CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Drake

I carried our bags across the lounge, looking vainly for my aunt. She'd sent a message saying she'd be there to fetch us. My heart was thumping in my chest, a new worry taking off inside me. What was happening to Ainsley? Was she dying?

I couldn't believe that. I couldn't make myself believe that. No one would be that cruel, that inhumane.

I spotted a woman of around my mom's age – late sixties, early seventies – standing at the back of the crowd. She had a fluffy cardigan and smart tan-colored slacks and a big scarf. She also had glasses and a mass of curly red hair. I remembered that from when I was ten years old.

“Aunt Jay?”

Her face split with a grin. “Oh, my goodness me! It's you!” She stared at me. Then she hugged me to her warm body. She smelled of powder and rose perfume and I felt strangely comforted by her presence. She had a safe presence, something like a mother. It made me feel assured.

“Drake! I'd recognize you anywhere. You're so handsome now!”

“Auntie...” I blushed. Beside me Ainsley was giving a pallid grin. “Auntie? Please meet my...uh...friend. Ainsley Johnson.”

“Oh!” Aunt Jay gave Ainsley an enormous hug too and then held her at arm's length. “Welcome, dear,” she said fondly. “Now, come on, you two. It's midnight here and cold as anything outside. Have you had supper?”

“Yes, aunt,” I commented, wheeling the bags behind me as we walked briskly through the huge, bustling space of Heathrow airport. “A little, anyway.”

“Oh, these airplane meals,” she said.

We all laughed and followed the cheerful, reassuring lady out into the night.

“Now, then,” she said, pausing as we all looked at the aging Renault Cabriolet. “I think your luggage will fit nicely in the back. You'll come in the front with me, dear,” she said to Ainsley. “He can go in the back with the cases. How's that?”

Ainsley grinned. She was looking so pale! I knew it was probably just tiredness but I couldn't help being on high alert where her health was concerned. Why hadn't I thought of this?

“Sounds good,” she said tiredly.

“Sounds perfect,” Aunt Jay said, patting her hand cheerfully. “Now. We're going to take about an hour to get back. When we do, I insist you don't even think of staying up. There's beds made up for you. Have a hot bath and climb straight into bed. Tomorrow's Monday but I'm retired and you're on holiday. Sleep as long as you want.”

I smiled, patting her shoulder fondly. “Thanks, Aunt,” I said. “I don't know what we'd do without you.”

She grinned. “I'm pleased to see you,” she said. “It's a right old treat for me too. Now come on. In with you, the pair of you. Let's get ourselves back.”

I was amazed by how alert and awake she was at midnight. I was almost falling asleep already, but she was darting about as if it was midday. She oversaw us packing everything into the back and then slipped into the driver's seat.

“We're off on a journey on the wrong side of the road,” she said with glee.

I laughed. “You're the only British citizen I've heard admitting that.”

She laughed. “Well, if I said the right side of the road, you'd have a lot to say. You'd tell me you drove on the right side of the road, and you'd be right.”

We laughed. Ainsley fell asleep in the seat on the way home and I cleared my throat. “Aunt?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I'm...worried about Ainsley. She's sick.”

“How sick, dear? Sick as in a queasy stomach? Head-achy? The flu?” My aunt frowned at me.

“She's been feeling really nauseous,” I confided. “And dizzy.”

“Poor thing,” Aunt said, looking across at her with a tender frown. “Well, we'll get her home and tomorrow if all's not as it should be, we'll call my doctor.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

We headed off into the night.

When we reached her place, I carried in our cases and she showed us upstairs. She'd put us in the same room, which showed a surprising insight.

“Now, off you go, dears,” she said. “I'll go and get into bed and leave you to it. If you're hungry in the night, eat whatever you can find.”

I chuckled. “Thank you, aunt.”

I helped Ainsley up the stairs and we went to bed.

In bed, I rolled up and held her tight. I could see she was feeling sick – she was crunched up on her side, a small, tight frown between her brows.

“Do you feel awful?” I asked. I kissed her hair with a strange and horrible dread inside me.

“Mm,” she murmured. “I'll be okay, though.”

“You will be okay, “I said firmly. “Tomorrow we're going to get you to the doctor.”

She smiled at me palely. “I’m fine.” I shut my eyes, feeling a dull despair.

“No, you're not,” I said. “You're tired and sick and tomorrow we'll see the doctor. Now I must let you sleep.”

She giggled and I kissed her hair.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

“Goodnight.”

I lay awake for an hour, watching her sleep. I had this terrible feeling that it might be the last time I'd do it.