The fact Libby seemed lucid enough did little to comfort Owen. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the horror of watching her drop from the arm of the sofa and knowing he was too far away to break her fall. The bloody corner of the table had done that. A shudder ran through him as he recalled the terrible sound of her head striking wood. When he’d crouched beside her, she’d been so still and so pale, her pallor a terrible contrast to the bright red of the blood seeping from the cut above her hairline. Where the hell was the bloody doctor?
He needed some answers. Normal, healthy people didn’t just faint like that. Hadn’t Libby said she’d never done it before? God, what if she was really ill? Her dad was supposed to be going away in a couple of days and it would be up to Owen to take care of her. He’d never had to be responsible for the wellbeing of another person. Well, not anyone he truly cared about the way he did about Libby. Panic gripped him unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Where was the damn doctor?
Thankfully the curtain swished again before he could work himself into a proper frenzy, and a small woman with deep brown skin and inky-black hair pulled up onto her head in a severe bun appeared alongside the nurse from earlier. She gave a brief nod to both Owen and Beth before turning her focus on Libby. ‘Good Evening, Ms Stone, I’m Dr Banerjee. It’s good to see you’re awake. Perhaps if your friends could excuse us, we can have a chat about what happened to you this evening?’
The nurse lifted one edge of the curtain back. ‘I can show you where you can wait, if you like? There’s a drinks machine in there. Can’t recommend the tea, but the coffee’s not too bad.’
A part of him wanted to protest, to insist he should stay and find out what the doctor had to say. But the rational bit of his brain which was still functioning reminded him he didn’t have the right. Giving Libby’s hand one final squeeze, he met her eyes and hoped the smile on his lips was somewhat reassuring. ‘I’ll be outside, if you need anything.’
Wide-eyed, she nibbled at her bottom lip but didn’t do anything other than nod at him. She looked so pale and small against the white sheets, he wanted to crawl in beside her, hug her close, and promise her everything would be all right. But the nurse had an eyebrow raised at him and Beth had already slid past her to the other side of the curtain. ‘Thanks,’ he said to the nurse as she lowered the curtain behind them and held out a hand to indicate the way to the family room.
‘I’ll let you know when you can see her again. Try not to worry.’ With a kindly smile the nurse was gone, her Croc-style rubber clogs squeaking on the tiled floor.
The door swung closed behind her with a whump, leaving him and Beth in a small, stale-aired room with nothing more than a couple of sad spider plants and a scattering of dog-eared magazines for company. ‘Do you want a drink?’ Beth crossed the room towards the vending machines in the corner.
‘Not really.’ Sinking down on an institutional-looking blue couch, Owen grabbed the nearest magazine and began to flick through it. The pages of soap gossip, recipes and tell-all life stories blurred before his eyes. What if it was something really serious? Why else would the doctor have asked them to leave?
He didn’t realise he’d voiced his fears aloud until the cushion next to him sank down and Beth put a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sure it’s just a procedural thing. We’re not relatives and even if we were, they have to be so careful about stuff like patient confidentiality.’
Owen nodded. He was being a sap. He should be the one comforting Beth, not the other way around. As much as he cared for Libby, he didn’t get a monopoly on worry. The girls had all been friends since they were little kids. ‘Sorry, I lost my mind for a minute or two then. I just…’ He squared his shoulders against another shudder. ‘She just looked such an awful colour when she went down.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be okay.’ It sounded too close to a prayer for his liking.
Beth pulled her phone out of her bag and stared at it. They’d both switched them off when entering the ward as per the signs posted everywhere. ‘I should call the others, but I don’t know what to tell them.’
‘You could let them know she’s awake and talking. Maybe don’t mention the being sick part until we know a bit more?’
She seemed to brighten a bit at his suggestion. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’ Rising, she wandered over to where a small window looked out upon the corridor and began speaking into her phone. Settling back into the lumpy couch, Owen closed his eyes and let the soothing soft tone of her voice wash over him.
‘Mr Coburn?’ Sitting bolt upright at the sound of his name, Owen found the nurse watching him from the doorway. ‘Ms Stone is asking to speak to you.’ She cast an apologetic glance at Beth who’d taken a couple of steps towards her. ‘Just Mr Coburn for the time being.’
Swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat, Owen exchanged a bewildered look with Beth as the nurse ushered him back towards the ward. The curtains were still drawn around Libby’s bed space and he wasn’t sure what to make of that when most of the others on the ward were open with patients reading or staring at tablets. A deep sense of foreboding gripped him, but he shoved his way through the curtains before he had a chance to get himself spooked again.
They’d propped Libby up with a couple of extra pillows, and he was relieved to see there was a little more colour in her cheeks. The flush deepened as she watched him approach to perch on the side of her bed. ‘How’re you doing?’ He took her hand, raising it to his lips to blow warm air over the frigid tips of her fingers. ‘You’re cold, do you need an extra blanket?’
She clenched her hand around his for a moment before easing it free and letting it fall back at her side. ‘No, I’m fine.’ Her voice sound weak, and there was something about her expression he couldn’t quite get a handle on. ‘The doctor said I can go home in the morning, provided I have a decent night.’
