‘I’m sorry Layla. There’s no easy way to say this I’m afraid.’
His solemn tone went right through her. Outside she glimpsed a police car with another uniformed officer in the driving seat and knew in an instant that this wasn’t a friendly drop-by. Processing the grim look on his face a feeling of dread clenched her stomach and her stab at cheerfulness fell away. In absolutely no doubt that something wasn’t right, she froze. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I need you to come to the hospital straight away. It’s your mum. She’s been in a car accident.’ He threw a glance at Joe collapsed on the sofa and let go a long desperate breath. ‘I’ll be upfront with you. It’s serious. You’ll have to cancel the trip. They’ve got her on life support.’
It was lunchtime the next day when she got home. Her mother was in intensive care, clinging on to life, but stable. Layla checked every room in the house, and called the restaurant. Joe had gone. Without her. She checked her mobile phone. In defiance of the patchy signal there was a text from him. Bleary-eyed, head numb, she read it.
Hi. At airport. Going ahead. No point us both missing out. Think we should be on a break until you can join. Unofficial. No point telling everyone. See you later x
Layla texted back without a second’s hesitation.
Won’t be joining. You and me are finished. Over! Done! Finito! OFFICIAL!
London, the following June
From: [email protected]
Subject: Urgent
Dear Nick
Hiya. I don’t know quite how to word this so I’ll get to the point. We have a daughter. She’s called Elisabeth. Beth for short actually. She’s eleven. Please contact me. It’s really very urgent.
Love Fran x
PS Photo attached!
No matter how many times actor Nick Wells read and reread the email he couldn’t get it to sink in. It made no sense. He was a dad? Had been for all these years? Without knowing? Detached, confused, deceived – these words barely summed up his shock.
He sat on a white leather sofa as big as a family car, in the lobby of the exclusive London apartment block where his brother Alex and his family were temporarily living in a smart penthouse until they could find a forever home of their own to move into. He’d been looking forward to meeting his new niece and nephew but since he’d seen Fran’s email in the taxi on the way over from St Pancras Station, a state of emotional paralysis had taken him over. Suddenly all he wanted was to get this done and he’d be out of here. The enthusiasm of boarding the Eurostar in Paris for a flying visit during a break in his shoot had evaporated.
He’d have to speak to his girlfriend Toni. They’d hardly spent any time together the past two or three months. The chances of changing that, turning something wild into something solid, a real relationship, seemed increasingly unlikely now.
He scanned the lobby, the wall of glass at the entrance, the shiny marble walls and floor, the light-filled space – it was all very different from the ramshackle old house he and Alex had shared with a bunch of friends in North London when he’d gone straight from school into his first acting role. During that brief time he and his twin had come close to leading normal lives. The memory tied a knot in his gut because that’s when he’d met Fran, working on the television show that had turned out to be his big break.
Agitated, he shoved his phone in a pocket, got up and walked over to the reception desk. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the shiny walnut veneer. He’d brought a gift basket for the babies which was balanced on one arm. He set it down and stepped away as if it was something rather embarrassing, waiting for the militarily-efficient concierge to get the go-ahead from Alex to buzz him through to the elevator.
‘Sorry for keeping you waiting.’ The concierge eyed Nick curiously.
‘What’s taking so long?’ He felt transparent as if the whole world had read Fran’s email.
‘They’re with magazine people. Taking photos of the new arrivals. You can go up as soon as I get the okay from the other Mr Wells.’
‘So they’re doing a family photo shoot are they? They kept that quiet.’ The reception desk phone rang and the concierge picked up. ‘The okay?’ Nick signaled a hopeful thumbs up.
‘Yes.’
‘Finally!’
He stepped into the glass elevator wishing he’d asked to use the stairs instead. His stomach churned as the ground below got further and further away. He set the beribboned gift basket on the floor, gripped the handrail with both hands and closed his eyes.
Reeling vertigo gave way to relief as he stood outside the polished oak door. When the door opened Alex locked him in a hug. ‘Hey! Great timing! We just finished.’
Close behind, Nick’s sister-in-law Maggie appeared holding Phoebe. ‘Hi.’ With her stylishly casual, blonde hair gathered up in a tufty knot, she swayed the baby and proffered one cheek. ‘Welcome Uncle Nick!’ He bent and gingerly air-kissed Maggie, anxious not to lean too close, scared he might crush her she was so delicate and tiny. He was awed by the baby.
He followed them into the vast living room and his stomach climbed into his throat. Through floor to ceiling glass, London lay spread out before him. He tried not to look. He couldn’t live here. If he stayed well back from the windows he’d be okay-ish. He grabbed onto the nearest surface, a granite counter top in the open plan kitchen. He sucked in a deep breath and let it go slowly.
Fighting his anxiety, he flattened the palm of his hand on the cold granite surface. Avoiding looking at the windows, the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, the river, he zeroed in on a photo stuck to the fridge with a red magnet the shape of a London bus. It was keeping in place a picture of Alex and Maggie’s wedding. He picked out the figures in the wedding party. The bride and groom looking so happy. And his mother and father. They were shoulder to shoulder, smiling, in the same photo. That was previously unheard of. It was difficult to believe the picture wasn’t photo-shopped. Next to them was Maggie’s mother, the best man, AKA himself, and the bubbly bridesmaid, the girl with the sexy curves, the vivid red hair and the green dress. She jumped right out of the photo. He’d forgotten her name but he remembered her worrying about whether or not it was bad luck to wear green at a wedding. She’d talked about nothing else in the car on the way to the church.
‘Come and meet our son,’ Alex prompted.
Nick forced a tight smile and let go of the kitchen counter, steeling himself to venture closer to the terrifying views.
Over by the windows little Horatio was being fussed over, cradled in the arms of the photographer while her assistant pointed out the London sights to the infant. Alex joined them and took his baby boy in his arms.
Having a lightbulb moment, the photographer waved a small camera. ‘Guys, I have a brilliant idea. How would you feel about a few behind the scenes shots? Casual? The photos behind the photos?’
‘Cool,’ Maggie beamed. ‘What do you say?’ She walked over to stand next to him. ‘The babies meet Uncle Nick?’
She went to hand over Phoebe. He recoiled.