Pieces of You.

Cal caught her arm suddenly, pulling her close. Their noses touched. ‘You know there has never been anyone else, don’t you? I’ve never done this before. It’s you … it’s only because of the way I feel about you.’

Nell nodded, feeling a flash of pleasure. She left Cal standing in his boxers clutching his cold, abandoned wedding band and started frantically combing the streets for a taxi.

‘Mum, calm down. He’s going to pull through.’

Nell tried to take a full breath but found that she couldn’t. She had tried hard to imagine how awful Luke might look on her taxi ride to the hospital, but this wasn’t what she had expected. The sticky, rust-brown blood, the machines, Luke’s dreadful pallor. It was shocking to see her brother, such a vital person, reduced to this.

‘How do you know that? How can you possibly know that Luke will pull through?’ Her mother was a mess, both physically and emotionally. Her hair was all over the place and she could barely string a sentence together. Pacing from one end of the room to another, she couldn’t sit still for a second and it was putting Nell’s nerves on edge, like someone stroking a cat the wrong way.

‘I don’t know, Mum,’ Nell admitted. They were both shell-shocked, but for some reason, she felt that she should be the one saying all the right things. She hadn’t cried yet, but she wanted to, just for the sheer release it would bring. ‘I’m just trying to think positively, is all.’

‘Where the hell have you been, anyway? Why didn’t you come as soon as I called you?’ Patricia’s tone was accusatory, but she probably didn’t realise how she sounded.

Nell’s opened her mouth then thought better of it. What could she say? That she’d been in bed with a married man – a professor at her college, no less? No. It was unthinkable, especially right at this moment.

Nell glanced at Luke. And to think she had waited to confide in him about Cal. Why had she waited? What was the point? Now it was too late. Not too late; what a stupid thing to think. Luke was going to come out of this, but Nell cursed herself for leaving it, for feeling the need to be secretive, even for a short while.

‘Lucy.’ Nell was stunned at the sight of her sister-in-law. She wore a grey Transfomers T-shirt and a pair of flowery flip flops. Her cheeks were as grey as her top and her legs, naked up to mid-thigh, looked pale and vulnerable.

Nell stared at her, thinking how young Lucy looked without make-up. She looked out of place, like a student who’d wandered downstairs for breakfast after a heavy night.

Catching sight of her, Patricia spun round. ‘Lucy. You must be distraught. Are you all right? And what are you wearing?’

Nell stared at Lucy. There was something strange about the exhausted slump of Lucy’s shoulders, about the empty look in her eyes. Something else had happened. Something terrible. Nell’s eyes dropped to Lucy’s stomach. It looked oddly deflated. Nell felt a cry rising up and she clapped a hand to her mouth to keep it in.

Lucy slid into the chair next to Luke’s bed, tiredly leaning her head against the wall. ‘I – I was pregnant. Nearly sixteen weeks.’ She wavered, clasping her knees with her hands.

‘Was?’ Patricia’s hands started to shake.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Tears slid down Lucy’s cheeks but her eyes seemed strangely glazed. ‘I lost the baby in the night. They don’t know why. They … they never know why.’

Patricia let out a strangled gasp.

‘IVF, last attempt,’ Lucy managed. ‘A … a little girl.’

‘No. Oh, Lucy, no.’ Patricia shook her head repeatedly, back and forth, back and forth. She made to step forward, but her movements were wooden.

Nell took Lucy’s hand. It was small and cold, like a child’s. She hated that she had been right, that Lucy had been pregnant. And worst of all that she wasn’t any more. Four months, four whole months. That only made the loss all the more tragic. And now Luke was in a coma. Poor, poor Lucy.

Nell felt something ripple up inside and she struggled to hold it back. Now wasn’t the time for a panic attack. That would be selfish and inappropriate. Lucy was suffering a double tragedy; she was only suffering one. She simply had to breathe. In, out, concentrate, focus. Wasn’t that what her therapist always used to say?

Nell saw her mother open her mouth, begin to say something. Almost in slow motion, Nell urged her to say nothing, to think before she spoke. Her mother wasn’t known for her tact and Lucy had already been destroyed.

‘Please don’t,’ Lucy said, before any words – right or wrong – could be uttered aloud. ‘Patricia. Please. Please. I … I can’t …’

Nell glanced at her mother, seeing the words freeze in her throat.

