Page 78 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘Thank you. Has anyone told the kids?’

‘You’re the first person I phoned. Do you want me to?’

Izzy would completely freak if a total stranger phoned her with news like that.

‘No. I’ll do it. He’s going to be OK, isn’t he?’

There was a slight pause. ‘He’s in good hands.’

Her stomach turned to ice. That wasn’t a definite yes.

‘Can you tell him I’m on my way?’

Juliet had already left the market and had headed out onto the street, looking for the nearest taxi rank. Her hands were trembling and she felt sick, trying not to think about how easily Stuart could have been killed. This was everything she had ever feared when he took up cycling, but he had always batted her worries away, never seeing himself as vulnerable. She pictured his body on the road, splayed out, his bare white legs in those ridiculous shorts she teased him about. Had Matt said one was broken? She couldn’t remember exactly. A brain scan didn’t sound good, though maybe that was belt and braces. Maybe it was routine. He would have had his helmet on. They had a deal he would never go without. Ever.

She tried to keep a clear head, working out what she needed to do. Look up Eurostar times, get a ticket, get back to the apartment, pack, phone the kids … They might want to come home, so it was best not to panic them, she thought. Maybe she’d email, keep it light, until she knew a bit more.

Poor Stuart. He hated hospitals. He couldn’t even watch the opening credits of Casualty without going green. She wondered if she should phone and try to speak to a doctor, but that would be difficult while travelling.

She found a taxi and jumped in, giving her address, then looked up the Eurostar on her browser. There was a train at seven. By the time the taxi arrived at her apartment, she’d got herself a ticket. She had about an hour spare to pack and get everything sorted. And Olivier – she must phone Olivier. He was due at her apartment at the same time the train was timetabled to leave. She dialled his number as she grabbed her suitcase and threw it on the bed. Her stomach churned as she thought about Stuart, presumably having his scan right now.

The phone went to voicemail.

‘Olivier. It’s me. Stuart’s had a bike accident. He’s having a brain scan right now. I’ve got to go back. I’ve booked the train. I’m really sorry.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I’m really, really sorry …’

What if Stuart had suffered some terrible injuries that hadn’t been obvious? What if he died on the operating table? She gave a half-sob as she packed up her laptop. They might be separated, but she still loved him, as the father of her children. And, let’s be honest, the person she’d spent most of her life with. She couldn’t imagine the world without him in it, and she couldn’t bear the thought of Izzy and Nate being without their dad. She ought to email them before she got on the train. She looked at her watch. She had ten minutes.

Darling Nate and Izzy – silly old Dad’s had a bit of a prang on his bike and is in hospital having his leg fixed. He’s in good hands, but I’m heading back from Paris now to go and see if he’s all right. You’re not to worry, but I thought you ought to know. I’ll ping you as soon as I know more. Lots of love, Mum xx

It was a fine line, making sure they knew what had happened so they wouldn’t be furious with her for not telling them, but also not panicking them. She couldn’t even get a clear enough head to remember what their time differences were. Her palms were sweating, making her fingers slippery as she ordered an Uber to get her to the station. There was one nine minutes away. She confirmed it. The apartment was more of a mess than she would normally leave a holiday let, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

Don’t go and die on me, Stuart Hiscox, she thought as she ran out of the door, slamming it shut behind her.

She was waiting on the pavement, staring at the little car on the Uber app, willing it to go faster. The time kept changing, from five minutes to six and then five again. And then she saw a Vespa at the end of the street. It drove straight towards her and stopped.

Olivier.

He jumped off, taking off his helmet, and rushed to hug her. She sobbed as he held her.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘He will be OK.’

She was gulping in air, trying not to get hysterical. ‘What if he’s not?’

‘He will be.’ Olivier looked grim-faced.

‘I’m so sorry. We had one more week.’

‘I know. I know.’ He held her tight, kissing the top of her head. She looked frantically up and down the street.

‘Where’s the cab? Where’s the cab? I can’t miss my train.’

‘It’ll be here. You have time.’

She started to shiver. She thought it was the shock. Olivier stroked her hair.

‘You need anything, you call me, OK?’

She nodded. Rain was starting to fall. A car swooshed past, but it wasn’t her Uber.

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