‘No.’ She didn’t know whether she’d be able to let go. Whether holding on tight was giving him the wrong message. So, digging deep inside herself, she steadied her reactions. She’d managed this far in her life without needing anyone else. She could manage some more.
He shook his head and took her hand. ‘Don’t think about it, just do it. Hold on.’
‘Oh.’ Her defences worn down, her grip on her mum’s bag lessened. The bag dropped to the floor. Ivy did as she was told, wriggling her arms round his waist, feeling the breadth of him, his warmth. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I know.’ He didn’t give her any pithy pep talks about how fine she would be, how everything would be okay, he just held her. And for that she was grateful. She just took strength from him. Leaning against him, she felt the regular beat of his heart, the unrushed intake of breath. The safety net that she knew would be willing to hold her up if she needed it.
And she wondered what it would be like to be part of something. To be a half of a whole. If that could even happen. All that you complete me stuff wasn’t real, was it? It was something her mum had been looking for her whole life, and had never found. All those wasted years of chasing a ghost.
No, maybe it wasn’t real. But it felt damned nice to be held like this in her worst moments. She’d never had that—not from anyone. Someone to be with her and focus just on her. Someone who seemed to know what she needed without her having to tell them, without her having to strive for their attention.
Eventually the alarm stopped. The rushing slowed and after a few minutes a smiling doctor came to the door. ‘Oh, were you waiting? So sorry. Come on in.’
An air of calm pervaded the place. It was as if the running hadn’t happened. Or as if the doctor took everything in his stride. Like Matteo. So Ivy tried to stop herself from running too. ‘If something bad had happened they’d have stopped me from coming in, right? Surely? They’d take me to one side?’
Matteo nodded. ‘Of course. You think too much, like you expect something bad to happen.’
‘Well, I just want to be prepared if it does.’ Her mum was standing, in an old faded hospital nightie and dressing gown, at the side of her bed, smiling and chatting to a man about her age. Ivy almost ran to her in relief. ‘Hey, Mum. Thank God. You look a lot better today, up and about even.’
Her mum’s face brightened as she gave a hesitant smile. ‘Oh, yes, well, you always look better when they get rid of some of the tubes. This is Richard. He’s visiting my neighbour in bed eight. Funnily enough, he lives on West Mews, just round the corner from us.’
From you. Ivy didn’t live there any more. It wasn’t home. Hadn’t ever been, really. And what now? Her mum chatting someone up already—she really was getting back to normal. ‘Hi, Richard. Mum, what was going on before? That alarm? All those doctors rushing around? That wasn’t … that wasn’t for you?’
‘Oh, that. It was someone in the first bay. Poor chap. I’ll be happy when they move me off here.’
So will I.
‘Hello, Mrs Leigh.’ Matteo stepped forward and Ivy realised she was still holding his hand and that her mum was looking at her strangely.
Her mum’s eyebrows rose. ‘Montgomery. Actually, it’s Dr Montgomery. But that’s okay, you can call me Angela. Everyone does. Has Ivy shown you around the town?’
‘Yes. And he was impressed with the Minster, but it’s not as beautiful as Siena Duomo, apparently. As if. It’s a darned sight older. Or at least the foundations are.’ Ivy felt the smile in her voice. She just couldn’t help it. Cathedral wars, really? Seemed they had to differ on most things, or rather they both had opinions they liked to air. But it was a good challenge. Kept her on her toes. ‘The man’s a philistine.’
‘I said it was impressive. It is,’ he clarified. ‘I liked it, truly. It just doesn’t have the romance of the Duomo’s structure.’
Angela gave him an interested smile, her lips twitching. ‘You’re right, there. I did love all that marble.’ Then she turned back to Ivy. ‘Did you bring my things? I need to freshen up.’
‘Sure.’ Ivy proffered the bag while taking in the plethora of tubes attached to her mum. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Okay. Yes.’ Angela’s eyes flitted between Ivy and Matteo, and Ivy sensed a mother-daughter talk or something was brewing. Which would be novel. ‘Actually, that would be great.’
As her mum hobbled off towards the bathroom, IV stand in tow, Matteo squeezed Ivy’s hand and she realised she didn’t want to let it go. It was nice to have someone on her side. Which was a whole crock of crazy considering that a couple of weeks ago they’d been at loggerheads. But he gave her a gentle push. ‘Off you go. Start now.’
‘Start what?’
‘Fixing things.’
‘What if she doesn’t want to?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Would you ever want to look back and regret that you didn’t give it a go? Just be honest.’
‘She might not want to hear it.’
‘How else can you work things through, without honesty?’
‘Okay. I s’pose.’ He was right. He was often right, goddamn him. Not always … but enough to annoy her just a little bit more. She hid her smile.
As she followed her mum towards the ladies’ bathroom she felt his gaze on her back, realising that for the first time in years she hadn’t been conscious of her limp—that she was rarely self-conscious when she was with him.
Sensing him still watching her, she injected her gait with a jaunty swing of her bottom. It felt good. Mischievous, and out of character. Or maybe she had a part of her that she’d repressed? Maybe there was a part of her psyche that did want the trappings, the sex, the man? A part that she’d chosen to deny?
Wow. That was an eye-opening thought. But not one she was going to pay any more attention to. She hadn’t come this far in her life to give it all up for a life of compromise and dependency.
As if to remind her of that, her mum’s bag handle dug into her palm. Ivy tried to ignore those feelings of regret and … well, fear. Fear of feeling things. Of hurting. Of being let down. Of rejection all over again. She’d spent a good deal of her life closing herself off to people. But if Matteo was right, she needed to stop being scared. At least where her mum was concerned.
Let her in.
Let her in.
Let her in.
And she wanted to. She did. She wanted a chance.
‘How do I look?’ Angela was looking in the mirror and patting her hair, which was matted and flattened at the back. In truth, she looked tired and washed out and old. Blue-red bruises bloomed on her papery skin and her eyes were clouded.
‘Like I said, you look great, all things considered, and getting better every day. You’ve just had a life-saving operation, you’re not meant to look like something out of a magazine.’ Lifting her mum’s arm, threading the IV bag up through her nightgown sleeve and then hanging the fluid bag on the stand, Ivy gave her a smile. ‘I was so worried about you.’
‘Don’t be. I’m fine. Listen, Ivy, I need to talk to you.’
Ivy spoke to her mum’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Mum, you’re healing, you have to take it easy.’
‘There’s something I need to say.’
‘Save