Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I said, and made a hasty dash back out of there, almost bashing into Wendy Briars outside the door.
“Whoa, tiger,” she laughed. “You never stop zooming around at lightning speed, do you?”
The grin on her face was huge, until she caught sight of the horror on mine.
“What is it?” she asked. “Are you ok, Chloe?”
I was shaking my head before she’d finished speaking.
“I don’t think Logan is in, and I need to see him, and I can’t, I don’t know where he is.”
I knew she knew more than I did. I saw it in her eyes.
“I, um… I believe he has called in an annual leave day,” she told me. “I believe it’s for a family event.”
The horror on my face must have been a masterpiece, because it dawned on me. It dawned on me in a second.
The funeral.
He was at his mum’s funeral.
And I couldn’t… I couldn’t believe it… because I should be there… I should be there alongside him.
“Chloe?” Wendy pushed. “Chloe, are you ok?”
I was shaking my head again, panic rising.
There’s no way I shouldn’t be at Jackie’s goodbye. Just no way. No, no way. The tears pricked at my eyes just thinking about it, the woman I admired so much having a send-off without me being there to pay my respects.
Logan didn’t tell me.
It rattled around my heart, just the thought of it.
He was at his mum’s funeral and he didn’t even tell me it was happening.
“I have to go,” I told her. “Please, Wendy. I have to go. I have to find him.”
She looked up and down the corridor as I dithered on my feet, a racehorse about to gallop. She could read me. I’m sure she could read me. After all, she was a friend of mine too.
I was so, so grateful she was.
“I’ll find someone to cover your shift,” she said. “Get going. Just get going.”
I managed a bluster of thanks, thanks, thanks, and then I was off, shooting through to the staffroom and throwing on my sweater over my uniform. It was still before 10 a.m., but I didn’t have time to wait. I was already trying Logan’s number before I was out of the ward, cursing under my breath as it rang straight through to voicemail.
You have reached Dr Logan Hall. I’m sorry I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message.
I left him a message.
“Answer me,” I told him. “Please, Logan. Please just answer me.”
I shoved my phone in my pocket and barely managed a wave to the other nurses before I was out of Franklin Ward. I was zipping out of there, through the main hospital reception and out onto the street, zooming off for Harrow train station before I even really knew where I was heading to.
Fuck.
Please, universe. Please bail me the fuck out here.
I started with the basics. I sat down on a bench on platform one and started searching for funeral director details in Redwood. That’s one thing about Logan. Practicalities. He was the lord of efficiency. No doubt he would have chosen one locally.
There were two funeral directors in Redwood. I had my fingers crossed – literally – as I called the first number.
“Webber’s funeral services…”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m, um… I’m needing to find Jackie Hall’s funeral arrangements. I believe it’s going ahead today…”
The hover on the line gave me the answer before she did.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any Jackie Hall listed.”
“Thanks,” I said, and I was gone.
My fingers were trembling as I dialled the second firm. I was mumbling please, please, please, before the receptionist answered, fingers crossed tight again.
“I’m needing to find Jackie Hall’s funeral arrangements. I believe they might be today. Please could you help me?”
And thank the universe, she could.
“Yes,” she said. “The service is at Redwood Crematorium. It takes place at eleven this morning.”
Eleven.
Fuck.
It was ten already.
“Thanks,” I told her, and hung up the phone.
I checked the train times, and it was close. There was one in five minutes setting off for Redwood, but I didn’t know how far the crematorium would be from the station. It was pulling in to the platform by the time I’d called up the street map details. Fifteen minutes’ walk time to the venue from the train station.
It would be close.
Really damn close.
I tried Logan again three times on my way there. I tapped my foot on the floor, heart racing past every station until the train pulled in at Redwood, and then I sprinted. The jittery racehorse in me actually sprinted. I galloped through the streets on the way to the crematorium, begging, BEGGING the universe to let me get there in time.
I could see cars in the crematorium car park before I saw the venue itself. I was out of breath but still racing, pain stabbing like a dagger in my ribs at the sight of the empty hearse parked up by the entrance. I plunged through the doors, my breaths whistling in my ears as I tried to find my way through to the main service room.