Page 81 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘Sweetheart, I’m sure he’ll be fine. As far as I know, it’s just his leg.’ Juliet was fibbing, for she had no idea what she was going to find, but she didn’t want Izzy booking tickets back if it was nothing too serious. It would be such a waste. ‘Hold fire until I report back in the morning.’

‘OK.’ Izzy didn’t sound happy. ‘Hug him from me, will you?’

‘Of course, darling.’ Juliet was raking the departure boards for the train to Norbiton. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find my train and I haven’t got enough hands. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

At last, she made it to the hospital and arrived on the ward flustered and exhausted just before midnight. It took her a while to persuade the ward sister to let her see Stuart, but eventually she was allowed five minutes.

She crept between the curtains and into his cubicle. He was wide awake, and his head turned sharply as he heard her come in. She was shocked by how drawn he looked. How old he looked. And his head gleamed naked in the half-light. She put a hand to her mouth.

‘They’ve shaved your head.’

‘No.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘That was me, last weekend. Blame Stanley Tucci.’

‘Oh.’ She managed a trembling laugh. She’d imagined some kind of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest scenario, Stuart being pinned down by a burly nurse with a razor.

‘Mistake?’ he said, passing his hand over the pale, slightly shiny skin.

‘It’s hard to tell in here,’ she said politely, not wanting to tell him it made him look like a tortoise, her heart aching for him. ‘How do you feel?’

He indicated a green button at his bedside. ‘Fine, as long as I keep pumping myself full of painkillers. What are you even doing here? I told them not to call you.’

‘Matt phoned me. I’m still your emergency contact.’

‘He shouldn’t have.’

‘He bloody should have.’

‘I’ve buggered my leg, that’s all. They’re pinning it back together tomorrow.’

‘You could have been killed.’

‘But I wasn’t.’ He frowned. ‘My bike’s a write-off, I think.’

‘Good.’ Juliet couldn’t help glaring at him.

He gave a sheepish smile. ‘Are you going to stay at the flat?’

‘I suppose so.’ She hadn’t thought about where to stay. It was weird not having Persimmon Road to go to. She felt light-headed, ungrounded, like a balloon someone had let go of.

‘You’ll have to have my bed. I haven’t sorted the spare room yet. But, honestly, don’t feel you have to stay. I’ll be able to manage.’

Juliet just looked at him. ‘You’ll be out of action for a while.’

‘You mustn’t feel obliged. It’s no longer your duty.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

He reached out a hand and she took it. They sat for a moment, a strange kind of love passing between them. The love of two people who still cared deeply for each other, despite going their separate ways. Fondness, respect, affection: even as a wordsmith, Juliet couldn’t quite identify or name it. The Greeks probably had a word for it, she thought. The love of an ex-spouse of whom you were extremely fond; a love forged in family, in kinship, in familiarity. It was precious, she thought and felt proud that they still had such a strong bond. She lifted her other hand and wiped away a tear, relieved now she had seen him.

The ward sister came to hover at the crack in the curtain, making a face and pointing at her non-existent watch. Juliet nodded, realising she had to leave. She stood up, then bent down to kiss Stuart’s cheek.

‘I’ll come in tomorrow.’

‘I’m first on the list.’ He crossed his fingers.

‘See you, Stanley,’ she teased, stroking his scalp.

His eyes flittered at her touch. ‘See you, Dusty.’

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