Chapter 30

Regret is stronger than excitement as the underground train leaves Oxford Circus station. Only two more stops to Charing Cross and we'll be home and dry, but I'm worried about Lydia. After the initial euphoria of making it to Chesham and the underground, she's become quieter and quieter. I know her well enough to know she's not a sulker; if she's got something to say, she'll say it. Maybe she's realised what I've secretly known all along: that I'm only going to disappoint her in the end. Like I've disappointed my dad, again. No matter how hard I try, or William or Rosie try, there'll always be something else we need to perfect. I don't want to be controlled like that but it's a condition of love. My parents are always quick to withdraw their praise or affection when we don't act the way we should.

I look at her. Her eyes are closed and her face is very flushed.

‘Lydia, are you okay?'

‘Mmm?' she asks, her eyes taking a second or two to focus on my face.

‘Are you okay?'

‘Mmm. Yes. Fine. Where are we?'

‘Next stop is Piccadilly Circus and then Charing Cross.'

‘Good,' she says. She's been distant since we left my parents' home. Not that I blame her. When she told me she loved me I took the easy way out, denied my feelings, but she'll be grateful one day. She deserves someone better – and that's so fucking easy to say but I know I'll be jealous of anyone else that gets to know her the way I do. I fucking love her but I can't risk it. Letting someone have that control, that power over me. There will always be a demand or an expectation of me.

The train pulls into Piccadilly Circus and I stare out of the window at the passengers waiting to board. As it slows I spot two broad-chested men in tight black T-shirts, earpieces and black jeans, with buzzcuts. Midge and Jonno.

They're talking to each other, and they don't look as if they're scanning the passengers, but they're about to board this carriage. I guess if they found out we left my parents they'd know we must be converging on one of the tube stations near the square.

‘Lydia. We need to move.' I nudge her.

‘What?' She seems fuzzy and confused.

I grab her hand and tug her though the passengers who've stood to get off. There are a few grumbles but we move into the next carriage. I push Lydia to one side of the door and stand just out of sight, so that I can keep an eye on the two men boarding the carriage we've just vacated.

Neither seem concerned with their surroundings. Both are on their phones. I glance up. Lydia is sliding down the wall.

I grab both of her forearms. ‘Lydia. Lydia. What's wrong?'

‘I'm fine,' she mumbles. ‘J-just … tired.'

‘We're nearly there,' I say and I can't help giving her a kiss on her forehead. Her skin is hot as fire. ‘Lydia. You're not well.'

She straightens and focuses. ‘I'm fine. Nearly there. Yes.' She gives me the ghost of a smile. ‘We're going to do it.'

I nod but anxiety is gnawing a hole in the pit of my stomach. She looks terrible. How can she have deteriorated so much since we left the party? There's something seriously wrong with her. I need to get her to hospital.

The train comes to a halt and the door slides open. People pile off in front of us but I've made my mind up. We're going to Waterloo. I'm taking Lydia to Guy's and St Thomas' hospital.

‘Tom.' She tugs at my sleeve. ‘We've got to get off here.'

‘No, we're going to the hospital. Next stop.'

‘No!' She slumps sideways, virtually falling out of the train, and I have to jump off to catch her and stop her landing on the platform.

‘Lydia! What are you doing?'

‘We're here.' Her words slur. ‘You are going to make that film. Promise me.'

‘Lydia, it doesn't matter.' I take her burning cheeks in my hand. I don't give a toss about the bloody film at this moment. She needs help.

She jerks her head back and her voice is fierce, her eyes glowing – almost demonically. ‘Yes, it does. Come on. We have to do this.'

I shake my head. I can't do this to her. ‘There'll be other opportunities,' I say and there will.

‘Tom!' she hisses, her face a contorted mask of urgency. ‘We're here. I need that money. For my gran's house. Please.'

My heart falters. I can't deny her.

‘We go straight to A and E, as soon as we've…' Done whatever it is that we need to do. Funny, I've no idea what that might be. Whatever it is, I guess there'll be someone there with a camera filming.

She pushes herself up and starts to head in completely the wrong direction. I grab her hand.

‘It's this way.'

We enter the ticket hall and even though she's leaning on me, Lydia is limping badly. There's a choice of exit. Trafalgar Square or The Mall. I bite my lip. What if they're waiting for us, staking the exit? That would be harsh but they've not been mucking about to date. I guess a hundred thousand pounds is a lot to give away. Although presumably they want some dramatic footage of us running into the square.

‘Not going to happen,' I mutter under my breath. I need to get this over and done so that I can get Lydia to hospital. Trust her to be stubborn to the absolute last.

