CHAPTER SIX

PLEASE COME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

The Royal London Hospital loomed large and foreboding as Darcy pulled into the car park smoothly. Unhurried. As if this was just another ordinary day. Except it wasn't. Charlie, in his rush, hadn't told us anything about Jane's condition. My heart leapt in my throat, hammering a hard staccato beat.

As soon as Darcy parked I opened the door with shaking hands, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. He came around the car, placing a warm hand on my back as he led me toward the entrance of the hospital.

I was numb, my legs moving without conscious effort. Darcy knew exactly where to go, leading me through a maze of hallways and up into a lift. His hand didn't move an inch, its solid warmth anchoring me.

"Dr. Darcy, I didn't expect to see you tonight."

That's the first thing a smiley nurse in pink scrubs says when we approach a nurse's station. Someone had hung tinsel in every colour, poorly cut out stars scribbled on by children were pinned to the walls, and banners of paper chains hung loosely from the walls. Somewhere a tinny radio played Christmas songs, setting me on edge. I don't care what Bing Crosby says. It's not the most wonderful time of the year. In fact, I would say it's pretty craptastic – especially this year.

All the walls are an off white, clinical, with dots of medical posters and good hygiene advice. I loathed it. The cloying scent of disinfectant, the distant sound of coughing, the general sense of unease. Unease that was being compounded by the nurse's smiling face and the cow eyes she's making at Darcy – not that he seemed to notice.

I hadn't been to a hospital since Lydia had made her entrance into the world two months early with a set of lungs that wouldn't quit. I'd hated the experience then, and I hated it even more now. I hated the droopy plant that needed a good water sitting on the edge of the desk. I hated that monotonous beep beep beep of the heart rate monitor coming from one of the rooms. But most of all I hated the nurse's smile. Wide, bright, and all too welcoming.

The nurse – Rachel, her name tag with the three little hearts says Rachel – looks at me, then at Darcy's hand on my back. Part of me wants to move away from him just to prove a point but it was the only thing keeping me tethered. There was a small tattoo of a sparrow on the inside of her right wrist, delicate, pretty, just like her. Her voice is clear and sweet, her make-up still in perfect shape after what had to be a long shift.

It simply wasn't fair.

I probably looked like a wreck and the wedgie was back.

"My friend has been bought in," Darcy says easily, no hint of emotion in his voice. "Charles Bingley."

"Let me just look it up for you," Rachel says. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Rachel leans down and types quickly at the keyboard, giving us both a view of her cleavage. Good lord. She looked back up. "Looks like he hasn't been admitted yet."

"How about Jane Bennet?" The words tumble out of my mouth.

Rachel blinked, looking me in the eye for the first time as if she hadn't realised I was there. "I'll have a quick look."

Her nails clack against the keyboard painfully slow. Much slower than they had for Darcy. Of course, I was insignificant to her. I didn't have the commanding presence he had. That scowl that would have most sane people running for the hills. Hell, he hadn't even scowled at Rachel and she had been quick as a whip to do his bidding.

"Bennet, Bennet, Bennet," she said, scrolling the mouse obnoxiously slow. I wanted to throttle her. "No Bennet's."

The floor seemed to open up beneath me. This could not be happening. "I'm sorry," my voice was tight. "There must be some sort of mistake. Charlie said they were bought here, right?"

Darcy's hand slides from my back and shoves it in his pocket, looking down at me with a pity I didn't want nor need. "Aye."

"Then check again," I told Rachel. "She has to be there. She has to be. Just check again. Please."

Rachel nodded sympathetically which only made me dislike her more. Looking back at the computer screen, she slowly began to type. She bit her bottom lip, while she scrolled. I wanted to jump over the desk and look for myself.

"Sorry." Rachel looked up at us. "She isn't in the system."

Darcy nodded, then silently beckoned me away from the desk with a tilt of his head. I followed him down a hallway and into a waiting area. Rows of hard plastic red chairs were lined up in three rows. An ancient TV was mounted on the wall playing some Christmas movie. A vending machine and coffee machine were against the back wall.

"Wait here," Darcy said. "I'll see if I can find out what's going on. They may have been transferred to another hospital but I doubt it."

"I…" I nodded sitting down in one of the awful chairs. "Okay."

He left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the grainy TV. The couple on the screen were having their grand moment, that big declaration of love that would see them live happily ever. I hated it.

I twisted my fingers on my lap while a clock ticked somewhere in the distance – louder than anything I had ever heard before. It took everything in me not to march over to that infernal thing and smash it into a million pieces.

I'm not sure how much time had passed before Darcy came back for me but all the pink nail polish I had painstakingly painted on that morning had been picked clean off. Carrying two take away coffee cups, he moved to sit next to me, handing me one in silence. I caught the scent of milky tea and found my balance once more.

He took a slow sip of his drink before he addressed me. "Jane's here."

