CHAPTER 5: THE HOSPITAL

"Wherever you're going, I'm coming with you. I'm not going back in there."

Della turned. Nerys stood two steps above her with her veil bunched in one fist and half her hair coming out of its pins. Her chest was still going up and down.

"I'm not going anywhere," Della said. "I'm standing here."

"You've been standing here for four minutes. I counted." Nerys pointed her veil at the road. "There's a taxi rank round the corner and a very bored man in a Skoda. Come on."

"They said one person in the back," Della said.

"One person in the ambulance. Nobody said a word about taxis," Nerys said.

"It's your wedding, Nerys. You can't leave your own wedding," Della said.

"My mother-in-law has told two hundred people I'm pregnant, and my husband is smiling at his phone." Nerys came down a step. "I'd rather sit in a hospital with the one person in that building who isn't clapping."

"Ansel's going to wonder where you are," Della said.

"Ansel can wonder." Nerys narrowed her eyes. "You've been crying. You never cry. What happened in the coat room?"

"It's a long story," Della said.

"It's a taxi ride. I'll take the long version," Nerys said.

The Skoda smelled of pine air freshener. The driver took one look at the two of them in the mirror, and then at the veil lying on the back seat between them like a third passenger, and turned the radio down.

"Hospital, please," Della said. "A and E."

"Don't get many doubles." He pulled out. "You two running from something?"

"Not yet," Della said.

"Ask us in an hour," said Nerys.

They sat in silence until the second set of lights. Della watched the shop fronts slide past, shut and dark, and tried to line up the words in her head so they wouldn't come out wrong.

"Marguerite whispered something to me," she said. "On the dance floor. She told me to ask Alden where his salary goes."

"And?" Nerys said .

"Forty per cent. Every month. To her. Plus her electricity. Since his dad died."

Nerys said a word that made the driver cough.

"Sorry," she told the mirror. Then, to Della: "He never told you?"

"He says it didn't feel like a secret," Della said.

"Does it feel like one to you?" Nerys asked.

"It feels like something very big I've been walking past every day." Della pressed her fingers against her eyelids. "I don't care about the money. I care that she knew I didn't know, and she picked tonight."

"That woman whispers," Nerys said darkly. "That's the scary part."

"Don't make it a joke," Della said.

"I'm not joking. I'm furious. Someone should be." Nerys shifted on the seat. "When we get there, I'm going to say something to her."

"You're not," Nerys said.

"I'm very good at saying things," Della said.

"She's in a hospital bed, Nerys." Della dropped her hand and looked at her. "Whatever she did, tonight she's somebody's mother who's been rushed out of a wedding. I won't be the one who forgets that."

Nerys studied her for a long moment. Then she let out a breath and slumped against the door.

"Fine," she said. "But if she says one more word to you, I'm saying a lot of them."

"Deal," Della said.

The hospital's A and E at half past ten smelled of antiseptic and chips. A man holding a bag of frozen peas to his hand looked up as they went past, saw two wedding dresses, and said "Congratulations!" in a wobbly voice.

"Thanks," said Nerys. "We're divorcing."

A nurse at the desk pointed them down a corridor. Della walked fast, the dress swishing at her ankles, her heart doing something quick and stupid. She had her speech ready. How is she, what did they say, are you okay. She'd decided to be kind.

The curtain around the bay was half open. She heard laughing before she saw anything.

Marguerite sat propped against two pillows in her mauve dress. The oxygen mask had gone. A packet of cream crackers lay open in her lap, with crumbs down her front, and she had one hand on the arm of a young woman perched on the edge of the bed. She was laughing with her head thrown back, a proper cackle. Della had never heard her do it, not once.

Alden sat on a plastic chair at the foot of the bed with his elbows on his knees. When he looked up, his face was grey.

"Del," he said, standing. "You came."

"Of course I came," She said.

"Ah!" Marguerite twisted round, and the laugh smoothed itself away like a tablecloth. "The brides! Both of them. Isn't that lovely?"

A doctor in blue scrubs, who looked about twelve, stepped through the curtain with a clipboard. "Family?" he asked.

"I'm his wife. Della." It still felt strange in her mouth. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine. The ECG is normal, the bloods are clean, blood pressure's a touch high but nothing to worry about." He gave a tired, kind smile. "Sometimes it's anxiety. It can feel exactly like a heart attack. Big events bring it on."

"Anxiety!" Marguerite touched her pearls. "At my age. Imagine."

"Are you sure?" Della said. "She was on the floor. She couldn't breathe."

"Everything we've tested says she's well. We'll keep her an hour for observation, then she can go home." He checked his clipboard. "If it happens again, come straight back."

"Oh, I will," Marguerite said. "It never hurts to be careful."

She looked at Della then, a quick, bright look, and Della got the distinct feeling that something had been checked and ticked off a list.

"Now," Marguerite said, patting the young woman's hand. "I haven't introduced you. Della, dear, this is Tamsin. Tamsin Hartley."

The girl stood, and Della felt her face soften before she could decide whether to let it. Mid-twenties. Small, narrow shoulders in a grey cardigan with one button missing. A tissue screwed up in her fist and eyes rimmed red from crying. She had the kind of face you wanted to hand a cup of tea.

"Hi," Tamsin said, very quietly. "I'm so sorry about the timing. I shouldn't have come, but Marguerite rang, and I didn't want her to be on her own."

"I took Tamsin under my wing last Sunday," Marguerite said. "She's new round here, and she lost her mother in March, poor lamb. Nobody looking after her at all. She's been a godsend this week."

"I'm so sorry about your mum," Della said, and meant it.

"Thank you." Tamsin ducked her head. "Everyone's been so kind. Alden especially."

"Alden?" Della said.

"I tried to say no. I really did." Tamsin dabbed at her nose, shy, apologetic. "But he's paid my rent this month. Six hundred pounds."

The curtain rings clicked against the rail. Somewhere down the corridor, a machine beeped.

"He told me not to mention it," Tamsin said, and she gave Della a small, grateful, innocent smile. "He said you'd worry."

Della turned her head slowly.

Alden's face had gone completely white.