‘I know you’re in there, Frank, but you have to try. They told you, remember? Right hemisphere strokes are hard Frank, but your body can do it. You need to fight like you’ve never fought before, to come back to us. If you give up, that’s it. Your son is worried sick, he’s not been eating much. he looks awful! He needs to see you. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. You can’t let him—’ She stopped, the air pushing out of her lungs as she spoke. ‘You can’t give up Frank, God knows you have enough already.’ Dante kissed his teeth behind her, always warning her to stay positive, but she didn’t stop. ‘I mean it Frank. You have to try. God, I never realised you were this stubborn! I wish I’d said something years ago. What did you want to tell me?’
It was the first time someone had actually asked him that. In all the days since he’d crashed his car, people had been talking. To him, at him. Dante was a man of few words at the best of times, but he was gentle. He had warm hands and a lot of respect, which Frank appreciated. He couldn’t tell him, but just seeing him there made him feel so much better. Less alone, less scared. When he thought of his son, his heart lurched. That was the worst thing in all this, the worry on his son’s face that day in the hospital. His car was a write off, as were half the parked cars in the street. He knew how worrying that must have been to see. He did nothing but cry when he came, they cried together. It was about the only way they could communicate, even being so close, but Frank knew. He knew he could try harder now. He just wasn’t very sure that he wanted to bother. Turning away from her expectant face, he looked back at the now bare windowsill, and closed his eyes. He should have put up more of a fight years ago. When he was young enough and well enough to do something. He’d become a dad, and that had been his life. Till his wife died, and his whole world felt like a hole had been blasted through it. He’d never dealt with that hole. Not really. He’d tiptoed around it for years, too scared to live in case something else happened. He knew back then he wouldn’t survive it.
His son didn’t have to live that way. He had cut the apron strings now. It was done. He just wanted it all to be done, so he could finally find peace. Maybe see his wife again. Get out of this knackered body. He didn’t tell her any of this, he never said a word. He just stared at the pot of flowers.
‘Stubborn old fool,’ he heard a few moments later. The door to his room closed, and Dante’s voice filled Frank’s ears.
‘Your son looks like you, you know? I saw it, when he came to visit.’ Frank didn’t move, he didn’t want to think of their last meeting. It hadn’t gone well. What I wouldn’t give to be able to pick up the phone. Explain it to him properly. Make him understand that it was for his own good. ‘Is he like you, too?’ Frank made an odd noise in the back of his throat, and Dante waited.
‘Y-yes.’
It was only a little word, but Frank heard it. He’d said it, answered the question. He felt Dante’s hand cover his, and give him a slow pat.
‘I thought so,’ he said eventually. ‘You know Frank, people surprise me in this job all the time. I think you’re one of those people. Marilyn sure does.’ Frank flinched at her name. Marilyn. The woman with the cornflower-blue eyes. The pain in the arse with the flower pot. He didn’t try to reply to Dante, it wasn’t worth the effort. The fact was, Dante Flores had hit the proverbial nail on the head. Frank’s son, the apple of his eye, was just like him. And that was precisely why he’d sent him away.
Chapter 5
The following morning, Rebecca was up early, eager to get a start on her day off. After last night, Luke having cleaned up and made them grilled cheese sandwiches, she felt a little better about not waking up alone in her little oasis. She rolled over in bed, giving the view a glare as she opened the curtains. She dressed in a pair of black trousers, a pink sweater and her usual walking boots, and then she packed her bag with her phone, cash, and a list of stuff she needed to get from the shops. With Hans at the café all day, she wanted to go see Holly too, see how she was coping being cooped up indoors. Bedrest was the worst. She knew from experience what it felt like to spend hours and days staring out of the window, watching everyone get on with their lives. She had to live with Hans too, and was growing his spawn, so the least the woman deserved was a cuppa and a chat.
Heading out of her bedroom door, dressed and boots in hand, she heard a voice in the living room. She wanted to say hello, but she headed to the bathroom instead. It was nearer to the living room, and his voice got louder as she approached.
‘He really did that? Why?’ Rebecca could hear the confusion in Luke’s voice. ‘What about the activities coordinator? Did she try like the manager suggested?’ A woman’s voice came back across the phone line, and whatever she said made Luke gasp. ‘No! The middle one? That’s not like him, none of this is.’
