Page 117 of Heart of The Night

Just then, Andy and Chloe came through the doors. Their eyes darted around the brightly lit waiting room, searching.

‘Andy,’ Jason called, drawing their attention. Recognising us, they hurried over, navigating through the scattered groups of people and the quiet tension of the room.

‘Any news?’ Andy asked, his voice strained and his face ashen.

‘No,’ I said feebly, holding his gaze. ‘Only that they’re performing surgery on him to close a severed vein in his arm.’

‘Did you say you didn’t recognise his assailant?’ Jason asked, looking at Andy.

‘Yes, I’ve never seen him before.’ Andy steered Chloe into the available seat next to Jason. I stared at his hands – the bruises on his knuckles.

‘What did he look like?’ Jason asked.

‘He was big – muscular. Shorter than Will but broader. Dark hair, light skin, likely in his thirties.’

Jason exhaled sharply and leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees. ‘If you don’t know him, it’s unlikely I do.’

Andy frowned, rubbing his neck. ‘I’m wondering whether it might have been random.’

‘Random?’ Jason echoed, his eyes widening. ‘As in, you think Will might have been a random victim?’

Andy nodded, crossing his arms. ‘Since I didn’t recognise him. And Will hasn’t mentioned any trouble that could explain this – no rows, no threats.’

Jason looked thoughtfully at his hands. ‘He hasn’t mentioned anything like that to me, either.’

‘Speculating won’t help us,’ Chloe murmured. I glanced at her, but she kept her gaze on the floor, her expression blank. ‘The police have already caught the guy. It’s only a matter of time before they sort this all out and we’ll know what really happened.’

‘You’re right,’ Jason acknowledged, standing up. ‘Here, Andy, take my seat. I’m going to see if the receptionist has any new information.’

As he walked away, Andy sank into the chair beside me and wrapped an arm around Chloe, drawing her close. Then he took my hand, squeezing it.

‘He’ll be all right, Cara,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sure of it.’

I tightened my grip on his hand. I badly wanted to believe him, but until the doctors confirmed it, I couldn’t.

Alex and Ivy arrived then. They looked shaken, their faces pale and their eyes wide with worry as they took the seats opposite us.

‘Anything new?’ Alex asked, his voice tense.

‘Nothing yet,’ Andy replied.

In the sombre silence that ensued, I felt Ivy’s gaze on me. Meeting her eyes, I saw her lips purse in a frown, her expression awash with sympathy. Beside her, Alex stared vacantly into the distance. His hand found Ivy’s, seemingly without thought, holding it tightly. She looked up at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

My attention shifted to Jason, who was negotiating with the receptionist for any bit of information. I watched him closely, trying to read his expressions for any sign of hope or despair. The moment stretched until Andy’s voice cut through the quiet.

‘There’s John,’ he said, pulling our attention sharply to the doorway.

My heart raced as John, almost unrecognisable, hurried in holding Daphné’s hand. The confidence that usually defined him was absent, replaced by a frantic worry that crinkled his brow and deepened the lines on his face. Daphné appeared equally distressed, her face ashen and her eyes wide and wild. Their elegant outfits suggested they had come directly from the event they had attended.

Daphné, noticing us first, pulled at John’s hand and led him to us. She dropped down by my feet, her eyes pleading as she sought out mine for any reassurance. The transformation in both of them broke my heart, and a sob escaped me. Daphné’s reaction was swift; she reached up to dry my tears, her touch delicate.

‘His condition is stable,’ I managed to say, though my voice wavered with each word. I relayed everything I knew, each detail heavier than the last.

Daphné and John’s faces contorted with shock. As parents, their worst nightmare was unfolding – their son, the centre of their world, caught in a brutal struggle for his life.

It took several long seconds for Daphné to rise again. Her body shook as she faced her husband, her voice a fragile echo of its usual firmness. ‘John, not our boy.’

Anguish flooded John’s features, distorting the face I knew into something unfamiliar. I stared helplessly at him, my lips quivering. John, who was always so calm and collected, was tearing at the seams right before my eyes. Spreading his arms, he swept Daphné into a tight embrace, as if trying to shield her from the world. There, with her head tucked under his chin, Daphné quietly wept.

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