Relief flooded through him. ‘Nothing serious, then?’
Her lips quirked in a funny half-smile. ‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly.’ She glanced away. ‘I’m sorry, Owen.’
He tilted his head trying to catch her gaze, but she seemed fascinated by the patterned curtain to the left of the cubicle. ‘I told you before, it’s not a problem. I’m a big boy, I can handle a bit of vomit.’ He’d expected her to laugh, or at least manage a grin, but instead her eyes shuttered closed. She looked so closed off, as remote to him as if she were on the other side of the world not mere inches away. ‘Libs, what is it, sweetheart?’
Her throat worked up and down. ‘I want you to know, I don’t expect anything from you. It’s an accident, just one of those stupid things, but I know how you feel about this, so I won’t expect you to be involved.’
He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about and told her so. ‘I feel like I’m in a play without a script.’
Opening her eyes, she rolled her head to face him and the look of abject sorrow in her eyes struck him like a blow. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Oh. Shit. ‘But how?’ He couldn’t stop the ridiculous question, nor the one that followed hard on its heels. ‘Is it mine?’
Flinching like he’d slapped her, Libby narrowed her eyes at him. ‘The usual way.’ She turned her head away. ‘Like I said, I’m sorry.’ She pulled her hand away and a voice in his head screamed at him to grab it, some sixth sense screaming to him that if he didn’t hold on to her, she’d slip away from him forever. He didn’t move quickly enough, and she curled her hand behind her head making it impossible for him to take it again.
‘It’s not like you did it on your own.’ Ignoring the chant of baby, baby, you’re going to have a baby currently on a loop in his head, he took another breath and waited until he could speak calmly before asking. ‘What do you want to do about it?’
‘Growing up, I always hated being an only child. Mum and Dad were older when they had me, and she told me a bit about the terrible time she’d had conceiving, and how they’d always viewed me as their miracle baby.’
Christ. What must it be like to have been wanted that much that someone viewed you as a miracle, rather than a curse? Owen would never know. His birth parents had never wanted him, and as for the pair who’d finally adopted him and given him a name, well, there were worse things than death, as the old saying went.
With a sigh, Libby continued. ‘I didn’t want to be the miracle, I wanted to be a normal kid with brothers and sisters and since then, I’ve always dreamed of a brood of my own.’
Here he was trying to get his head around the prospect of one baby and she’d gone and said the word brood. That didn’t imply a couple, or even three. It sounded like the makings of a five-a-side bloody football team. The back of his shirt dampened with sweat at the prospect. How was he supposed to deal with that? The only lessons life had taught him about raising kids would land most people in jail. An afternoon running around kicking a ball about was one thing, but actually being responsible for the health and wellbeing of a child? There was no chance. ‘I can’t do it.’
Her soft gasp of pain almost ripped him in two, but when she spoke, her words were calm. ‘I don’t expect you to.’
Gut punch. Never mind the doubts he had about his ability to be a half-decent father, Libby had already judged and found him wanting. He sucked in a couple of shaky breaths fearing he might be the one to vomit this time. She had no faith in him, no expectation he’d step up and do the right thing. He was flawed, and she knew it.
‘I’m tired now, I’d like to get some rest.’
‘Can I get you anything before I go?’
‘I’m in a hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses.’ And, I don’t need you. She hadn’t said as much, didn’t need to.
Embarrassment burned in his gut, and he rose stiffly. ‘Do you want me to come and collect you tomorrow?’ He didn’t even have a bloody car, but surely someone would lend him one for an hour or two.
She shook her head. ‘Dad’s coming to fetch me, I’ve already spoken to him.’ She hesitated, then licked her lips. ‘He doesn’t know about the baby, and I want to keep it that way for now.’
Owen frowned. ‘You can’t mean to let him go away on holiday and not tell him?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s between me and him. I won’t be the cause for making him stay somewhere he doesn’t want to be.’ She glanced away. ‘Not again.’ The last two words were said more to herself than him, but they revealed a shocking truth. She knew about Mick’s plans to sell up, and she hadn’t confided in him about it.
In his gut he knew he was being a hypocrite, but he’d sworn to Mick he’d keep his secret. He could think of no good reason for Libby not to tell him about it the moment she knew, but plenty of bad ones. Like she didn’t trust him, or didn’t think he was an important enough person in her life to be worthy of her confidence. Not sure he could take another blow and remain standing, Owen backed up. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep well.’
‘Can you ask Beth to come and see me?’ A wash of bitter jealousy swept through him. He bet Beth knew about the sale of the shop, and bloody Eliza too. Thick as thieves the lot of them, and now no doubt they’d be the ones she turned to about the baby.
Owen clenched a fist. If Libby thought she could dismiss him from her life like some casual summer romance which had run its course, she was in for a bloody rude awakening. He’d never given up on something just because it was difficult, and he wasn’t about to start now when the stakes were higher than ever. Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded, then ducked beyond the curtain.