Page 33 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
He let out a harsh breath. "But you need to understand this: Mum may not be the best grandmom, but I would never have expected her to leave Coral with Matty. I left her with her because she has been a good mum to me growing up, and I never expected this from her. Sheknowsshe's unstable, and I will not forgive her for this. I will never trust her again."
Fern's face was careful, blank, as if each new shard of information had to be turned over and catalogued before she could decide where to put it.
When she finally spoke, her voice held a thread of steel. "We are going to get through this period and get Coral home," she said. "That is the only thing that matters right now."
Connor nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yes. I will do whatever it takes—"
"Wait," Fern went on, cutting across him. "I am not willing to leave her with you alone, not for the foreseeable future. Either I will be there, or Papa will be there, every single time. This is not negotiable. Don't be confused by this short respite. I am doing this for Coral, not for you."
Something in his expression crumpled. "Fern—"
"Once she's better," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken, "we will think of a way to divorce that affects Coral the least. Because that's what we are left with now. I am moving back to Manchester, and you can decide what it is you want to do."
He stared at her like she'd just opened a trapdoor under his feet. "Fern, I love you," he whispered, the words seemed to be wrenched from a bottomless pit of agony.
She'd been looking at the wall while she spoke, eyes fixed on a scuff mark near the skirting board. At that, her gaze flickered, but she didn’t look at him.
"Not enough," she whispered. "Not nearly enough. And you don’t love Coral enough to put her first. Because, if you had been thinkingof her, you wouldn't have brought her into the orbit of someone as toxic as Matty."
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table. "All I feel is numbness and heartbreak," she went on. "But don’t you worry, you stupid git. I will get over you."
He hung his head, his eyes bright with tears.
"But before I leave this hellhole," she said, and now there was steel threaded through the quiet, "Matty is not going to get away with this."
He swallowed. "What do you mean?"
Fern finally turned her head and met his eyes. Hers were dry, dark, unflinching. "I've spoken to Mrs. Renshaw," she said. "The social worker. There is a police complaint already in place. You know, Jacob should not be left unsupervised in that house, not even for a moment. I am not going to let her hurt a child—not even her own. There are things I need to do before I leave."
Now it wasn’t Connor's shame or Matilda's madness or his mother's warped loyalties that filled the space.
It was Fern's line in the sand.
Chapter 18
The next few days blurred together, so much so that, when Connor tried to count them back later, they slipped through his fingers like sand.
By day, he went into the workshop—emails, customer calls, chasing parts on back order, redoing the botched paint job that a furious customer insisted "looked more teal than midnight blue he had expected." At twenty-one, he had used his inheritance to buy into the chain of garages and being the boss had its perks. Problems such as these would once have wound him up. Now, they just washed over him. He was on autopilot now, saying the right things, signing the right invoices, nodding at the other lads on the floor, but as soon as he could get away, he drove straight back to the hospital. He would cook something for Fern and Coral while a silent Harlan observed with watchful eyes and rush back to the hospital. Then he would either go to the playroom with Coral or snuggle in bed with a book, smelling the unique perfume of Coraline's hair. It just brought home how much he had missed while he chased ghosts.
By night, he folded himself into the hard vinyl chair by Coral's bed, knees jammed against the metal frame, neck kinked at an angle that made him wake with pins and needles screaming down his arm.
It felt like penance—not that it seemed to matter to Fern. She never left him alone with Coral.
Fern had called the preschool to update them. He'd heard her from the hospital corridor, phone pressed tight to her ear, her voice strainedas she explained that Coral wouldn't be in for a while, that there had been an accident but she was safe now, just needed time. He'd watched her throat bob while she listened, the way she pressed two fingers between her eyes while she muttered a wobbly thank you and ended the call. Then she looked at the wall with a blank expression.
Coral's world had shrunk to the four walls of the paediatric bay.
She spent most of the day propped up on pillows, with Oggie, the bear tucked under one arm and her tablet balanced on her knees. Sometimes she typed very seriously on the plastic toy laptop Harlan had brought in, little fingers pecking at the keys. Sometimes she drew with her crayons—soft, looping lines that gradually turned into lopsided cats and suns and something that might have been a dinosaur while her little pink tongue poking out the side of her mouth with concentration.
She was surprisingly brave about the dressings. She'd flinch when the nurse peeled back the tape, face going pale, but she held herself rigid and let them work. At most, she squeezed Fern's hand, then blew out a breath when it was done and signalled for a sticker.
It was the adults who had to work at keeping from looking away.
***
Their week at the hospital seemed to drag but a lot happened in that time.
The day after his and Fern's halting, painful conversation, Connor was sitting in the uncomfortable chair with a coffee gone cold beside his foot when there was a brisk knock on the half-open door.
