I know, she wants to tell him, but she doesn’t, she just stands there, smiling back, feeling their shared happiness balloon between them, huge and fragile.
“What’s that smell?” he says now, breaking their reverie.
“Oh shit, the onions!” Hannah had forgotten in the excitement of hearing Will’s feet on the stairs. “I’m making Bolognese.”
They go through to the kitchen, where Hannah peers into the pan, scraping the sticking onions off the bottom.
“I think they’ll be okay. Just a bit caramelized, maybe.”
“They’ll be delicious,” Will says reassuringly. “Hey, how was the appointment, by the way?”
God, the appointment. It feels like a million years ago, and for a moment Hannah has to struggle to remember what happened.
“Oh… fine… I mean, not totally fine. I was still a bit up. But it’s no big deal. They don’t think it’s pre-eclampsia or anything serious, I just probably need to destress a bit. The midwife wants me back next week, just to check.” She pauses. This is the moment she has to say something. About her visit to see Ryan. Because she can’t keep this from Will. It concerns him too.
“I had a free day after the appointment,” she says carefully, tipping the mince into the pan so that she doesn’t have to look at him as she says the words. “So I… well, I called in to see Ryan.”
“Sorry?” Will cups his ear. The meat is spitting and hissing, making it hard to hear above the noise of frying. “Who did you see? I didn’t catch what you said.”
“I went to see Ryan,” she says, more loudly. She puts down the spoon and turns around. “Our Ryan. Ryan Coates.”
“Wait a second.” Will is frowning. She can’t quite read the expression on his face—it looks like disbelief mixed with a kind of controlled annoyance he is trying not to show. A flush is climbing up from the collar of his biker jacket, staining his tanned cheeks. “You went all the way to York to see Ryan Coates? And you didn’t tell me?”
“It wasn’t premeditated,” she says quickly, though that’s only half-true. “I didn’t even call ahead to warn Ryan. I got halfway there and realized he might be out.” That part at least is right. “But I had to, Will, I couldn’t get what Geraint said out of my head, and I wanted to hear it from Ryan, and find out whether Geraint was some kind of delusional stalker or if he really is a mate of Ryan’s. If he was making all this up I needed to know—maybe even get the police involved.”
Will looks a little less blindsided, as if he can see the sense in this last part at least, but he’s still shaking his head in bewilderment.
“And you couldn’t call? I mean—York! It’s not exactly down the road, is it?”
“It’s not that far, it was actually really nice just relaxing on the train, and I felt—I don’t know, Will. I felt like I owed it to him to make the trip. To see him face-to-face, rather than just ringing him up to pick his brains. I don’t exactly feel proud of the amount of support we gave him after the stroke. Do you?”
Will has the grace to look slightly ashamed at this. He gives a very slight gesture with his head, halfway between a nod and a shake, not quite either, but she knows what he means. Yes, he can see her point. No, he isn’t proud of his actions either. Ryan was a friend—one of their best friends. They owed him more.
“How was he?” he says at last. He turns away and begins to shrug off his jacket, more for something to do, Hannah has the impression. The back of his neck is still flushed and red.
“I mean… surprisingly good, actually,” Hannah says. She looks at Will’s back, at the shape of his shoulders beneath his shirt, trying to imagine him struck down overnight the way Ryan was. The idea gives her a sharp pain beneath her heart. “He’s still in a wheelchair but his speech is amazing—just a very slight slur, and he misses the odd word, but nothing major. I didn’t see his kids, but they sound adorable. And Bella’s clearly a keeper.”
“Yeah…” Will says slowly. “Yeah, he hit the jackpot with Bella all right. So what did he say? About that reporter bloke? And I take it you talked about”—he swallows—“about April?”
“Yeah,” Hannah says. She sits down on a stool by the counter, rubbing her sore feet. “Yeah, we did. He really does know Geraint. Says he’s a good bloke, and that he shares some of Geraint’s concerns. And he said…” Oh God, can she really say this? But she has to. She can’t keep the conversation from Will, not when so much of it concerns him. It wouldn’t be fair. “He said he was sleeping with April. Did you know that?”