Page 88 of Je T'aime, Actually
Without a word, Monroe broke into a run. She reached her friend and pulled her into her arms.
“Monroe,” Poppy whispered, anguish cracking her voice as she clung to her. “You came.”
“Of course we did.” Monroe leant back to take in her friend’s face. New lines etched into her skin, grey hairs already threading through her dark curls. “How’s Frank?”
“They won’t know until they’ve run tests. He hit his head on the pavement. That’s the biggest concern right now. Broken bones will heal in time, but…” The words caught in her throat. “Brain injuries can be trickier.”
“What happened?”
Poppy finally burst into tears. “It was such a nice day. Frank thought it would be good to walk to football training. They were almost there and…” she gulped air and tried to breathe, “apparently the car started rolling from where it was parked, gathered momentum, and with nobody inside it… Just a freak accident. The police said, potentially, the speed of the car could have been over forty miles per hour.”
“Jesus…and Benji?”
“Broken arm. Bruises.” She grimaced. “Frank took most of the impact. Broken femur, dislocated ankle, fractured clavicle. He’s a mess, but he’s alive.”
Chloé lingered in the background, uncertain whether to step forwards or let the two women continue to have their moment. But when Poppy spotted her, she reached out an arm.
“Chloé.”
“I’m so sorry,” Chloé said, moving into the embrace, wrapping her arms around them both. “It’s so awful.”
Monroe glanced around. “Where are the kids?”
“Jan from next door came and got them. Benji is fine, they checked him over. Other than his arm in a cast, he just needs to rest. Jan—she needs to go to work tomorrow…”
“Don’t worry about that. We can—” Monroe started, but Chloé gently cut in.
“I’ll do it. You need to be here with Poppy.” She gave Poppy’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t think about anything else. Just Frank.”
Poppy nodded, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”
seventy-four
By two in the afternoon, Monroe was exhausted, half-asleep in the chair beside Poppy. Chloé sat opposite, uncomfortable on a hard plastic seat on the other side of Frank’s bed. She’d been up and down all morning, fetching coffee and snacks to keep them all going as they waited.
And waited.
“Monroe, you need to get some sleep,” Poppy said gently.
“I’m fine—”
“No, you’re not. You’re exhausted. You both are.”
Chloé straightened. “She’s right. We’re no use to anyone if we can’t stay awake.”
“I appreciate you both being here, I really do,” Poppy said, her voice low, “but get some rest.”
Monroe frowned. “What about you?”
“I can sleep here. They bring in a cot.” Poppy offered a tired, sad smile. “It’s not great, but it’s something.”
They walked back to the car in silence; the kind that wrapped around them like a heavy coat, slowing you down with every step.
The quiet thrum of the engine filled the space as Chloé started the car, pulling out of the hospital car park and onto the road, following the Satnav back to Monroe’s cottage.
Monroe stared out of the window, chewing her thumbnail.
“I feel awful leaving her,” Monroe said finally, her voice barely audible over the sound of tyres on tarmac. “She looked so…lost.”
