The sound of the ambulance got louder and came into view from the lane, having gone to the back drive. It came careering down through the avenue, yellow and green with flashing lights, towards us. I stood up, soaked, and went to the middle of the path to wave my arms above my head. In no time at all it had stopped. A man and a woman leaped out.

"Gas," Tommy told them.

They nodded, mutely, then ran to open the back door and pulled out the stretcher. They lifted Hugo on to it, then, crouching low, fixed him up to some oxygen. They were just maneuvering him into the van when the girl turned and looked at us enquiringly.

"Anyone?"

"You go," said Tommy quickly. He knew I couldn't have done otherwise. “Someone has to tell the others."

I looked at him gratefully, knowing he'd got the worse option.

"Keep in touch, Flora. Let me know," he said quietly.

"Of course." I realized then that he was more worried than he was letting on, but didn't want to alarm me.

I clambered in behind the stretcher. As I sat down, I turned. Before the doors closed, Tommy and I looked at one another: a long, searching look. His blue eyes were very bright, very steady. Nothing was said, but it was a look that reached back across the years, across the oceans between continents, across generations even. It was full of pain for a friend, but also, something I'd never seen before, and couldn't quite place. It rocked me. Tenderness. That was it. Then the driver came around to slam the door, and in moments, we were away.

Later, as I sat in a corridor outside a room in A&E, my head resting back on the wall, a polystyrene cup of coffee cooling in my hand, having watched a team of nurses race Hugo in on a trolley, a mask to his face, then more doors close, I thought about that look. It was a look I liked to think I'd seen on my husband's face, years ago, when we first were married. Engaged, perhaps. But I knew in my heart it was different. Hugo's face, when he looked at me with tenderness, which he did, was always tinged with remorse. With guilt, I suppose. I hadn't recognized it for what it was back then, principally because I hadn't known any other regard, from any other man. But I now understood how stark the difference had been. Hugo loved me, but he loved me not. Could not. In Tommy's eyes there'd been a fire, a passion, that I realized I'd never seen before. I'd got to this great age, and never seen it before in my life.

Chapter 30

An hour or so later, when Christina came flying down the corridor in her trainers, I got to my feet. She fell into my arms.