It was too much, too much for anyone to bear. Nell couldn’t imagine how Lucy must be feeling. Losing their final IVF baby and now this, Luke, in a coma. Nell wanted to say something, but the right words wouldn’t come.

Nell tried to ignore the sterile air that was permeating her nostrils, doing her best to put the image of Luke’s rust-stained head out of her mind. Luke was going to be all right. He had to be. They needed him. They all needed him. Nell’s thoughts shifted uncontrollably to her father and Ade. She had lost them, both of them. One had died, one had run away. Nell shrunk inside, transported to her teenage years. She was out of control, floundering, and now she was on the brink of losing another anchor.

Not Luke as well, not Luke as well …

Nell gritted her teeth. All she had to do was breathe. She couldn’t fall apart and she couldn’t act like this was worse for her than it was for anyone else. She simply had to breathe. Simple.

CHAPTER NINE

Lucy

There hadn’t been much change to speak of. They said it was to be expected after such a severe accident and it was only the following day, so I shouldn’t be downhearted about Luke’s vitals looking pretty much the same.

Vitals. Vital signs. In Luke’s case, in the state he was in, the description seemed to underline how very … un-vital he was. His body was too still, as if his dynamic energy and spirit was being held down beneath the sheets.

The hours since discovering him in ICU had limped past with agonising, unremarkable slowness. Another trip to surgery, the promise of a CT head scan which would reveal any bleeds or larger blood clots, but no real change.

The kindly Dr Wallis had been replaced by another consultant, or rather, a surgeon; a man with enormous teeth like tombstones. Apparently, this was all very normal; patients in a state of trauma were dealt with by a team of people, the lead changing as each different issue was dealt with. And this new consultant seemed incompetent by comparison. Perhaps he simply lacked Dr Wallis’s excellent bedside manner, but when he evenly stated that Luke’s leg was ‘shattered,’ I couldn’t help shivering. Shattered. Was that the finest choice of words? Was that the diplomatic best a consultant could come up with? Shattered was a word most people used to describe a broken glass. On the upside, not that the consultant described it that way, Luke’s spinal injury was not as bad as they had first thought.

‘Oh, hello, Mrs Harte,’ a nurse said, coming in with a trolley. ‘I need to change Luke’s dressings. You can stay if you wish …?’

I shook my head. I hadn’t presumed myself squeamish, but when it came to Luke, I was. I’d rarely seen him bleeding before, a situation that had only come to my attention in the past day or so. Sure, Luke had cut himself when he was chopping vegetables or whatever, and he’d taken a tumble while running once – an amusing incident involving a fox and a badly lit alley way. That time, he’d come back with a cut knee, a grazed elbow and a slightly sheepish expression, full of anecdotal details about the ‘bastard fox’ that had felled him. But that was it. He’d gone from childish knee-scraping to full-on gore in the space of a day. I wasn’t used to seeing Luke’s body falling apart. He put people back together, or at least he started to. At the scene of an accident, Luke leapt out and started the process of re-assembling and healing.

‘I have to change his catheter now,’ the nurse said. She looked cheerful rather than embarrassed, but was giving me the heads up if I wanted to leave. ‘I can do this blindfolded; it’s you I’m thinking of.’

I left. Luke gave me enough backchat for barging into our ensuite bathroom at home. ‘Can’t a man pee in peace, Stripes?’ he’d yell as I apologetically giggled and backed out of the room with my hands over my eyes. The man had an absolute horror of being watched during seemingly innocuous toilet rituals.

God; even trivial memories of Luke made my heart feel as if it might explode. What was wrong with me?

I drifted into the waiting area. It was a dismal space; stark and unwelcoming, which was strange considering the amount of time friends and family of seriously hurt people spent in it. I realised the hospital budget didn’t run to accent cushions and brightly coloured wall prints, but the hard, plastic chairs were unforgiving and not for long-term use. I sat on one of them and brought my knees up to my chest. My stomach felt … vacant. It was still rather wobbly, but the skin was contracting quickly. I’d spent however many years of my life without a baby inside me but now, everything about not having one there felt wrong to me. I closed my eyes, pushing back hot tears that I knew would fall if I let them. In a final act of cruelty, every pregnancy symptom had disappeared, almost immediately, in fact. My breasts were no longer tender, the intense nausea had dissipated, and with it, the special glow I had felt inside at harbouring a new life. And that unique fluttering sensation … I fumbled over this. That incredible, joyous feeling of my baby moving and stretching inside me had gone and I could barely remember what it felt like. I even missed the hideous nausea because it had been such an inherent part of my pregnancy.

