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Where the heck was he?
His hand throbbed and the dull pain seemed to clear his thoughts.
He’d cut it in Arthur’s greenhouse and the poison had made him light-headed. The dizziness hadn’t bothered him as much as the thought that he’d been about to pass out and leave Lily to deal with a deranged lunatic who’d been poisoning people.
Lily had been in danger and he’d been helpless to do anything. Presumably she’d figured it out, since he was reasonably certain he was in hospital. His instincts told him she was fine.
Again, the throbbing in his hand drew his attention. He lifted it to find it wrapped in a bright white bandage. Pressure against his thigh told him he must have done something to his leg too, though he had no recollection of that.
“Oh,” he muttered, as he looked down at what had felt like a boulder wedged against his leg. If it hadn’t required so much effort, he’d have smiled at the sight of Lily, fast asleep in a chair with her arms and head slumped onto the side of the bed and using his leg as a pillow.
She couldn’t possibly be comfy, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Ignoring the soreness in his palm, he lay his bandaged hand softly over the back of her head and closed his eyes again as he tangled his fingers in her hair.
He slipped in and out of sleep, comforted by Lily’s presence. Only when the pins and needles spread to his toes, did he give her a gentle nudge.
“I might lose a leg if you don’t stop cutting off my circulation soon,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She wiped at the side of her mouth as she woke.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, sitting up.
He wriggled his toes and moved his foot from side to side.
Her hair was stuck to one side of her face and creases marked her cheek. She stood and arched her back while gently moving her head from side to side.
“It wasn’t comfy for me either,” she said through a yawn. Her eyes widened as though only just registering where they were. “How are you?” she asked, peering at him. “You look better. Do you feel better?”
“I feel terrible,” he said groggily. “Like I have the mother of all hangovers.”
Lily slumped back into the chair. “You scared me,” she said softly.
He reached for her and when she took his hand it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He had no memory of what had happened since he passed out in that greenhouse, but he’d swear that Lily had been there the entire time, holding his hand.
“I really didn’t think it was Arthur,” he said and felt a pang of sadness that he’d been wrong about him.
“It wasn’t,” Lily said.
“What?” A wave of exhaustion hit him and it was a battle to keep his eyelids open.
“Are you okay?” Lily asked. “Sleep if you need to. I can fill you in later.”
“Carry on,” he said, but closed his eyes. “I want to hear about it.” He brushed his thumb softly across Lily’s palm. “Unless you want to go home and sleep?”
“I can tell you before I go,” she said.
He nodded. “You may need to tell me again when I’m more alert. And if I fall asleep while you’re telling me, don’t take it personally. It’s not a reflection of your storytelling.”
“I won’t take it personally,” she agreed. “And I’m probably going to tell this story so many times in the next weeks that you’ll get sick of hearing it.”
He smiled and sank back into his pillows. “What happened after I passed out? I remember hearing Arthur in the garden and you using my radio. After that it’s a blank.”
“I was totally freaking out,” she told him, then launched into a full account of everything he’d missed.
Since he couldn’t keep his eyes open, or contribute to the conversation, he continued moving his thumb against her hand so she at least knew he was listening.
He struggled to keep up with the chain of events, but it wasn’t only the overwhelming tiredness that made it difficult to concentrate on the words. The softness of her skin under his thumb took most of his attention.
“I should probably go and let you rest,” she said eventually. Her voice was so quiet that it was clear she didn’t know if he was still awake.