When I Lost You: A Gripping, Heart Breaking Novel of Lost Love. (2 page)

‘Your brother was a particularly special kind of guy,’ I said quietly. I still thought about Declan often, but I hadn’t spoken about him in years. It felt odd – more than a little unnatural.

‘Dad had a heart attack last year,’ Molly said suddenly, and I frowned.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ I was also surprised that I hadn’t heard that already, given that her father was one of the biggest names in the industry.

‘Yeah. That’s off the record, of course. Dad didn’t want the shareholders to find out so…’ Molly sighed wearily as she rubbed her forehead, then she looked directly at me. ‘The thing is, Dad had a heart attack, and Declan
supposedly
died of an undiagnosed heart condition. So you’d think Dad would have his doctors look into Declan’s illness to make sure it’s not genetic, right?’

She looked at me, waiting for a response, so I opened my mouth to say something but no words came out at all. Molly seemed strangely satisfied by the shock I couldn’t hide. She crossed her arms over her chest and peered at me as she continued quietly. ‘Whenever I brought the subject up or even mentioned Declan’s name, Dad yelled, Mum sobbed. Something
never
added up and I’m embarrassed to admit this, but until Dad’s heart attack, it was just easier for me to pretend I hadn’t noticed. Did Declan kill himself, Leo?’

She delivered that last brutal question without hesitation, but when I glanced at her I saw the way she braced herself as she waited for my answer.

‘No – God
no
! He didn’t.’

Molly’s tight posture relaxed, but only a little.

‘Well? It obviously wasn’t some random heart problem. So what am I missing?’

‘Just…’ I exhaled heavily and stared at the table. ‘Just give me a second, okay?’ I thought for a moment I had been saved by the arrival of the coffees, but soon discovered that there was only so long I could stare into my latte while I tried to figure out what to say to her.

I knew that Laith and Danielle Torrington had lied to the world about Declan’s death – and I almost understood why. I also knew that Molly had not
known the truth about his illness when he was alive. He’d asked us all to keep it from her, and I could understand that too. He was terrified that she’d think less of him.

It had never occurred to me that the lies to protect her would have continued
after
his death. I despised Laith Torrington and everything he stood for, but not for one second had I expected that he would stoop as low as this.

‘Leo?’ Molly prompted me very gently. She was trying to tread lightly, assuming I was still hurting over the loss of my friend. But I wasn’t – not really. Ten years had passed, and I’d seen plenty of other horrors in those years to harden me. My hesitation was only because I had just walked into a situation expecting to find sadness, only to discover it was an ethical minefield instead. I didn’t take sugar but to busy myself, I reached for the sugar bowl and scooped a half-spoonful into my coffee then stirred slowly before I looked up at her.

‘I have no idea what to say to you, Molly,’ I admitted.

‘But you know something I don’t? Did you know he was sick?’

I stirred the coffee again, just so I had somewhere else to look – somewhere safely away from her pleading blue eyes. ‘Yes,’ I muttered. This time the simple word was layered with truth. Yes, I knew he was sick – he
was
sick, in the grip of a monstrous addiction that resisted any treatment any of us could throw at it. I had expected that she would ask me the details of his spiral downwards into addiction and that would have been difficult enough. This scenario was a whole new level of complicated. I cleared my throat.

‘You need to ask Laith and Danielle these questions, Molly.’

‘I can’t – I’ve tried, honestly – I’ve pushed them as hard as I can. They won’t – or they
can’t
– talk about it. They won’t even talk about him at all.’

The dread in my gut had turned to a churning. I pushed the coffee away towards the middle of the table before I slid my chair back and rose. ‘Look, I’m really sorry I can’t help you, but these are things you need to discuss with your parents, not with me.’ I slid my wallet out of my pocket. After some awkward fumbling with the sling, I dropped a note onto the table that would cover both coffees; then I dared to glance at Molly’s face one last time. Her eyes were narrow and her lips pursed – Molly Torrington was pissed off. It wasn’t the first time I’d left a member of the Torrington family in that state, but I felt a pang of remorse.

Molly rose too, and she stared at me. ‘Leo,’ she stated calmly, but with some determination. ‘I deserve to know, and no one else is going to tell me but you.’

I thought about the last argument I’d had with Laith at the hospital. I remembered Declan’s body cooling on the bed behind him and Danielle, lying over her son, wailing. I remembered Laith’s breath on my face and his spittle on my skin as he lost control of his emotions. I remembered the battle I’d fought with myself to resist an overwhelming urge to lash out at him – I
could
have taken him. With one punch or a well-placed kick, I could have silenced those cruel words that were barbs into my raw, grief-stripped emotions.

