Avril takes the package and immediately drops it on the table. Her hands feel gritty. She wipes her palms on her jeans. I’ll make sure she gets it.

And will you ask her to call me when she can? Wendy is twisting the scarf again, knotting the ends, pulling apart threads. I hope Cooper is …

Yes, I’ll tell her.

6

Laura

The wide glass doors at the hospital entrance are ahead. Laura stops suddenly, almost winded. There’s a bench a few steps away, probably for the benefit of those with crutches, frames, IV drips. She sits heavily, brings her forehead to her knees, and waits for the feeling to pass.

Uh, excuse me …

She looks up. A young woman in a white uniform, a little breathless, clearly in a hurry.

Sorry, but are you all right?

Laura smiles faintly. Yes … thank you.

The nurse nods. A brisk smile in return. And flies on her way.

She’s all right, yes, thank you, of course she’s all right; she just can’t, for the moment, imagine how she’s going to stand up and walk through those doors again.

Avril’s upstairs, with Cooper, or, if the physio is making an early call, sitting in the visitors’ lounge, reading.

One of the night-shift nurses, Joley, leaves books for the two of them on the fake marble coffee table in the lounge. Little post-it notes stuck on the covers. For Avril and Laura, this is my favourite, hope you like. Avril/Laura, another good one! Kind of her. A Danielle Steel, a Jodi Picoult. Not her thing but she won’t tell Joley that. Avril devours them in bursts—escape, she calls them. Good. Any escape is good.

Laura feels the hard edges of a book in the bag resting against her shin. The true story of a burns survivor. So far she hasn’t been able to get past the first few pages. Motivational words displayed in boxes. Photographs. No. It’s too soon for this, too much a rehearsal of all that is yet to come if—if—they are lucky. But she’s brought it with her. And a much-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice—comfort reading. She can’t face anything new. The pile of books on the desk in her study, untouched all these weeks, can stay there. With the computer she won’t turn on.

She thinks of Avril again. Stands up. Loops the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

Cloying, the sudden smell of honey and banana as she heads towards the hospital doors.

7

Avril

Pressure on her shoulder, an awakening, momentary relief at being released from a dream of bacon frying on a hot iron—inexplicable, nauseating. Filmy grit clears from her eyes. Laura. Laura?

Avril pushes herself up from the chair by Cooper’s bed. Ohmygod, what’s the time?

It’s all right. Laura’s voice is gentle. It isn’t late. You must have just dozed off.