I gripped my knees. The sorrow I felt for our lost baby was overwhelming and, without Luke, I couldn’t make sense of it. Was it my ‘hostile environment’ that had caused this to happen? Or was there some other reason this last little IVF baby hadn’t been able to stick around? I had called my parents to let them know and they had been concerned, but predictably detached – or perhaps I felt detached from them and their well-intentioned, but somehow neutral, reaction to both bits of shocking news.

Did I want them to come down from Scotland, my mother had asked? I told them not to, that I would contact them if … when, Luke’s prognosis changed. I couldn’t see the point; my mother would be caring enough, but unable to offer me much in the way of emotional support, and my father would pat me woodenly and look uncomfortable. No, I was better off with Dee and Dan – with Nell. Patricia, even. Although things were still a little strained between us. That unspoken reproach of hers towards me over the baby stuff jabbed at me bitterly. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I had rather too much to worry about in terms of Luke’s future right now to stress about Patricia’s motives.

I felt bleak, but I couldn’t help thinking that Luke would be urging me to pull myself together and be optimistic. Whatever happened, Luke always tried to see the positive in things. I wandered back into his room, certain the new wee bag must be in place by now.

The nurse absently smoothed the bed sheet into place. ‘Have you and your husband … Luke, been together long?’

‘Five years. No, sorry. We’ve been married for five years, but together for much longer than that.’

I took a seat next to Luke. He had been properly cleaned up and his freckles were visible beneath his fading tan. The bruise on his forehead was developing into a spectrum of impressive colours, as if Tilly or Frankie had been making his face up with eyeshadow. Most of his body was still tightly bandaged and the machines continued their monosyllabic blip and chhhh noises, over-compensating for Luke’s complete silence.

It was so unlike him, to be silent, I thought, as I sat on the edge of his bed. Ever since we’d met, Luke had been at the centre of everything.

CHAPTER TEN

Lucy and Luke

June, eight years earlier

‘Please come,’ Dee pleaded. We were sitting in the tiny garden of her flat on the outskirts of Bath drinking very strong gin and tonics. ‘It’s a party; what’s not to like?’

‘Whose party?’

I adjusted my chair. It was one of those fold-up things that made one’s backside sweaty and one’s posture inelegant. Recently boyfriend-less, I wasn’t in the mood to hear about a party, let alone go to it. I berated myself for being so grumpy.

‘Liberty’s.’ Dee pulled a face. ‘She’s pretentious, I know, but her parties are fabulous, Luce. Champagne in the bath, trendy live music.’

I glanced at her. There had to be more to it than that. Champagne and trendy live music were two a penny in the circles Dee moved in, even if Liberty’s parents did own a gorgeous stately home thing just outside Bath. There was a man involved; there had to be.

I pulled at my hair, which was in desperate need of some sort of hair product. Heat made it frizz up like those bright orange crisps, Nik Naks. My hair wasn’t orange, you understand. Just … full of kinks.

‘Who’s going?’ I asked. It was a pointed question.

‘Dan Sheppard,’ Dee admitted, knowing there was no point in denying it.

I smiled. Dan Sheppard was an arty type Dee had recently met at her brother’s barbecue. Usually cool about men she had a thing for, she’d talked about him non-stop since they’d met and that meant that Dee was serious about him.

I gulped down my gin and tonic. I knew I’d be going to the party, because my friend needed a wing-woman. But I was feeling rather low right now. Lack of boyfriend aside, I’d been working in a book shop for almost a year at this point and the literary degree I’d finished seven years ago felt like a distant memory. I felt as if I had lost my way a bit because, even though I wasn’t overly ambitious, I did want to do something fulfilling with my life, something I enjoyed.

‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ I offered lamely.

Dee leapt out of her fold-up chair – no mean feat – and kissed my cheek. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I have plenty of clothes you can borrow. Let’s go and find you a dress …’

And so it was that I found myself at Liberty’s party, wearing a too-short, black-and-white-striped dress of Dee’s that had me yanking the almost-pointless hem down over my bottom every two minutes. I made suitable murmurs of appreciation at the magnums of Moët nestling in ice in the marble bath, and I dutifully agreed that the rather shouty live band Liberty had hired would be fantastic at Dee’s brother’s wedding in the autumn.

