any more.

  "How about you, Mr Lyons?" the doctor said.

  "I don't think so. My mum also died a number of years ago—but she had a bad heart. My dad’s still with us although he suffered a stroke. We're not sure about his family though—he was adopted."

  “Okay, we’ll be doing some tests to check for this. Some brain scans—an MRI and CT, to get a clear visual image of what's happening inside."

  I know he meant search for tumours and the like and my stomach did a twirl.

  "We'll also do a lumbar puncture, which means taking fluid from the base of her spine so we can test for any infections or abnormalities,” the doctor continued.

  I nodded and glanced at Jon, who reached for my hand. We’d discussed this earlier, and both dreaded this procedure the most. We’d heard they could sometimes be very painful, and the patient needs to lie perfectly still.

  "And we’ll perform a series of nerve conduction studies. We'll admit Emily first. It will be a long day, but you should be able to take her home afterwards,” he said. “The lumbar puncture sometimes causes headaches, and she will need to rest, so we'll make that the last test. Do you have any questions?" he said.

  The pocket of his tweed jacket began trilling like a cricket. Doctor Wilson seemed surprised as he plucked a phone out, hit a button and placed it on the desk before him.

  “Sorry about that.” He smiled, his cheeks flushing. “Now where were we? Oh yes, any questions?”

  "Will we get the results today?" Jonathan asked.

  "Not all of them. The lumbar puncture results might take a week or two, but we'll be in touch." He looked from Jonathan to me and then back again. "Okay then. If that's all, let's get cracking."

  The rest of the day flew by. No sooner had they found Emily a bed then they began taking blood. They were on the ball at this hospital.

  I remembered going to the hospital in Manchester with my mum and waiting around for ages. It was the same when I was pregnant with Emily, hour upon wasted hour flicking through magazines.

  They allowed us in the room with Emily during the MRI scan.

  The radiologist was a slim, dark-haired Liverpudlian called Tim. He wore a white gown over a green polo shirt and jeans. He wanted to show us the equipment, but Emily whimpered and held onto Jonathan’s neck as if her life depended on it.

  “Ya not scared, are ya?” Tim asked.

  She nodded, her face still buried into Jon’s neck.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of. We have children queuing up for a turn in our spaceship.”

  Emily stiffened and stopped whimpering.

  “We borrowed it from NASA. Have you heard of NASA?” he said, winking at me.

  Emily shook her head and peeked at Tim.

  “Well, NASA is a special place in America where astronauts live. Do you know what an astronaut is?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Oh, now that won’t do. I’m sure there are some pictures here somewhere.”

  Tim produced a large board covered with images of astronauts and spaceships, as well as photographs of children inside the scanner.

  I marvelled at how, within minutes, Tim had Emily and Filly inside the large metallic dome, thinking she was in a spaceship. He even played “space music” for her on the headphones.

  After that, getting her into the CT scan was a doddle and Emily held her tiny body perfectly still. My heart contracted, and tears stung my eyes as she lay there, hardly breathing.

  Afterwards, she struggled with a series of physical tests to check her reflexes, but she was exhausted by then.

  Back on the ward, they brought Emily a bowl of macaroni cheese—normally her favourite, but she just picked at it, uninterested.

  After lunch, she had an hour’s rest.

  Jonathan stepped into the corridor and asked a pretty young nurse where he could buy a sandwich for us. I watched through the window as she batted her huge eyelashes at him and gazed into his gorgeous grey eyes.

  I laughed.

  The poor girl couldn’t be more obvious if she tried, but Jonathan seemed oblivious to her attention.

  After directing him to the hospital canteen, she and another nurse checked him out from behind as he left the ward.

  He returned a short while later with a couple of sandwiches and coffee.

  Sometimes I forgot how damn attractive he was. Nowadays I only got to see him in his farming overalls and stinking of dung. But he looked delicious when he made an effort. Today he wore a tight white t-shirt and stonewashed jeans that showcased his backside to perfection. He always had his dark hair cropped short and was usually clean-shaven, but today he had a bit of sexy stubble happening.

  I kissed his lips, long and hard.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Do I need a reason?”

  Jonathan licked his lips and then chewed at them, his eyes twinkling and a cheeky smile playing on his face.

  “Behave yourself, Mister. It was just a kiss.” I laughed.

