Chapter 47
November 1996
When Emily arrived, Ed, the tour manager, was waiting for her in the hotel lobby.
‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘He’s sleeping at the moment.’
‘Did the doctors say what’s wrong with him?’
‘He’s suffering from exhaustion.’
‘Exhaustion?’
‘Well, it’s a virus, but when you’re burned out, you pick up bugs more easily. He’s been working hard. We all have.’
Emily wasn’t going to argue, but it was obvious to her who was to blame for Will’s condition – it was the tour manager in charge of his schedule.
‘I’ve got you a separate room for now,’ said Ed. ‘So you can freshen up and have something to eat without disturbing him. The doctors want him to rest his voice, so whatever you do, don’t let him speak.’
‘Okay.’
‘Not that he could speak even if he wanted to.’
Ed showed her to her room and told her he’d call her when Will was awake. It was frustrating, after all these months, to be this close to Will but not allowed to see him. She waited hours, but Ed didn’t call. She put on the hotel slippers, marched down the corridor to Ed’s room, and knocked on his door.
‘Look, this is ridiculous,’ she said when he answered. ‘Let me see him.’
Ed sighed, disappeared into his room, and returned a moment later with the key card to Will’s room. ‘If you need me, dial six, then my room number – 1047. Remember, don’t let him speak.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised, taking the card.
At Will’s door, she swiped and pushed on the beep.
Across the room, Will’s body was concealed under the covers. She kicked off the slippers, crept over and climbed onto the bed. The movement caused him to stir, but he didn’t wake. She lay down beside him. The bedside lamp lit his face, his long lashes casting shadows down his cheeks. Girl’s eyelashes – completely wasted on him. A few days’ stubble darkened his chin. She took in every millimetre of his face – a luxury after all these months. Her throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. She stroked his cheek, ran her fingers through his hair and across his jawline. Those pretty eyelashes fluttered and lifted. He went to say something, but she put a finger to his lips.
‘Shh,’ she said. ‘Don’t speak.’
He gestured for her to come under the covers, so she got in the bed and pulled him close; his head was hot against her neck.
‘I’ve missed you so much.’ She breathed in the smell of him.
He whispered something, but it came out as a strangled rasp.
‘Shh!’ she said. ‘Ed will kill me!’
He mimed writing and pointed to the bedside table behind her.
She propped him up on pillows and handed him the pen and notepad.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked. He was pale.
He wrote:like shitand gave a wry smile.
She felt his forehead. He had a fever. ‘Have you had any drugs recently?’
He shrugged.