Sitting outside clutching a glass of champagne, even though I would have preferred a gin and slimline or one of Dee’s Salt ‘n’ Peppa Vodkas, I nudged her. Liberty was heading over with a brown-haired man wearing slouchy Levi’s and a Foo Fighters T-shirt. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Dan Sheppard. I sighed. I was terrible at small talk.

‘This is Luke Harte,’ Liberty announced, pushing him forward like some sort of trophy wife. ‘He’s funny, charming and ridiculously clever, so I knew you’d both want to meet him.’

Luke Harte pulled a face. ‘Holy shit. I’ll never live up to that introduction. I’m not even remotely funny, for starters.’ He grinned, Dee laughed and Liberty melted away, job done.

Luke Harte had managed to commandeer a beer, despite everyone else being forced to drink champagne, I noted rather sourly. He looked unabashed. ‘Sorry about that. Liberty always says such embarrassing things. Hey, do you really think she’s called Liberty?’

Dee eyed him approvingly and straightened the bold, off-the-shoulder floral dress she was wearing. ‘I’m Dee. Delilah, actually,’ she said. She held her hand out.

Amused, he took it, giving it a firm, non-flirtatious shake. ‘You’re shitting me. Parents Tom Jones fans?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You must get fed up with people chorusing ‘Why, why, why’ at you when they’re drunk. A bit like being called Eileen when “Come On, Eileen” comes on. Nightmare.’

Dee was eying Luke appraisingly, almost as though she was wondering if he might be a better option than the elusive Dan Sheppard.

Luke’s eyes drifted to me. ‘What about you? Are you named after a song as well?’

I shook my head. ‘Sorry, no. Nothing nearly as exciting.’

I didn’t offer up my name at this juncture; what was the point? You know – we all know – when you’ve met someone who is out of your league.

Luke Harte was good looking. A nice chin, lovely eyes. I couldn’t see the colour; it was too dark outside, but they looked friendly, sexy. He wouldn’t be interested in me. Or was that my low self-esteem talking? My last boyfriend hadn’t been a nice chap, as it turns out. Controlling and arrogant, I had recently struggled to work out why I had been attracted to him in the first place. I hadn’t expected him to cheat on me twice, or for him to finish with me citing my ‘anal retentiveness’ as the reason.

That said, I possessed enough self-awareness to know that I was pretty enough. But I wasn’t dazzling. And Luke Harte was one of life’s dazzlers. It wasn’t really about his looks – he exuded good humour and his wide smile and chatty style suggested he was used to being the life and soul of the party. Judging by the way he was leaning against the wooden post of the gazebo with a wide, chilled out smile, Luke Harte was totally at ease in social situations and, if not arrogant, then he was confident in the extreme.

Luke looked genuinely disappointed though. ‘That’s a shame,’ he responded lightly. Well, if you won’t tell me your name, I’ll just have to give you one. I hereby name you … Stripes.’ He made the announcement rather grandly and gestured to my absurd dress.

I looked down, feeling self-conscious. ‘This? It’s too short and it’s not even …’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Dee interrupted, getting to her feet. ‘Doesn’t it suit her? I told her it shows off all her best assets.’

‘It certainly does.’ Luke’s eyes didn’t leave my face.

I felt like a fraud. The dress wasn’t even mine. Liberty had been right about Luke. He was certainly charming.

‘Oooh, there’s Dan.’ Dee adjusted her dress. ‘I’ll go and say hi and grab us some more drinks.’ She teetered away in the high heels that always gave her crippling blisters and we heard her loudly introducing herself.

‘Right. That’s my cue to leave.’ I put my now-warm glass of champagne on the table and mustered up a polite smile.

‘You’re not serious, Stripes.’ Luke straightened and placed his beer can on the table next to my champagne flute. The two drinks looked curiously intimate together.

‘We’ve only just met,’ Luke added. ‘Stay. Talk to me.’ He sounded almost flirtatious.

I wasn’t equal to the task. ‘I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight.’

‘Really?’ He regarded me, seemingly concerned. ‘What’s up?’

I shrugged. I was sure Luke Harte didn’t want to hear about my relationship issues. ‘Oh, you know. Men.’

He smiled and rubbed his chin gravely. ‘Ah, men. I’m familiar with this topic. I have a younger sister, Nell. She’s told me some horrific tales about these beings.’

