They'd both slept soundly on the Sunday night, and Connie had driven Ric to work on the Monday morning. He'd asked her to do this so that she could use the car while he was at work. Connie did drive around the city for a while, becoming a little more acquainted with its eccentricities. But when the sun began to get hot in the middle of the day, she drove back to Ric's house to sunbathe.
As she lay in her favourite spot along the beach from his house, she reflected on the evening before. She hadn't told Ric she loved him, because even now she wasn't sure enough that she did, but he had seen something in her eyes as they'd danced, something that told him everything she was feeling. Her entire soul had been open to him while they danced, not something that had ever happened with Michael. With him, she had always felt a need to guard her feelings, to keep something in reserve for the times when Michael tested every ounce of her self-esteem. But with Ric she didn't need to do this, because unreliable as he might be, he would never betray her soul, never leave her dangling in limbo waiting for the other shoe to fall.
She had been lying on the beach for about half an hour, when she distantly heard the phone ringing. Ric had finally got round to installing a phone in his house before Christmas. Connie ran back along the beach, her body pouring with sweat from the midday heat by the time she got there. Taking a moment to regain her breath, she picked up the receiver. "Connie?" Zubin said in surprise when she answered. "Professor Khan," Connie replied. "I wondered if that was where you'd gone," Zubin said sounding slightly distracted. "Where's Ric?" "At work," Connie told him. "Sorry it took me a while to answer, but I was sunbathing a little way down the beach. Can I give him a message?" "Connie, he needs to come home," Zubin told her, sounding suddenly bleak. "What's happened?" Connie asked him immediately. "Erm, Paris," Zubin said hesitantly. "He died." "Oh, Zubin, no," Connie said in obvious distress, picking up the phone and moving with it towards the sofa. "Yes," Zubin said simply. "He caught meningitis. We don't know where and we don't know how, but nothing they tried to do worked." "I'm so sorry," Connie told him. "The thing is," Zubin tried to explain. "I don't think that I'm what Jess really needs right now. She needs her father." "And who's taking care of you, Zubin?" Connie couldn't help asking. "I'll survive," Zubin replied flatly, not sounding remotely sure of this fact whatsoever. "Don't worry about Ric," Connie told him. "I'll bring him home, tonight if I can get plane tickets in time." "Thanks, Connie," Zubin said dully. "In the meantime," Connie said firmly. "Don't you dare go anywhere near work. I know you, Zubin, and you'll be keeping yourself busy at the earliest opportunity. But you need to grieve, just as much as Jess does."
After reserving them seats on the early evening flight out of Accra, Connie put on some clothes, got in the car and drove to the hospital where Ric worked. Delivering bad news to relatives was often part of her job, and she nearly always managed to do it with complete professionalism, but this was different. This was Ric, her lover and her friend, and she had to tell him that his grandson had died. She thought back to her first trip out to Ghana, when she had brought news of the baby's arrival. Well, now she would be taking him news of the baby's untimely death. Bringing the car to a stop in the hospital car park, she stared up at the building ahead of her. How did she do this? How on earth could she go in there now and say the words to bring part of his world crashing down around him?
Ric was sitting in his office, trying simultaneously to eat a sandwich and bring various patient files up to date. When the tap came on his door, he bade the person to enter without a second thought. When he saw that it was Connie, he smiled. "This is a nice surprise," He said, getting up from behind his cluttered desk. "Sit down," Connie told him, and the flat, though heavily laden tone of her voice made him wary. "What's happened?" he asked, nevertheless taking her bidding and sitting back down in his chair. "I've had a call from Zubin," Connie said quietly, gradually working up to her bombshell. "Zubin," Ric replied, not yet putting the pieces together. Then, as the connections in his brain finally met, he said, "Is it Jess? What's happened? Is she all right?" "Jess is fine," Connie told him gently but firmly. "Well, physically anyway. Ric, it's Paris, he, erm, he died." Ric stared at her in total shock. "What do you mean, he died?" He asked, his voice quiet though with the hint of rising incredulity. "Babies don't just die, Connie, so what happened?" "He contracted meningitis," Connie told him regretfully. "Babies don't have to die from meningitis, not these days," Ric insisted vehemently, unable to take in what she was trying to tell him. Leaning over his desk, Connie caught both of his hands in hers, and thumped them down on the stack of papers in front of him. "Listen to me," She told him, her own voice a little unsteady with emotion. "They tried everything possible but it simply wasn't enough. Your grandson is dead, and right now, your daughter needs you." Ric was silent for a while, his hands still resting in hers. "I'll have to see if I can get a plane ticket as soon as possible," He said eventually, his voice devoid of all feeling. "It's done," Connie said quietly. "We're getting the six o'clock flight."
Before they left to return to his house, Ric caught up with his brother Cumi. "You'll have to cover for me for a while," He told him succinctly. "I've got to go to England for a few days, perhaps a week or so." "What's happened this time?" Cumi asked uninterestedly. "Jess and Zubin's child is dead," Ric told him coldly. "So I should imagine you can do without me for a while." As Ric turned about to walk away, Connie gave Cumi one of her ice maiden looks that would send most people into therapy at the earliest opportunity. "Who's the lady?" Cumi called after Ric. "This, is Connie," Ric told him, briefly glancing over his shoulder. "A woman with more human decency in her than you will ever know."