a cup of tea won’t fix,’ she lied breezily, not trusting herself to let his concern touch her. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not yet anyway. Not when her job was only half finished.
She walked into the doctors’ lounge, which at ten in the evening was thankfully empty. She needed and wanted privacy to make this call. Picking up the phone, it took her two attempts to get the number right as her mind kept spinning off and practicing what she was going to say. As the phone rang in her ear, she concentrated on slowing her breathing and her wildly hammering heart.
‘Hello,’ a sleep-filled voice croaked down the line.
‘Louise.’ Her voice sounded unsteady and she tried to firm it up. ‘It’s Claire Mitchell. From the hospital.’
‘Claire!’ Ryan’s mother’s voice was instantly alert. ‘You’re calling me? Oh, my God,’ she said half laughing, half crying, ‘it’s just like the umbrella story. You told me to come home and now you’re calling. He’s awake, isn’t he? Colin, wake up. It’s Ryan.’
Claire’s stomach lurched so hard she had to force the rising tide of acid back down her throat. ‘Louise,’ she said firmly but gravely, trying to signal to the woman this call wasn’t the positive one she craved. ‘Ryan’s not awake.’
‘What?’ She sounded confused. ‘Then why are you calling?’ she asked angrily.
Claire thought about the desperately ill little boy who was lying surrounded by all the latest medical technology. ‘Ryan’s condition has deteriorated.’
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