I couldn’t help smiling back. ‘Yes, well. I’m sure there are some nice ones out there, but my last boyfriend wasn’t one of them.’ To my surprise, I found myself giving Luke a quick run through of key events, culminating in the humiliating confession-of-cheating-but-you’re-dumped-anyway saga.

Luke frowned. ‘What an idiot your ex is. I can only apologise on behalf of my species. We’re not all like that, I promise.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ I glanced over my shoulder to check on Dee and found her sitting on Dan’s lap. She was fine, job done.

‘I can prove it if you like,’ Luke offered, his eyes creasing at the edges.

‘Prove what?’

‘That we’re not all like him. Like your idiot of an ex-boyfriend.’

Was he asking me out? Surely not. I felt panicked. I wasn’t ready for another relationship … or even a date. And with Luke Harte? I stared at him, realising he was younger than me, perhaps by five years or so. Dee would think it was brilliant if I dated a younger man, but I really wasn’t sure I was up to it.

The romantic in me gave me an inner nudge. Was this one of those moments? One of life’s opportunities that shouldn’t be missed? I just didn’t want to get hurt again.

‘Come out with me,’ Luke said, meeting my eyes. ‘For a drink. Dinner. The cinema. Bowling, if you’re feeling competitive. I’m a master bowler.’

‘I’m … I’m not very good at bowling.’ It was lame, but I didn’t know what else to say. I had a feeling I was blushing madly and wished I could duck out of the bright light that hung above us.

‘Dinner then,’ he said lightly. ‘Surely you’re good at eating dinner?’

He was mocking me, but only gently. I bit my lip. ‘We’d have absolutely nothing in common,’ I blurted out. I was mortified. Why had I said that? I sounded ridiculous.

He burst out laughing, unruffled. ‘And what, pray tell, brings you to that conclusion?’

I had to justify myself after such a statement. ‘Well … I’m shy, you’re outgoing. I alphabetise my books; you probably stuff them into bookshelves any-old-how. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ I added to soften the blow.

Luke Harte held his hands up. ‘Wow. You’ve definitely got me pegged. I do shove all my books on to the shelves in random order. How did you know that? Do I look like a messy, couldn’t-care-less kind of a guy?’

As he moved under the gazebo light, I noticed that his eyes were a very nice shade of blue.

‘Erm. I don’t know. I just guessed about the books. Or rather, I just know that I’m weird compared to most people when it comes to these things.’

‘Quirky, not weird. And opposites attract, remember. Clichés are clichés for a reason, as a very wise man once told me.’

I noted a wobble in his voice and I was intrigued. ‘A wise man?’

‘My father. He … he died a few years ago. We’re all still reeling from it. My family, I mean. It’s literally the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life.’

‘Gosh. I’m so sorry.’

Luke nodded. ‘Thanks. It was grim, but we’re all moving on now. Mostly. Anyway, are you close to your parents?’

‘Not at all, unfortunately. I’m an only child … not planned, I think. I always felt a bit … superfluous.’ I rolled my shoulders. ‘But hey. They’re okay, really. They live in Scotland now.’

‘That’s a shame.’ He seemed genuinely sympathetic. ‘Are you going to tell me your name now? I feel at a disadvantage. Especially now that we’ve … you know. Shared things.’

I managed a teasing glance. ‘I don’t think I will. Besides, there are plenty of other, prettier girls here for you to chat to.’

‘Is that so?’ A furrow appeared in his brow. ‘What if I said I liked girls in short, stripy dresses who alphabetise their books?’

I felt laughter approaching. ‘I’d tell you it was a phase. One I’m sure you’ll grow out of very soon.’ A giggle escaped.

‘Ouch! That hurt, Stripes.’ Luke clapped his hands to his chest, miming pain. ‘But that just shows that you haven’t got me pegged, after all.’

‘Oh?’

Luke leaned against the post and folded his arms across his chest, decapitating the Foo Fighters. ‘Because if you knew me better, you’d know that I don’t go in for phases. Things I care about, I stick with. My family and my career, to give you a couple of examples.’

I considered him. He was definitely younger than me, in his early twenties, I would say at a guess.

‘I’m a paramedic, for my sins.’ Luke’s mouth twitched. ‘Soon to be, anyway. I know, I know; you think I’m doing it for the glory. I expect you think I support Man United, too.’