Then, in the middle of that wonderful and heart-stopping kiss, her phone buzzed in her pocket. There was only one person who would call her at eleven o’clock at night, and Emily twisted away from Owen as she grappled for her phone.
“Emily…” He looked both dazed and bemused, but she barely took in his flushed cheeks or rumpled hair as she swiped to take the call.
“Mum?”
“Is this Emily David?”
The officious-sounding voice had her blinking in surprise. “Yes…”
“I’m calling from St Pancras Hospital. You were listed as the next of kin for Naomi Rawlings?”
Emily swallowed dryly, her hand clenching the phone, everything in her tightening. “Yes…is she all right?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say over the telephone, but I think, if possible, you should come to the hospital as soon as you can.” Dear heaven. Emily closed her eyes as she tasted bile. “Miss David?”
“I’m here.” Her voice sounded thready. “I’ll come right away.”
“Come to the Ruby Ward, in the Huntley Centre. It’s a locked ward, but if you give your name, they’ll let you through.”
“Ruby Ward,” Emily repeated numbly. “All right. Thank you.” She ended the call, staring into space vacantly for a few seconds. It had started to rain, and she felt the dampness on her cheeks like tears.
“Emily?” Owen touched her shoulder, his tone now one of gentle concern. “What’s happened?”
“My mother’s in the hospital.” The words felt thick and awkward in her mouth. “I need to go straight away.”
“I’m so sorry—”
She nodded mechanically, already walking ahead, desperate to get back to her cottage now. She’d pack a bag, call a cab…
“Where is she? Which hospital?” Owen asked as he hurried to keep up with her.
“St Pancras, in London.”
“There won’t be any trains to London until the morning,” Owen said as they emerged from the wood onto the lane that led to Willoughby Close. “Do you have to go now?”
“Yes.” The word came out savagely, like an accusation, but Owen took it in his stride.
“Then let me drive you,” he said calmly. Emily whirled around to face him.
“You don’t…”
“I haven’t had anything to drink tonight, I’m fine to drive. And there are no trains at this time of night,” he reminded her in that same calm, even tone. “Not from Wychwood.”
“I’ll get a cab to Oxford—”
“Do you really want to spend fifty quid on cab fare, and then be on a train with dodgy drunks late on a Sunday night?” He smiled at her, a compassionate curving of his lips that made Emily want to cry. She felt far, far too fragile right now. “Let me drive you.”
“But you have work—”
“I don’t open the pub until noon, and I can get someone else to do it anyway. Why are you resisting so much, Emily?”
Because no one ever did nice things for her, and he’d just kissed her, besides. She had no idea how she felt about him, about anything.
“All right,” she finally relented, because with every second that passed, she was delaying getting to her mother. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go get my van and pick you up at Willoughby Close.”
“All right. Thank you.” He nodded, and then he was jogging off towards the village, and Emily was walking blindly towards number one, everything in her pulsing with panic. Her mother in hospital. A locked ward. What had happened? How much danger was she in?
Back in her cottage, a little meow greeted her as her newly acquired kitten wound its tiny body around her legs.
“Oh, goodness, I’d forgotten about you.” She scooped the kitten up and pressed her cheek against its soft fur as it purred in pleasure. “I really need to give you a name.” Would the kitten be all right overnight? Guilt and worry racked her. She wasn’t fit to have care even of a kitten.
And as for her mother…
You didn’t take care of her, either.
Tears pricked Emily’s eyes and she blinked them back. She filled the kitten’s food and water bowls and then threw some clothes into a holdall. She’d text Alice, asking her to look in on the kitten while she was gone. Emily knew she’d be more than happy to help.
She’d just shrugged on her coat when a light knock sounded on the door, and she opened it to see Owen ready and waiting, his car, a beat-up van, idling in the courtyard.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes, I think so.” Her fingers trembled as she locked up and then followed Owen to the van. It was the classic nondescript white van used by builders and plumbers the country over. Owen opened the passenger door for her, and took her elbow to help her up.
“Sorry, it’s a bit of a tip.”
A bit? Jace’s truck had been spotless in comparison. Yet for once Emily was too rattled and anxious to care about the mess of disposable coffee cups and newspapers on the floor, or the thick dust coating the dashboard.
The van had a bench seat, so there were only a few inches of space separating her and Owen as she reached for her seat belt and he climbed into the driver’s side.
“Thank you for doing this,” Emily said rather stiltedly as they headed out into the dark, rain-washed night. Wychwood was silent, the village green cloaked in darkness, the only lights coming from The Drowned Sailor, which clearly still had some custom.
“You’re sure you don’t need to be at the pub?”
“I had the shifts covered tonight anyway, because of the dinner. It’s fine.”
She nodded, trying to keep her teeth from chattering with cold and fear, but Owen noticed and reached to turn up the heating.
“Are you cold?”
“A bit.” But more than that, she was scared. She had no idea what she’d find when they got to St Pancras, what state her mother would be in. Would it be like last time? Would it be worse?
“Do you know what’s happened to your mum?” Owen asked after a few moments, when