‘You filthy piece of scum! You did this to him. He would never have known where to buy this shit if it wasn’t for your bastard abo family!’

But it wasn’t my problem. It wasn’t my place to tell her. It wasn’t going to help her even if she did know. I was tempted to just walk out and leave her standing there. Then I glanced at Molly and saw the desperation in her eyes. I sighed. ‘This isn’t a conversation for a café.’

Molly winced, but it was only a fleeting expression – she immediately flagged down a waiter.

‘Can we get these coffees into takeaway cups?’

L
eo wakes again just
after lunch and this time from the moment his eyes open, it’s obvious that he is much more alert. When I lift his glasses to his face, his hands meet mine and the contact feels strangely awkward. I realise that he wants to position his glasses without assistance and I smile to myself; this stubborn, independent man is the Leo I’ve known and loved.

‘Hi, Leo,’ I murmur softly.

‘Hello,’ he says, and I am startled by the hoarse and oddly formal word. Leo exhales deeply and for a moment his eyes close. His hands drop from his face to his throat, and when he opens his eyes again he croaks, ‘Throat sore. Water?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, and frantically press the call button for the nurse. Immediately I hear footsteps and Alda appears. One of the youngest nurses, she speaks only a little English. Alda’s dark eyebrows raise when she sees Leo and she beams at me and claps. ‘He is awake!’

These weeks in Rome have only taught me basic Italian, but I’ve become a world-class expert at plucking English words from the tangle of a heavy accent. ‘And he’s
speaking
,’ I say. Suddenly I realise just how amazing and wonderful this is and I feel a tear running down my cheek. I swipe at it with the back of my hand but I needn’t have bothered. He’s clueless when it comes to his own emotions, but Leo has never been left uncomfortable by tears. Having spent most of his adult life reporting from war zones, he is well accustomed to suffering.

‘Can I have water?’ Leo asks.

Alda nods enthusiastically. ‘Oh, Mr Stephens – I check. This is very good!’ she says, and then disappears from the doorway.

‘Where am I?’ Leo looks to me again.

‘We’re in Rome, Leo.’

‘No,’ he says immediately. ‘Libya.’

‘Libya? No, you were on an embed in Syria. You were medevaced here for treatment after a car accident. Don’t you remember?’

‘No, no…’ Leo shakes his head, but the movement clearly causes him some pain – he winces and his hand lifts towards his skull. I glance at the clock and realise he’s due for medication.

‘It was a pretty serious injury – it’s okay to be confused,’ I murmur, but I’ve already reached for my phone and I quickly draft a group message to our friends and family back home.

Leo is awake and speaking. He is confused, but he’s awake!! And speaking!!

As I hit the send button I feel triumphant. I knew he’d be okay – I just
knew
it. Leo Stephens has always been the kind of man who laughs in the face of other people’s expectations of him.

‘I’m not confused. I feel fine – except for the headache,’ he says, and he’s staring at me, his brow wrinkled. He shifts on the bed then wiggles his right shoulder around. He
was
shot there, but that was four years ago and I wonder why that injury would be troubling him now. ‘I was in Libya. I know I was.’

‘It doesn’t matter for now anyway,’ I say, as gently as I can. It’s very late back in Sydney but already my phone is lighting up with text messages as people reply to the good news of his progress. Leo gives a sudden, exasperated sigh and my triumphant buzz fades a little at his arrogance.

It should not surprise me that Leo has woken from a coma with a serious head injury and still assumes that he knows better than me how he came to be injured. One of the things that attracted me to him in the first place was how well he knows his own mind. That same quality has driven me nearly insane over the course of our marriage.

‘Why are you here, anyway?’ he asks, and now I can’t help myself – I glare at him.

‘Seriously, Leo?’

He grimaces and shakes his head, then winces hard at the pain again. I try to suppress my frustration. It is
actually
a fair question but God, couldn’t he have slipped in a ‘thanks for coming’ somewhere around it?

‘I don’t mean…’ he clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It just didn’t seem right for you to be here alone,’ I say after a moment. ‘I can go if you want me to.’

‘Do you live here now?’

‘What do you mean?’ I drop my phone into my handbag and lean low towards him as I clarify, ‘Do I live in
Rome
? No, of course I don’t. I still live in Sydney.’

