Page 93 of Tears of Gold

“Because it was best for the family.”

“Jennifer, you are the Baroness now. I don’t understand much about this sort of thing, but this is you. It’s your turn to make it what you want it to be. Maybe it’s time you took control.”

“She’s my mother.”

“And are you being a good mother to your two remaining children? What sort of grandmother do you want to be?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but the door flies back, hitting the wall. And here is the entrance I was expecting Eli to make.

“I guess we are going.”

He’s holding his phone. His face bewildered. “Faith. It’s Dan, he’s in hospital. Abi has been trying to ring you.”

I stare at him blankly. “My phone is still in the main house in my bag.” I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. “What do you mean Dan is in hospital? He’s fighting fit, and anyway I’m the last person he wants to see.”

Eli steps up, dropping to his knees and holding my hand. “Faith, he’s overdosed. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

His words hammer in my head until they make sense. When they do, the whole world turns to black and I begin to slip away. Away from Jennifer, away from Eli, and away from a reality I don’t want to face.

* * *

“Won’t this car go any faster?” I cling onto the leather of the Range Rover's seats.

“Faith, I’m trying.”

“Try faster.”

I’m being unfair. A bitch is more to the point, but I can’t make anything in my head make sense. Dan is in hospital. My oldest friend, who I’ve hurt more than I ever thought possible, is in hospital. I can’t ignore the voice in my head; you did this.

I didn’t. I didn’t. I chant back.

Eli pulls up outside the double doors of the entrance and I jump from the car, rushing through the sliding glass to the front desk. “My friend was brought in a short while ago!” I almost shout in the woman's face.

“Name?”

“Dan Smith.” She types his name into the computer. Each key she presses takes an age.

“It’s family only at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t understand. He doesn’t have any family, I’m it.”

I’m it. I’m all he has, and I haven’t talked to him. My stomach lurches as a painful punch lands in my chest. A punch of reality that steals all my air.

I’ve been busy with TV shows and housekeepers and babies. What has he been doing?

She hesitates and for an awful moment I think she’s going to turn me away. Tears slip down my cheeks and I brush at them with my hands. “Please?”

“He’s in emergency resuscitation. You won’t be able to go in, but you can head down there and wait for someone to come out.”

I nearly fall down. My legs shake and wobble. “Thank you. My fiancé is parking the car; can you send him through?”

She nods swiftly and I head in the direction where she’s pointing. The corridors seem never-ending, but I eventually find the emergency waiting room. It’s bland and nondescript, tasteful in beige and then a nauseating peach. This is where they send people if they are expecting to give them bad news.

There are painted flowers on the walls in plain frames.

Shit art.

Shit everything.