  By the time the nurse came back for us, we were all refreshed and ready for the next round of tests.

  The lumbar puncture was as bad as we'd imagined. Emily screamed as they inserted the needle into the base of her spine. It took two nurses, Jonathan, and me to hold her still.

  Afterwards, Doctor Wilson came to speak to us briefly.

  “That all went well,” he said. “Some of the results are back but we won't get a full picture of what's happening until the rest are in. We'll send for you in approximately two weeks."

  "Can't you tell us anything, Doctor?" I asked.

  "Anything I told you now would be complete nonsense without the other results. I understand how difficult this is, but please, try to be patient."

  "But …"

  Jonathan placed his hand on my arm. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.

  ***

  “It makes sense, Vic. With you tied up looking after Emily and Dad, I’m struggling to manage the farm and the clinic. A farmhand will free you up and give us someone to rely on,” Jonathan said.

  We were sitting on the dated beige velour sofa in our open-plan lounge. The sun streamed in the large bay window, creating hazy patches throughout the room.

  “Can we afford to pay a full-time wage?” I asked, chewing at the inside of my cheek.

  “We’ll have to. All right, it might mean no holiday this year, but that’s the least of our worries right now.” He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. “I think you need to ring Steph too.”

  “I don’t think …”

  “She’ll be here in a shot. I can only do so much in the clinic. We need her.”

  “How will we pay all these extra people?” I clasped at my locket as I mentally tried to tot up the extra cash we’d need to find every week.

  “Steph will more than pay for herself, especially if we can take on more clients, but at this rate, we’ll have no choice but to close the clinic.” Jonathan sat back on the sofa and crossed one foot over his knee.

  I knew he was right, and with two extra pairs of hands the running of the farm and the clinic would be a breeze.

  “So what now? Shall we advertise?” I held my palms upward in a half shrug.

  Jon shook his head. “Sam’s recommended a young guy he’s been using on a casual basis. His name’s Alex—he’s from Idaho, America.”

  Sam was one of our neighbours, a hard-working old school farmer. If this lad had got the thumbs up from Sam, he must be good.

  “Where’s he staying?” I asked.

  “That’s the thing—he’ll have to stay here.”

  My stomach dropped. “Can’t he stay at Sam’s farm? They have plenty of room, and …”

  “We’ve got plenty of room. Dad always let the casual workers stay here,” he cut in.

  “I dunno, Jon. Not with Emily so sick,” I said, shaking my head.

  “He can stay in the flat above the garage. Don’t worry—it’ll be fine. Now go and ring Steph.”

  He pushed me in the direction of the telephone in the hallway, giving my bottom a cheeky pat as he did so.

  Stephanie, my best friend from school, had seen me through every traumatic experience in my life. Her Mum took me under her wing when I needed a mother’s advice. Dad had never been any good with womanly things.

  Steph shared my love of animals and we decided while still in primary school that we’d go to Veterinary College together. She met Jonathan first and did a bit of matchmaking to get us together.

  Once we’d graduated, Jonathan and I were inseparable and married soon after. Using my inheritance, we opened our own practice in Manchester. Steph worked for us for a while, until six years ago, when we’d sold up and moved to Cumbria.

  I begged her to come with us, mainly for my own sanity—being stuck in the middle of the countryside with no friends was hard. I told her about our plans to turn one of the stone outhouses into a veterinary clinic. With Jon taking on most of the farm work, I needed a back-up vet to help me and also someone to help care for Frank. But she had graciously declined.

  She stayed on in Manchester, working for the new owners. Then she met a man whilst holidaying in Spain. After a whirlwind romance, and against everybody’s advice, she packed up and moved to Spain to live where she’d stayed for two years.

  However, three weeks ago, she split with her boyfriend and returned from Spain and was currently staying with her parents in Manchester.

  I reached for the phone and dialled the number I knew by heart.

  My stomach muscles clenched as she answered on the first ring.

  "Hi, Steph, it’s me."

  "Hello, stranger, how are you?"

  The familiar sound of her voice almost choked me. "Oh, you know—things are pretty full on here at the moment."

  Her breath hitched. "Is it Frank?"

  "No—actually, he's doing well to be honest. It's Em." My voice finally cracked.

  "What's wrong with her?" she asked, her bubbly voice suddenly serious.