‘Well,’ Leo clears his throat and I recognise awkwardness in the way that he is avoiding my gaze. He looks to the roof for a while, then glances at me and says carefully, ‘I mean, thanks – but…’

‘Anne just couldn’t come, Leo,’ I say gently. His mother is petrified of flying, and even when it looked a lot like Leo wasn’t going to make it, I couldn’t convince her to get on a plane. I don’t want to tell Leo that – it would surely hurt him, so I lie about the reason for her absence. ‘She wanted to, but Teresa really needed her – she’s is having a very difficult time with the boys and we weren’t sure how long you’d be here for. And Andrew – well, he’s so busy at the Centre and he’s doing a lot with Tobias in my absence so we couldn’t both be away indefinitely…’

I’m babbling, until I glance at Leo’s face and see that his eyes are wide open and he’s staring at me as if I’ve shocked him. I quickly scan over the words I’ve just said and am confused – although I’m sure he’s disappointed that I’m the only person here, he shouldn’t be all that surprised. His family is a wonderful group of people, but none of them are in a position to drop everything to be at his bedside.

‘Leo? Are you okay?’ I reach onto the bed to touch his forearm and immediately he recoils. I know this makes sense, but it still stings. I sit up stiffly and look away, hoping he can’t see how much the rejection hurts me.

‘Call the nurse for me?’ he asks stiffly. I assume something is medically wrong and so I reach for the buzzer and hit it with urgency.

‘What is it, Leo? Can you tell me what’s wrong?’

Leo looks towards the door and is visibly relieved when another nurse appears. I am relieved too, because it’s Edmondo, and his English is excellent. He is carrying Leo’s pain medication and a large glass of water.

‘Sorry for the delay, Mr Stephens – we had to check with the doctor if you could start oral fluids. Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, thank you – and please…’ Leo looks at me and clears his throat. ‘Can I speak with him alone?’

I know this makes sense too and I remind myself that Leo has every right to his privacy. My internal lecture doesn’t help – I’m still offended and now I’m annoyed. I’ve been sitting by his bedside for almost two weeks and the minute he wakes up, he asks me to leave?
Bastard!

‘Fine,’ I say, and I rise, but before I take a single step I shoot him a sharp look just in case he’s somehow missed my snarky tone. As I reach the door Edmondo looks at me curiously. I wonder what he’s going to think of all of this – how odd it will seem to him.

I am embarrassed that our private issues are about to become public knowledge to the staff here. Leo would say it doesn’t matter, and that the only reason I care at all is that I have a chronic need for approval. He’d probably be right about that – I feel shame at the looming judgement I’ll receive from the hospital staff, even before they know the truth about us at all.

I leave the room, but I stay near to the door so that I can eavesdrop. Leo might think he wants privacy, but he has a serious head injury and whether he likes it or not, I’m still his wife and his only support in Rome. Until I’m sure that he’s fine, I’m not going anywhere.

‘How are you feeling, Mr Stephens?’ I hear the sounds of movement, and then the whir of Leo’s bed being adjusted.

‘I’m okay.’ There’s silence for a moment, and I hear Leo slurping at his water. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘Almost two weeks,’ Edmondo says, and there’s the sound of intermittent typing as he updates Leo’s notes on the computer.

‘I have a head injury?’

‘Your skull was fractured.’

‘And why is my throat sore?’

‘From the respirator, it will get better in time.’

‘It’s hard to speak.’

‘It was a pretty significant injury, Mr Stephens. I’m impressed you can speak at all.’

‘Molly – how long has she been here?’

I bite my lip at the ice in Leo’s tone. How has it come to this? I have flown halfway around the world to be there with him. Surely that earns me some warmth?

‘The whole time, sir. She arrived the day after you did.’

‘And – do you know why?’

‘Why
what
, Mr Stephens?’

‘Why she is here?’ Leo says. His words are clipped with impatience. I frown and lean closer to the door, wondering if I’ve misheard him. Surely he would at least understand why I came. Despite everything, I know he’d have done the same for me if our circumstances were reversed.

‘You know who she is?’ Edmondo asks.

‘Of course I do, she’s Molly Torrington,’ Leo says. I note that he’s already dropped the ‘Stephens’ off my surname and I flush. Poor Edmondo, I should have at least warned him. ‘I know
who
she is, I just don’t know why she is here.’

‘What’s your name, Mr Stephens?’

‘I know my name.’

‘Humour me, sir.’

‘Leonardo David Stephens.’

‘And your date of birth?’

‘March tenth, 1975.’

