Page 19 of The Inn on Bluebell Lane

ELLIE

Ellie sat on a hard plastic chair, staring into space, a paper cup of cold coffee cradled in her hands, forgotten. It had been an hour since Matthew had gone into surgery after being rushed to hospital. An hour of worry and waiting and wondering what if.

“He’ll be all right,” Gwen said quietly, although her face was pale and drawn and she hadn’t drunk her coffee, either. “And at least… at least it’s only his arm. Not… not his head, or anything like that.”

Ellie just nodded, unable to summon the energy for more of a response. They’d had the same brief conversation three times already, since the paramedics had found Matthew in the rubble of the guest bedroom, the floor of Ellie and Matthew’s attic room in jagged pieces all around him.

They’d dragged him unconscious from the mess, plaster dust in his hair, making him appear even more lifeless, like a statue—or worse, a corpse—and frightening Ellie so much she’d only been able to stare, frozen in shock, before she’d started to tremble violently. Matthew…

Fortunately, on the way to the hospital, he’d woken up and started speaking, and the doctors weren’t as concerned about his head as they were about his right arm, which she’d seen had been at a horribly awkward angle. Ellie still didn’t like to remember how it looked.

In the hospital, the doctors had informed Ellie and Gwen that Matthew needed surgery on his elbow, and Ellie had numbly agreed. Now she was waiting. Hoping that, despite everything, it was all going to be okay, although she wasn’t even sure what that looked like, anymore. Gwen’s house was a complete mess, if not a downright ruin; her husband had, at the very least, a broken arm… It wasn’t a total tragedy, she knew that, but right now it felt like more than she could bear.

“Mrs. Davies?” The surgeon stood in the doorway of the waiting room, smiling tiredly, as both Ellie and Gwen stood up.

“Yes—” they said at the same time.

The surgeon looked from one to the other, and Gwen sat down, blushing.

“Sorry,” she murmured, and Ellie wondered what she thought she was apologizing for. They both were worried to hear what the man had to say. And they both loved Matthew. And, she thought wryly, they were both Mrs. Davies. Maybe that was really the issue between them, not that that sort of thing mattered now.

“Is Matthew… is he out of surgery?” Ellie asked.

“Yes, and he did brilliantly.” The surgeon smiled briefly before turning serious once again. “It was a very nasty break, unfortunately, but we’ve secured the bones with a pin, and as long as he takes it easy and keeps it as immobile as he can, it should heal well. It’s in plaster and will need to be for the next six weeks, at least. We’ll see him in two weeks, just to check on the progress.”

Six weeks in plaster.

But her husband was all right, his arm was going to be all right, and suddenly Ellie had to sit down because her legs were shaky, and she felt faint with relief. Too much had happened in too short a space of time, and her brain was just catching up with it all, sending out all the panic signals a little too late.

She took several deep breaths before she smiled at the consultant.

“Thank you,” she managed to murmur. “Thank you so much.”

Gwen smiled at her and touched her hand, a gesture of support.

Ellie smiled back, or tried to. She felt alarmingly close to tears, even though it had been good news. She really must have reached her limit. She was grateful for Gwen’s concern, especially when she knew her mother-in-law had to be just as worried as she was.

“Thank you,” she murmured, touching Gwen’s hand briefly in return, before she turned to the surgeon. “May I see him?” she asked when she trusted her voice.

“Of course. He’s out of recovery and is being brought to a room on the ward. The nurse will tell you where it is.”

“Thank you,” Ellie said again, and the surgeon smiled and nodded before turning away.

“You should go first,” Gwen offered. “You’ll want some time alone, the two of you.”

“No, no,” Ellie replied, although part of her did want that, very much. She wanted to put her arms around her husband, gently of course, and hold him close. Even so, she knew she couldn’t deny Gwen a chance to see her son, especially when she’d been so worried. “Let’s go together.”

Gwen’s eyes lit up as she smiled uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Ellie replied firmly. “We’re both worried, and we want to see him.”

Together, they followed a nurse to a room where Matthew lay in bed, his poor arm in plaster, his expression still a bit sleepy from the general anesthetic he’d been given.

He gave Ellie a sheepish, lopsided smile as he caught sight of her. “Aren’t I daft,” he half-mumbled, and she couldn’t keep from letting out a small, choked cry.

“Yes, you are,” she managed as she leaned forward and gently kissed his cheek. “You very much are.”

“Sorry, Mum.” Matthew turned tired eyes to Gwen. “I haven’t done this whole renovation thing very well, have I? Stoved your ceiling in. What a palaver.”