Chapters (31)
- Synopsis
- What Reviewers Say About Cari Hunter’s Work
- By the Author
- Acknowledgments
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-one
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Epilogue
- About the Author
- Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
- BOLDSTROKESBOOKS.COM
“You’re a bloody idiot,” she muttered, lowering her head into her hands. She looked up again when Harriet walked in, but she couldn’t muster anything beyond a perfunctory greeting. “Hey, Doc. Jem’s just getting dressed.”
Harriet sat on the adjacent chair and gave her a bag full of medicines and a slip of paper with two phone numbers on it. “My mobile and home number. If there’s a problem, call me. Whatever time, I don’t mind. Jem’s not daft, but she doesn’t like being in here, either, so she’ll try to get by even when she shouldn’t.”
Rosie slid the paper into her wallet, glad of the security it offered, although less comfortable with the role of minder. “She seems quiet this morning,” she said.
“I noticed. It’s not uncommon after a trauma like this. You may find yourself struggling as well. Don’t be too proud to ask for counselling if you need it.”
“I won’t.” She might have said more, had Jem not come back into the room. Swaddled in an oversized fleece, Jem hid her hands in its sleeves and folded her arms, though the hospital was stifling.
“Ready for the off?” Harriet asked.
“Yes,” Jem said. She seemed far less certain now that she had permission to leave. “Thanks, Harriet.” For a moment, she hesitated. Then she hugged her tightly, hiding her face against Harriet’s chest.
“My pleasure.” Harriet kissed the top of her head. “You’re both to stay out of mischief for a while, is that understood?”
“Loud and clear,” Rosie said.
“We’ll try,” Jem added.
Leaving Harriet at the nurses’ station, they walked toward the main entrance, dodging porters wheeling elderly patients from one ward to the next, and domestic staff making the most of the Sunday morning lull. With Jem clearly not in the mood for small talk, Rosie cast the odd surreptitious glance at her, mindful that this was the farthest she had walked since her admission, and keenly attuned to signs that she was starting to struggle.
“I’m fine, Rosie,” Jem said, catching one of Rosie’s split-second appraisals.
Rosie raised her hands in surrender and said nothing.