Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (26 page)

Of course, every chance I get
, I check my phone to see if Marc has called or messaged me about Getty and extra security. Leo teases me about it so much that I take to sneaking away to the toilets to check messages. But by the end of the day, there’s nothing – no texts, no missed calls, no answer machine messages. I guess Marc must have taken care of things, but he doesn’t see any reason to let me know.

After rehearsals, Leo asks me out for a drink.

‘I can’t,’ I tell him. ‘I have another coaching session with Denise.’

‘How about afterwards?’ he asks.

‘Maybe. But I might be too tired.’

The session with Denise goes well, and I can feel my voice getting stronger and stronger. But Marc still hasn’t called, so I decide to bite the bullet and call him
. I want to find out when our next session will be. And, if I’m honest with myself, I want to make sure he knows there’s nothing between Leo and I. Just in case there’s still a chance for us.

As his phone rings, my heart beats faster and faster.

‘Sophia.’

‘Marc ... I ... I hope you don’t mind me calling.’

‘Not at all.’

‘I wondered ... are we going to have any more tuition sessions?’

‘Of course. But you’ll be busy with Denise this week. I didn’t want to tire you out.’

‘Oh.
Right. Listen, Marc. I just wanted to say. About Leo and I. It’s not what it looks like.’

‘You though
t I’d be jealous?’ says Marc.

‘Um ...’

‘My feelings are irrelevant. I gave you my word that I’d help you. And I will. Get some rest over the weekend. I have some sessions planned for you next week.’

‘But Marc, I’m not with Leo -’

‘Sophia, what you do in your private life is up to you.’

The line goes dead.

I notice a text from Leo on the screen.

‘Finished yet? Changed your mind about that drink?’

Oh, what the hell. Lord knows I could use some relaxation time, and Marc has made it pretty clear there’s no chance for us.

I reply: ‘Sure. Where are you?’

Leo replies straight away. ‘Greens in Soho. See you there!’

When I arrive at Greens, the bar is heaving. Leo is surrounded by adoring fans, and I smile as I watch him sign autographs on beer mats.

I push throu
gh the crowd.

‘Hey
, Leo.’

‘Oh
, hey! Sophia! You want a drink?’

‘Um ... sure. White wine
, please.’

‘Oh
, come on. You can manage something stronger than that.’ He taps the bar. ‘Two vodka shots, a white wine and a jack and coke.’

He turns to m
e. ‘So. Did the call come through from Mr Blackwell?’

‘No. I ended up calling him, actually.’

‘So are you guys back together?’

‘Not at all. But he’s helping me with my acting.
Strictly on a teacher student basis.’

Leo nods slowly.
‘I hear he’s a pretty good teacher.’

‘He is,’ I say. ‘But
other than that, we’re over.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘I’m sure.’

My phone bleeps
, and Leo raises an eyebrow. ‘Maybe that’s him. On a strictly teacher student basis.’

I smile and shake my head, seeing
Dad’s home number on the screen. It’s gone eleven. Why would Dad be calling now?

‘Sorry
, Leo, I have to take this.’ I head out of the bar and stand on the cold pavement outside.

‘Dad?
’

‘Sophia, you have to come home no
w!’ It’s not Dad - it’s Genoveva.

‘
Genoveva? What’s going on?’ Samuel is screaming in the background. I’ve never heard him scream like that, and it unnerves me. ‘Is Sammy okay?’

‘It’s your father. He’s ... had an accident.’

My blood runs cold. ‘Oh my god. What happened?’

‘I can’t ... NO Samuel, not now. I can’t cope with this! You have to come now!’

‘Okay. Please, Genoveva. Calm down. Where are you? I’m coming right over.’ I feel sick to my stomach. Samuel’s screams get louder.

‘At the
cottage
,’ Genoveva screeches. ‘You have to come
now
.’

‘I’m on my way. What happened? Tell me what’s going on. Where’s Dad?’

‘He’s in the hospital,’ Genoveva wails. ‘I’m all alone. I can’t cope.’

‘
Genoveva. What’s happened to my dad?’

‘He had an accident. In his taxi. He’s in the local hospital. They say ... they say it could go either way.’

‘I’m coming right now.’

‘To us or the hospital?’

‘The hospital. You and Samuel can meet me there.’

My
head in a whirl, I run towards Oxford Street. There are a few stray paparazzi on the way, but I barely notice them. They must think it’s their lucky day as I charge past, tears streaming down my face. What a picture. But I couldn’t care less.

I flag down the first taxi I find.

By the time I reach the hospital, I’m a complete mess of tears and snot. I blather my dad’s name to the receptionist
, and she sends me up to the critical care ward.

Outside the ward
, a nurse tells me to go to the visitor room and wait until the doctor is free to see me.

I feel like falling to my knees right there in the hospital corridor and bawling my eyes out, but I manage to hold it together.

‘No, I can’t,’ I say, amazed that I’m stringing a sentence together. ‘That would be torture. Please. I need to see him now. Or at least know what’s wrong.’

The nurse is a chubby blonde lady with huge round glasses. ‘You’re Sophia Rose, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I -’

‘Thought so. I recognise you from the newspapers.’ She folds her arms. ‘He’s been here for hours. You certainly took your time. Did you have a prior engagement?’

I open and close my mouth, feeling angry tears bubble under my eyes. ‘No, I ... I only just found out.’

‘Really?’ She leaves the question hanging in the air.

‘I love my dad very much,’ I say. ‘I’d do anything for him. Don’t believe what you’ve read in the papers about me. I need to see him.’