  "I dunno, Steph. She's sick—really sick. She's had lots of tests, and we're waiting for the results." Tears began streaming down my face, and my chest compressed.

  "Oh no, poor baby. Can I do anything to help?"

  "That's why I rang. I need a massive favour. I wondered if you can come to stay for a few weeks? I'm struggling with everything."

  "Oh, Vic, don't cry, of course I will. To be honest, my mum's driving me potty, and I need to get away—you’ll be doing me a favour."

  "I thought she would be,” I said, laughing through my tears and wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my blouse. I cleared my throat. “How is she?”

  “Oh, you know Mum. She never changes. Still keeping herself busy with her art groups.”

  “Say hi to her from me.”

  “Will do. So when do you want me?”

  “The problem is I won't be able to pay you much. Not right away, anyway."

  "Do you have wine?"

  "Some. I'll get more."

  "Fab. When do you want me?"

  "Yesterday."

  "Oh," she giggled. "Okay, give me till tomorrow and you're on."

  "Thanks, Steph. You're a diamond."

  So it was settled. Stephanie and Alex would both be joining us. The farmhouse had plenty of bedrooms, and I made one up for Steph. We’d always classed her as family anyway.

  Jon offered Alex the self-contained studio above the garage, and he was thrilled to have his own front door. He didn’t mind the fact it hadn’t been lived in for years and needed a lick of paint. At least he could come and go as he pleased without disturbing anyone.

  I warmed to Alex immediately. He had a mass of tight brown curls, green eyes and lean, wiry body, and seemed too young to be travelling the world alone. I figured his parents must be beside themselves.

  I felt the familiar protectiveness that always gripped me when presented with a stray or sick and injured animal. Not that I thought of Alex as an animal, but I did think he needed someone to care for him—if only to give another mother, living thousands of miles away, some peace of mind.

  In Manchester, we’d had a house full of strays. But we’d had to re-home them when we moved here. Frank didn’t agree with house pets. Animals had to have a purpose in his eyes. The semi-wild cats in the barn and the two farm dogs that were kept in kennels, all earned their keep.

  ***

  The following day, Steph bustled in as I was about to dish out the dinner.

  She gave a little scream when she saw me, and I almost dropped the dish I’d just taken out of the oven.

  She was always the same, like a tornado wherever she went. Her bubbly personality filled any room, which made up for her teeny five-foot-two stature. Her normally wild, bleached blonde hair had been scraped back into an elastic band, and her trademark black makeup surrounded her lovely pale blue eyes.

  "Sorry, I'm so late, Vic. I tried to get away, but Mum had hundreds of extra jobs that just couldn't wait. I think she's worried I won't be going back." She laughed.

  "Oh, don't be silly. You’re not late." I placed the dish on top of the stove and threw the oven gloves down beside it.

  I hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiar perfume she always wore.

  "Where's Em?" She dropped two canvas holdalls onto the tiled floor and looked around the room.

  I released her and took a step backwards. "Upstairs in bed. She doesn't want anything to eat, although she did have a bit of soup earlier," I said.

  Stephanie dropped to the floor and began rummaging around in one of her bags.

  "Can I pop up and say hi? I have something for her," she said, pulling a pair of maracas and a colourful Spanish fan from the huge holdall. She danced a little jig—the maracas in one hand and the fan in the other—and finished it off with, ‘Ole’,” and a double stamp of her heels.

  I laughed. "Oh Steph, I’m so glad you’re here. Of course you can go up—she'll be so excited. I didn't tell her you were coming; I wanted to surprise her."

  Steph ran up the stairs in search of her god-daughter.

  I continued dishing up the food, adding an extra plate to the already laid table.

  Steph walked down the stairs much more subdued than when she'd bounced up a few moment's ago. "Gosh, Vic, she's really sick, isn’t she?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. I'm really worried. She’s got no energy at all and absolutely no appetite." I shook my head and placed one hand over my mouth, taking a deep breath, trying hard not to break down.

  "I couldn't understand her. I had to make her repeat herself over and over," Steph said.

  "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. She sounds like she's drunk, doesn't she?"

  Stephanie nodded. "I didn’t want to say, but yes, she does, and she's so frail. She was never a big girl, but there's nothing left of her now."

 

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