Page 2 of Forever Mr Black

I look at the round plastic clock on the wall and watch the second-hand tick by. Mum’s been speaking to the consultant for twenty-six minutes, and I can’t decide whether it’s a good or bad sign that she’s been gone so long. I’m silently praying it’s good news. My nerves can’t take any more waiting, and the weak vending-machine coffee isn’t hitting the mark anymore.

Someone must be listening to my silent prayers as the door opens. My eyes shoot to Mum’s face, desperately trying to read her expression, pre-empting what she’s about to say. The rosiness has returned to her cheeks, and she looks much calmer than when we arrived. The small smile on her face gives me hope.

She nods, as if reading my mind, and sits down on the crumpled sofa opposite. “It wasn’t a heart attack, thank God. He’s got angina. The shortness of breath and the pain were all to do with that. He’s responding well to the medication they’ve given him.” She laughs weakly. “He’s been bending their ear off about coming home. I told him he’s not going anywhere until the doctors say it’s okay, but you know what he’s like.”

I allow myself to relax for the first time in three hours. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it? Is he going to be okay?”

Mum flashes a resigned smile. “The doctors said he’ll have to take medication for the rest of his life to try and make sure it doesn’t happen again, but that’s a small price to pay. He’s lucky. They said he needs to take better care of himself and take this as a warning. I told him he’s on diet and exercise when he goes home. He’ll be okay, love.” She casts a glance around the room. “I hate these places. They always remind me of when your dad …”

I know exactly what she means. Emotion wedges in my throat at the mention of him. I swallow it down and go back to picking the skin around my fingernails. I’ve got to hold it together. Mum doesn’t need me falling apart on her after the nightmare of a day she’s had.

She heaves a sigh. “Martin’s a lot more bloody stubborn than your dad ever was—pardon my French. He first had the twinges weeks ago, after mowing the lawn one afternoon. I told him to go and get it checked out, but no … he wasn’t having any of it.” She rolls her eyes. “Your dad never liked going to the doctor either. Men, eh?”

Men indeed.

My mobile suddenly feels as if it were burning a hole in the pocket of my shorts. I’ve no idea if Art’s tried to contact me. My phone’s on silent, and I can’t get a signal in the hospital anyway. I’ve spent the last three hours feeling so worried about Martin and Mum, but now that the initial shock has worn off, I need Art more than ever.

“Oh my God, Sophie. Is that what I think it is?” Mum gasps.

I look up to find her staring wide-eyed at my left hand.

My engagement ring.

Shit.

This isn’t exactly how I planned on telling her. I thought about inviting her and Martin round to the apartment for dinner one evening or treating them to a meal at Carluccio’s. We’d have a lovely meal and a bottle of champagne to celebrate. But mystepfather’s lying in a hospital bed and my fiancé’s gone AWOL, so that’s clearly not going to happen.

Mum hasn’t taken her eyes off the diamond yet, and I’m not sure how she’s going to react to the fact that I didn’t tell her straightaway. And that Art and I have only been together two months.

“I, erm … meant to tell you, but today didn’t seem the right time, what with everything that’s happened,” I say because it’s partially true.

Mum’s face crumples as she leaps off the sofa, flinging her arms around me. “Oh, Sophie, this is wonderful,” she sobs, this time with tears of happiness.

Her happiness does little to dislodge the feeling of guilt that’s taken hold of me for not getting round to telling her.

“He only proposed a few days ago. I wanted to tell you properly.”

Mum clasps her hands around mine and sits down on the chair beside me. “It doesn’t matter, love. Wait until I tell Martin.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks with a hand and gives me a watery smile. “It’ll make his day. It’s certainly made mine. What a lovely bit of good news. And what a beautiful ring. Look at the size of that rock.” She squeezes my hand and sniffs. “So, tell me all about it. How did he propose? I bet it was really special.”

“Well, actually, we were in Ibiza …”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Ibiza? When did you go to Ibiza? Honestly, you never tell me anything these days.”

“It was an impromptu trip,” I explain, feeling guilty.

There’s no way I can tell her the truth as to why I was there. Because I’d walked out on Art after discovering he went to prison after killing a guy through dangerous driving. Which was exactly what had happened to Dad. That, as well as the Lucy and Mark fiasco.

“Anyway, he hired a yacht and took me to a private island, and, well, he popped the question.”

“A yacht and an island,” Mum says wistfully. “How marvellous. Oh, I’m so pleased. I know you and Art haven’t been together that long, but if he makes you happy, then I’m happy, love. Have you set a date yet?”

I pick a piece of imaginary fluff off my jumper. Set a date? There might not even be a wedding after today. “Erm … no, not yet.”

“Is everything all right?” she asks, studying my reaction. “You seem a bit … glum. If someone like Art had proposed to me, I’d be cartwheeling down the street.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it, love. What’s the matter?”

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