Relief rushed through me.

Thank all the Gods.

"Is she okay?" Worry gnawed at my stomach as my teeth sunk into my lower lip.

"A suspected broken femur and some cracked ribs." He must have seen the look on my face. "She'll be just fine, you know."

I didn't know. It all sounded bad to me. Logically, I knew it could have been worse. Hell, the worst-case scenario had been running through my head on repeat for the last however long it had been.

She could have been maimed.

She could have been seriously injured.

She could have died.

"Can you take me to her?" He nodded and held his hand out to me. I gripped it and ignored the butterflies erupting in my stomach. It was just worry. Nothing but worry.

I followed him through the hospital barely taking it all in. Before I knew it, we were in the triage bay. Caroline stood off to the side inspecting a minor cut through her eyebrow in a compact. She smiles when she sees Darcy, which turns into a frown when she sees our interlaced fingers.

Coming to my senses, pull my hand from Darcy's grasp. A superior smile appears on her bright red lips and struts over to us , throwing her spindly arms around Darcy's neck and plastering herself against him.

"I'm so glad you're here," she sniffed. "It was awful."

"Caroline." Darcy extracted her arms from around his neck and stepped back, putting some distance between them.

"Do you think I'm going to need to get a plastic surgeon to fix my face?" There was nothing wrong with her face. It was still as gorgeous as it had always been, now with a minor cut.

Darcy shook his head and opened his mouth to reply. I beat him to the punch.

"Where's Jane and Charlie?"

"They've just been taken up for x-rays," Caroline said, clearly put out that I interrupted.

Worry gnawing at me, I watched Caroline slip her fingers into the pocket of Darcy's slacks, which made me feel queasy. Which was totally a result of the anxiety eating away at me and nothing to do with Skeletor vying for all of Darcy's attention.

Skeletor, who got away with nothing more than a minor scratch, bemoaning the fact that her face was never going to be the same again. If I didn't like her before, I full on loathed her now. Caroline, who liked to pretend I wasn't standing there. Did I want to go back to the crappy waiting room and sit there alone? Yes.

But who knew when Jane would be out of x-rays, and this way I could be there with her when that happens. Waiting in triage was better than sitting in waiting room limbo – barely.

I could practically taste my underwear, they were so far up my butt, my feet hurt from ill advised heels, and more than anything, I just wanted to know what was going on.

Stepping out of the hospital and out into the brisk winter air, I breathed a sigh of relief. The cool air worked to revitalise me from the walking coma I'd been in for the past two hours.

"I told you Jane would be fine!" Mum says over FaceTime, her phone propped up on the coffee table.

"Oh yes, totally fine. Except for a femur broken in two places, several cracked ribs, and concussion. But apart from that, totally fine.'

"Bones heal," she says, buried in a box of Christmas decorations. She pulls out a roll of pink tinsel, shakes her head, and throws it on the brown leather couch next to her. It's nearly two a.m., and I'm certain she hasn't even thought of going to bed yet. "I don't know why you're insisting on staying in the city. Just come home."

I roll my eyes, picking non-existent lint from my shirt. Jane wouldn't be able to do a whole lot for herself over the next few days. I can't imagine that she would want Charlie helping her shower and all the other bathroom business. To be fair, I didn't particularly want the job either, but she would do it for me in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed.

It didn't help that Jane's flat was the size of a postage stamp. I would be relegated to sleeping on the couch – a bright yellow monstrosity that while comfortable was too small even for me. Whoever had been in the flat before her had painted all the rooms different colours that seemed to clash with any and all furniture, wounding my soul. Jane had tried to salvage the place by hanging artwork and pictures; but sometimes, things simply can't be saved.

"Are you serious right now?" I ask.

"Charlie can help look after her," she says. "Maybe we'll have an engagement just in time for Christmas! Here's the plan: convince Jane to stay with Charlie for a few weeks of recovery. The close proximity is sure to create some magic."

I blinked. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Only mum would look at a possibly fatal car accident and think it's the perfect way to see Jane down the aisle. Christ on a cracker. I run my hand down my face, exhaustion beginning to settle into my bones. Mum looks as bright and chipper as can be as she takes a sip of coffee and continues to riffle through what had to be twenty years of Christmas. This was probably her idea of heaven.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a comment."

"You're so tightly wound," Mum says, looking me in the eye. "I don't know what you're upset about."

"You realise Jane was in a potentially deadly car crash right? She could have died. Don't you care about that at all?"

She sighs and sets the box she was sorting to the side. "Of course, I care. I care about all my children. But you're forgetting something important here."

"Which is?"

"She's fine; well, as fine as she can be."

"That doesn't comfort me at all."

"You need to stop thinking about the what if's, and embrace what is," she says in a rare stroke of wisdom. "Listen, go get some sleep, you'll feel better in the morning. I've got to go."