‘And do you know the date?’

‘How long did you say I was in a coma?’

‘A week and a half, sir.’

Leo doesn’t hesitate. He answers the nurse with complete confidence. ‘Then it must be February.’

I almost second-guess myself when I hear this response. I’m exhausted and I may have lost track of time a little – but I
know
that it’s not February.

‘And the year?’

There’s a long pause, and the longer it stretches, the more anxious I feel. After a moment or two, Edmondo gives Leo a gentle prompt.

‘Please, humour me, Mr Stephens. It is just procedure to check such things when someone wakes from a serious injury.’

‘It’s 2011,’ Leo says the words with an impatient sigh. I wait for Edmondo to correct him, but there is only the sound of typing, then the screech of the keyboard tray being returned to its home beneath the computer.

‘Why don’t you rest now?’ Edmondo says. ‘The doctor will be in soon.’

‘I’m just confused why she’s even here,’ Leo says. ‘I hardly know her. She was talking about my family too. Something’s not right.’

‘I will ask her to wait outside until we figure out what is going on.’

My heart is racing as I hear Edmondo approaching the door and by the time he joins me in the corridor, I’m shaking all over.

‘You were listening?’ He chastises me quietly as he closes the door behind him.

‘What was that? What was he talking about?’

‘His injury is severe; he is confused. It is normal.’

‘
Normal
?’ I repeat the word incredulously.

‘Well, maybe not
normal
.’ Edmondo concedes. ‘But it is nothing unexpected. The doctor will look him over.’

Edmondo’s calmness is instantly irritating. I can barely stand still – I feel nervous tension all the way down to my toes.

‘Will it happen now?’

‘I think Craig Walker is here, Molly. I will ask him to do a cognitive review as soon as he can, okay? But because Leo is so confused, it’s best that you wait out here until he does.’

Craig Walker is an ex-pat American ICU specialist and he has been a godsend since my arrival – checking on Leo often. He sometimes even stops by at the end of his shift to explain procedures to me. I pace the hall while I wait, and when he approaches I greet him as if he’s a long-lost relative.

‘Did Edmondo tell you?’

‘Of course,’ he says. He has a clipboard under his arm and he pulls it out to show me a questionnaire. ‘I’m going to do a cognitive assessment on Leo now, and
you
are going to take yourself for a walk to get something to eat and some fresh air. I’ll be a while.’

I
t’s
over an hour before Craig leaves Leo’s room. I don’t go for fresh air or food – I sit on the bench in the corridor and I worry instead. When Craig closes the door quietly behind him, his expression is grim. He takes a seat beside me and asks gently, ‘How are you holding up, Molly?’

‘Good. I’m good, of course. He’s okay? Is he going to be okay?’

‘Well, as expected, I suppose. There are a few things not quite working as they should yet. Firstly, there’s some motor issues with his lower body. He was a little freaked out by that, but I’m not too concerned – it’s very early days.’

‘He can’t walk?’

‘He’s a long way from walking, I’m afraid,’ Craig explains. ‘I’ve just done some preliminary testing – it will take some time to figure out exactly what is going on there. He has sensation in his lower limbs but impairment in his control of the muscles – basically his movement is limited. I don’t want to worry you too much until we know some more. There are plenty of good signs, and all of his other physical abilities are intact. With a bit of rehab, there’s a good chance we can resolve this.’

‘Does this mean he will be in a wheelchair?’

‘For the time being, yes.’

I think this through, then shake my head as if it’s a request I can decline on Leo’s behalf. Like –
no thanks, Leo doesn’t like scrambled eggs
or
no thanks, he won’t read the tabloid paper, can we have the broadsheet?
Instead, it’s just
no thanks, Leo won’t cope with life in a wheelchair, could you just fix him instead?
Leo is a foreign affairs reporter who specialises in work in volatile war zones; he cannot do that work from a wheelchair. He is a fitness fanatic and a karate instructor in his spare time, and he lives in a three-storey terrace – his beloved office is on the top floor, his bedroom on the second. How can he even live in his home if he’s in a wheelchair? Nothing works. There’s no workaround that I could offer that would make this news anything other than devastating – not for Leo.

‘He will adjust, Molly,’ Craig says quietly. ‘So will you. And like I said there’s a very good chance that with the right therapy and some hard work, he can get past this. Please don’t panic yet.’

‘If it were
me
, I could live a very full life. But Leo won’t cope with this.’

‘You will both figure it out. And there’ll be plenty of support along the way.’