‘He’s unconscious -’

‘
Please
.’ The word is somewhere between a cry and a shout.

‘He’s sleeping right now while we prepare him to travel.’

‘Travel?’

‘For a brain scan. We don’t have the right equipment in this hospital. It would be better if he stayed put, but what with cut backs
, we’re just not set up to treat him.’

My throat burns. ‘Can I see him while he’s sleeping?’

The nurse sighs. ‘Come this way.’

When we get to the ward, I see Dad, but I don’t see him, if that makes sense. The sleeping man on the bed doesn’t look like my dad. He looks much older and greyer.

My face and neck are damp with tears as I go to the bed and take his warm
, limp hand.

‘Dad, it’s me. Soph. You’re going to be okay, Dad. You’re going to get through this. It’s all going to be alright.’

I sob into the waffle blanket that covers his sleeping body. Sensing the nurse behind me, I turn to her.

‘When will he come round?’

‘It’s impossible to say. Some people make a full recovery, but – it all depends on the brain scan. That’ll tell us what his chances are. We don’t know the damage done to his body yet. We’ve got him stable, but it’s very much a waiting game. We need to get him ready now.’

I grip Dad’s hand tighter. ‘Just a few more minutes.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The nurse puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘We’ve a special room for critical care visitors. Come this way.’

In the waiting room, I stare at the snack machine, wondering how anyone could eat in this place. I feel hollow. Empty. I’ve said so many prayers to God that I’m sure he’s getting bored of me.

I try to ring Jen and
Genoveva, but I have absolutely no signal here. I guess all the machines must be blocking my reception.

I’m considering buying a powdered drink from the coffee machine,
when I hear clipped, male footsteps. Finally. The doctor.

The waiting room door swings open.

I put a hand to my mouth.

Marc strolls into the room.

'Marc!'

I go to him. No, I don’t. I run to him. Leap at him. Throw myself into his arms and bury my head against his warm black jumper. He doesn’t say a word. He just holds me as I shake and cry and speak a load of gibberish about the awful nurse and how old my dad looks and how no one knows if he’s going to come around or not.

Marc strokes my hair and locks his arms tight around my body. Somehow
, I don’t need him to say anything. Only hold me. Eventually, my words and tears run out, and I sag against him, breathing heavily, held in his arms.

Marc leads me to some plastic chairs
, and we both sit down.

‘I’ve been talking to the doctor,’ says Marc. ‘Finding out about your father’s condition. There’s hope, Sophia. I promise you that.’

‘Thank you.’ I breathe into the soft fabric of his jumper. I’m not surprised by anything – not Marc knowing I was at the hospital or him managing to talk to the doctors already. This is all just so ... Marc. And I love him for it. Truly, honestly love him. In a moment like this, no one else would do.

‘They’ve decided he won’t have to travel now,’ says Marc, stroking my hair. His voice is deep and soothing. ‘He’s staying put.’

‘How come? The nurse said they didn’t have the equipment here.’

‘Well. Th
ey do now. Do you need anything? Food? Hot chocolate?’

I
shake my head. ‘No, it’s fine. I just ... will you stay with me? That’s all I want right now.’

‘Do you think I’d leave you at a time like this?’

‘No.’ I shake my head so fiercely that my hair flies around. ‘Never.’

The night struggles on. I sit with Marc, watching the clock tick, tick, tick, and waiting for news. It’s torture.

At
2am, a doctor in a white coat peers around the waiting room door. He has thick black glasses and is very short – almost child height.

‘Sophia Rose?’

‘Yes.’ I stand up and Marc stands with me.

‘I’m here to give you an update on your father. He’s ... it’s not looking good.’

My face crumples, and I feel myself leaning into Marc’s chest.

Marc puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘Could you clarify ‘not looking good’?’

The doctor pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘He’s been unconscious for a long time. In these instances, it’s wise to prepare for the worst.’

Marc glares at him. ‘Prepare for the worst? That’s not a medical term I’m familiar with. Hospitals are in the business of saving lives, are they not? If you’ve written him off before he’s even had a brain scan, then we’re in trouble.’

‘I just thought I’d keep you updated -’

‘And we appreciate that. But a little positivity wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘Yes, well ...’ says the doctor meekly, leaving the waiting room.

Marc takes his phone from his pocket and dials a number.

‘Who are you calling?’ I ask.

‘I’m bringing in some specialist medical assistance. The best people I can find. I have no doubt the people here are trying their best. But they’re limited by their experiences. I’m going to find someone who’s dealt with a case like your father’s before.’

I slump onto a plastic chair. ‘Preparing for the worst,’ I murmur.

Marc frowns
and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t even start thinking that way. It won’t help you or your father. You have to think positive. Something that doctor doesn’t seem to understand. Damn it!’ He looks at his phone. ‘No reception. Sophia, are you okay if I head outside for a moment?’

I nod stiffly.

‘I won’t be long.’ He takes my hand and kisses my fingers. ‘I promise.’

Five minutes later, I see Marc pacing back and forth in the hospital car park, barking instructions into his phone. I stare at the stars above him in the night sky, wishing, wishing that my dad will be okay.

I don’t know how, but I manage to doze for a few hours against Marc’s shoulder. When I wake, dawn is trailing its muddy grey fingers across the rising sun.

I turn to Marc. He’s wide awake, bolt upright, watching me. If he’s tired, he doesn’t look it.

‘Sophia. You’re awake.’

‘Did you sleep at all?’ I murmur, my throat croaky with old tears.