The moment we hang up, the world seems unbearably quiet.

Ambulance sirens punctuate the night, along with the odd backfiring car, but the sound seems to melt away into the night, leaving me at a loss as to what to do next. With a shuddering sigh, I go back inside.

If my life was a movie, the walk back to where Jane was currently flying high on a cocktail of pain meds would be soundtracked by some maudlin indie rock. I could practically hear the droning voice and slow strum of the guitars like a scene out of Scrubs. Yet, when I see Darcy standing just off to the side scrutinising her x-ray, it's as if the stylus is ripped off the record.

Charlie is sitting beside Jane, their fingers interlaced as he snores gently. Caroline is scrolling through her phone, tutting every so often. I don't even know why she's there. The doctors had discharged her hours ago, but she lingered like a bad smell I wanted to be rid of pronto.

"I thought you went home," Caroline said, looking up from her screen for the barest of moments.

"Nope, still here." I move to stand next to Darcy. "Is it as bad as it looks?"

The x-ray was gnarly. Even with my untrained eye I could see the break as clear as day. How she had gotten away without having to do surgery is a miracle.

"It's a clean break. It should heal up nicely," Darcy said, running a hand through his hair before stuffing it in his pocket.

"Urgh!" Caroline tucks her phone in her pocket. "Let's go for a walk." Before I can protest, she loops her arm through mine and practically dislocates my arm as she drags me out of the small cubicle. "Coming Darcy?" She throws out over her shoulder.

"I'll be right behind you."

Caroline hums in approval. "So, Eliza, tell me about yourself."

I bristled. I hated it when people did that. Give me nicknames that I didn't need nor want. When I was a child, one of my uncles insisted on calling me Bethy when the perfectly serviceable Lizzy was available to him.

"It's Lizzy actually," I corrected as she led me towards the cafeteria.

It was nearly midnight and I was more than ready to go to bed. Except, I had no car and no idea where I would be spending the night.

Great.

Caroline smiled tightly. "Lizzy then."

"I like to read, romance novels mainly, but I do love a good thriller."

That was a bit of an understatement. Reading was second only to my art. With a good book you can go anywhere. It didn't matter if the ending was predictable as romance novels tended to be; it was all about the journey, about experiencing the feeling of falling in love over and over.

Not that I knew what that actually felt like. I'd never been in love.

"Interesting," She said, as if it were anything but. "You read too, don't you Darcy?"

I glanced over my shoulder at him to see him shrug dismissively. "A little."

"Though not romance, surely." Caroline laughed, reminding me of a braying horse. It was one of the worst laughs I had ever heard.

"No." His lips quirked up just a little. "But then again, it's not really literature is it?"

Oh no he didn't.

The gloves were coming off now. "Excuse you?" I stopped walking, detangling my arm from Caroline's vice-like grip, and turned to face Darcy fully.

"Romance novels are not literature."

"Tell that to Emily Bronte." I take a step forward. "Wuthering Heights is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever committed to paper and it's a romance."

"Is it though?"

"I read that book in college," Caroline added, never wanting to be left out of the conversation. "I thought it was frightfully dull." She completely missed the point.

"Of course it is," I said firmly.

Darcy taps his finger against his lips twice, thinking. "I suppose you think Fifty Shades of Grey is equally as romantic."

I laughed. "That's like comparing apples and oranges, making your point entirely irrelevant."

"Heathcliff is an abusive sadist who is irredeemable. He is destructive and Cathy is drawn to him because she is self-destructive. Their entire relationship is toxic and not one that should be emulated." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Christian Grey is the same. Though Heathcliff is arguably worse because he doesn't have the benefit of being able to employ a psychologist."

"He never victimises Cathy," I point out. "They're soul mates."

He scoffs. "Look at his treatment of Isabella. He even throws a knife at her! We spend the whole novel waiting for him for him to gain some sort of humanity and he doesn't. It's futile waiting for someone like that to change because they won't and can't."

"Cathy and Heathcliff's love transcends all. It's passionate, consuming, and ultimately tragic."

Darcy shakes his head. "While there is no doubt that their love is the heart of the novel, there is no way it can be described as romance. They are terrible people doing terrible things to each other in the name of love."

I'm saved from replying straight away when Caroline chimes in. "My thoughts exactly."

"Not every romance gets a happy ending," I said after a moment. "Some loves burn so bright and hot they ultimately burn out."

"Wouldn't you rather a steady love where both parties tend the flame to make sure it doesn't go out?"

Did I?

I had always thought I wanted the passionate love that Heathcliff and Cathy shared, though with an admittedly happier ending. Now, I wasn't so sure what I wanted.

Instead of answering, I turned around, looped my arm back through Caroline's and set back to walking down the hallway, my mind a muddle as Caroline began chirping about skirt lengths to a quiet Darcy.