Daylight dazzles us as we emerge from the exit. Nelson's Column is in sight.

Lydia leans on me as we walk over to the to the pedestrian crossing. To my right I spot Jonno and Midge. They catch sight of me just as the light turns green. I stop and scoop Lydia into my arms. She's not that heavy but I'm not Superman, which results in a pathetic half-run, half-walk rather than the manly romantic gesture it would be in a rom-com. I make it across the road, stumbling slightly on the uneven pavement, my eyes fixed on the nearest fountain, aware of Lydia's grip around my neck.

‘We're going to do it,' she mutters. ‘We're going to do it.' A taut manic smile lights up her face – reminiscent of a scary Halloween mask. I'm so focused, I don't bother to apologise to the tourists I barge into. And suddenly we're there. At the edge of one of fountain pools with Nelson's column to our right.

I ease Lydia down, careful to hold on to her as she leans against the stone coping.

‘Lydia?'

With over-bright eyes, she looks over my shoulder. ‘We made it,' she says swaying. ‘We bloody did it. You can make your film.'

‘And you can rebuild your house.'

‘Pfft,' she snorts, or at least I think that's what it's supposed to be. It's got very little oomph. It feels like she's a leaky balloon with very little air left. ‘It's just a house. I don't care anymore.'

Before I can ask what she means, Jordan and Mark materialise from the crowd, with a camera man behind them. I realise he's been filming the whole time. I hope they're bloody pleased with the footage.

‘Well done, mate.' Jordan holds out a hand to shake mine. I shake my head in disbelief. He's congratulating me? ‘Well played. You led us a right merry dance.'

‘We need some medical ass?—'

Before I can finish Lydia crumples. I just manage to catch her before she hits the deck. ‘Lydia,' I cry. A hard fist clamps around my heart as I cradle her limp body. ‘Lydia.' Her cheeks are two hot spots of red and there are beads of sweat across her forehead.

‘Call an ambulance,' I snap at Mark, my insides like writhing snakes.

Already a crowd is gathering around us and I want to protect Lydia from their curious stares. Bloody vultures.

I lower her to the ground, my voice an agonised whisper as I say over and over again. ‘Lydia. Lydia.' There's no response and, helpless, I look up at Mark, who's on the phone with his back to me.

A woman steps forward and hands me a folded fleece to go beneath Lydia's head and someone else offers a jacket to go over her. I'm not sure she needs to be kept warm but it feels like some sort of protection.

‘Ambulance is on its way,' says Jordan. ‘ETA five minutes.'

I hold Lydia's hand and her eyes flutter open for a second.

‘Tom.' There's a faint squeeze on my fingers and her eyes close again.

I lean down but I dare not kiss her. Her breath is painfully shallow and she suddenly seems so fragile.

Mark crouches down beside me, handing me my phone and wallet.

‘Well done, mate. You just won yourself a hundred grand.' I realise that Jonno is filming and I glare at him.

Can't the fucker see that Lydia needs help? I'm already on the phone dialling Annette's number.

‘Tom. Are you at the hospital with Lydia?'

‘What?'

‘Where are you?'

‘Trafalgar Square. Waiting for an ambulance. Lydia's collapsed.'

‘Fucking hell. I told her to go straight to hospital.'

‘What? She never told me that.'

‘Fucking idiot. I told her at the house. When you'd gone, I assumed you were headed there.'

‘She … never said a word.' Guilt almost strangles my vocal cords. ‘I should have…'

‘She should have told you her leg's badly infected. Possible sepsis. Tell the paramedics as soon as they get there. She needs pumping full of antibiotics. I told her to go straight to A and E.'

‘She never said anything,' I murmur again, more to myself than Annette. Stupid. Stupid. What was she thinking? But I know exactly what she was thinking and everything changes in that one moment. Like an explosion deep below the surface, it's shock waves resonating through me. This is love. Unconditional love. There's no payment, no expectation. This is Lydia. Selfless and generous. There's no way I'm ever letting her go. She is everything.

‘I wonder why?' sighs Annette. ‘You'd better bloody hang on to her.'

I hear sirens growing louder and louder. ‘Don't worry, I intend to.'

I see Lydia's eyelids flickering and even though I've no idea if she can hear me, I lean down to her head and whisper in her ear, ‘Bloody hell, Lydia. You'd better get better quickly because I'm going to kill you and then I'm not letting you out of my sight. I love you, you crazy idiot. You're … you're everything. Remember that. Everything.' My words are choked in my throat as sheer panic constricts the vocal cords. I haven't cried for years but it seems today is the day I'm going to start again.