And the little boy nodded and began to speak very quickly, too quickly for Fiero to comprehend the entirety of what he was saying. He heard ‘ball’ and ‘truck’ and ‘shout’ and ‘ball’ again, enough to gather the gist – that a ball had rolled onto the street and somehow in the retrieval of the ball, Elodie had been struck by a vehicle.
The rest he knew from the nurse.
“That’s not your fault,” he soothed, the shocking imagery of Elodie’s delicate body being clipped by a truck and thrown across the pavement one he didn’t relish contemplating. How must it be for the boy, who had witnessed the accident? Sympathy swelled in Fiero’s chest.
“S’my fault,” the boy repeated, more emphatically.
Fiero had little experience with small children. He was sure there was something he should say, something that would wipe the glum look off the little boy’s face. He wanted to offer reassurance even as it ran against his natural grain to give false hope – and having seen Elodie’s condition, he couldn’t say with any certainty how full her recovery would be.
“The doctors will help your mother,” he said instead, hoping the child wouldn’t detect the nuance of the statement.
“Doctors hurt,” Jack pronounced, so Fiero’s eyebrows drew together. Jack lifted a chubby little hand to his shoulder, rubbing it with a remembered wince. “Sharp needles. Ouch.”
“Ah.” Fiero’s voice cracked a little. A swell of emotion made it hard to concentrate. “Shots do hurt, yes.”
How many of the boy’s immunisa
tions had he missed? How many tears? Tears at the doctor’s surgery or tears such as would have fallen today? He’d missed so much – and he wouldn’t miss another damned thing. With the rapier-like precision he was famed for, he stood, tousling the boy’s thick dark hair as he did. “I’ll be right back, Jack.”
“Mama?”
He didn’t betray a hint of his feelings to the little boy. “Your mother will need to stay here a while, to get better. Until she does, you’re going to come home with me. Okay?”
Jack didn’t respond immediately, but he tilted his head, considering this. “You’re a stranger.”
He was only two, but Fiero had to give the little boy credit for clear thinking even as the word was like a blade through his heart. “Not really,” he promised with a smile designed to reassure. “I know your mama, and she’s asked me to take care of your while she’s sick. Okay?”
The little boy nodded, but looked far from convinced.
Fiero decided to pull out the big guns. He crouched down once more, so he was at the boy’s eye level. “Of course, I live faraway, over the sea, so we’ll need to go on an aeroplane to reach my home. Have you ever been on an aeroplane, Jack?”
The little boy’s eyes grew wide, in a sign the bet had paid off. “No.”
“Tonight you will,” he promised.
All sign of concern fled from Jack’s face. “When?”
“Soon. I just have to take care of a few things first.”
2
EVERYTHING HURT.
Elodie tried to sit up, but it was like taking a hammer to her ribs, so she stayed where she was, blinking her eyes open. Nothing made sense. She looked around the room as best she could while flat on her back. It was a hospital – the equipment gave that away. The bed though was unlike any hospital bed she’d seen, wide and soft. The décor was lovely too – butter yellow walls with modern art work, and the room was spacious, with a sofa and a little kitchen.
Where was she?
One of her hands was sore. She used the other to feel around until she connected with something like a small remote control. She pressed the button on it and closed her eyes.
It was too bright.
Her throat hurt.
She felt like she’d been hit by a…flashes of memory speared through her. The truck. The ball. Jack.
“Oh my God.” Ignoring the pain now, she pushed up to a sitting position, crying out in agony, pausing to take stock and then shoving the light-weight blanket from her lap. Her leg was in a cast.
It didn’t matter. She had just pushed herself off the bed and was trying to catch her balance when the door burst open and two nurses ran in.