Mum spent three more days in hospital before she was allowed to go home.
As Doctor Maynard signed off her discharge papers, he scribbled his personal mobile on the back of the sheet in scrawling black ink and told her to 'keep in touch'. Her newly repaired heart certainly seemed to be working fine if the rosy wash that flooded her cheeks was anything to go by.
When we arrived back home, the large bouquet of flowers I'd placed on the kitchen table had filled the house – which I'd cleaned from top to bottom in between visits to the hospital – with the welcoming smell of fresh blooms.
"Christ, Abi," my mum gasped as she walked in, "I don't think this place has looked so spotless since the turn of the millennium."
I rolled my eyes. "You mean, since I came along?"
Her quick, sharp laugh turned into a chesty cough, leaving her needing to steady herself on the back of a breakfast stool.
"Go and sit down," I instructed, taking her elbow and edging her towards the door. "I'll bring in some tea and then get started on making dinner."
Smiling as she shook her head gently, she reached out to stroke my hair. "What did I do to deserve such an angel?"
"Must have been something pretty bloody good," I joked, shrugging my shoulders.
"Seriously, Abi," she replied, her thumb rubbing lightly back and forth against my cheek. "I count my blessings every day that I've got you. You've turned into such a capable young woman. Your dad would have been so proud."
"He'd have been proud of us both," I smiled, swallowing down the small lump rising into my throat. "Now, go. Sit."
"Yes ma'am," she replied before padding slowly out of the kitchen to go and get comfortable on the sofa.
Once the fresh vegetable lasagna I'd made had gone into the oven, I checked in on mum, dozing in front of the TV, then headed up to my bedroom to change into jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt.
Throwing my red leather satchel down onto the flowered bedspread – the same I'd had since I was a teenager – the buckle flew across the room and the contents spilled out across the bed.
"For fuck's sake," I mumbled to myself.
That bag had been my sidekick since I'd moved up to London, having spent nearly seventy pounds from my intimal student loan payment on it during my first visit to Oxford Street. Throwing it away would be like saying goodbye to an old pal, but it had clearly seen better days.
With a heavy heart I emptied the last few items out onto the bed, laid my soft red leather friend to rest in the wastepaper bin under my desk, then began to sort through the mess. Among the debris, a roughly folded leaflet stood out among the various other pieces of rubbish that had lived within the depths of my satchel. Flopping back onto the bed, I read over its information once more before staring at the phone number printed on the back for at least a couple of minutes.
Finally plucking up the courage to dial the number, my mouth seemed to be getting drier with each rhythmic, electronic ring. As I was about to hang up, a woman answered.
"Hello," I began, after she had delivered her opening line with a bored, monotonous tone. "I just wanted to enquire about making an appointment this week if possible? To see about going on the pill."
For some reason, I felt the overwhelming need to stuff the small, white paper bag into my new, bottle green satchel before I stepped out of the nurse's office. Even as an adult woman in a stable relationship, something about being given a bag full of contraceptives on a sunny Thursday morning caused my face to burn a fiery pink as I headed out into the maze of the hospital corridors.
Finding my way back to the main reception shouldn't have been as impossible as it was, yet every corner seemed to lead me back on myself until I stood staring up at the sign I'd already seen once that morning.
Muttering a few quiet curse words about ending up back outside the entrance to 'Family Planning/OB-GYN' once again, I huffed and turned on my heel.
"Abigail?"
Glancing back down the corridor, my eyes fell upon a tall, middle-aged man, his light brown hair flecked with grey and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Oh! Hi," I smiled, desperately trying to rack my brain for the name he'd given me when we'd met just a few days before at my mum's bedside.
As though he knew what I was thinking, he held the name badge pinned to his white coat between his thumb and forefinger.
"John Maynard," he whispered.
I'm sorry, that was really rude of me," I said, shaking my head. "My head's all over the place today."
Following my eye line, he glanced towards the doors of the family planning unit.
"Everything okay?" he asked with a hint of concern furrowing across his brow.
"Yes, I'm all good, thanks," I said, waving my hand nonchalantly to dismiss any suspicion. "How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you Abigail. Tell me, how's your mum doing? She hasn't been in touch yet, but so long as she's getting some rest I suppose I'll forgive her."
Something about the way he spoke was kind and comforting. His eyes took on a subtle glimmer when he began to talk about my mum, the same glimmer hers had once upon a time.
"She's getting plenty of rest, don't worry. I've made sure of that."
"She's very lucky, you know?" he continued. "For a person her age to have such a massive cardiac arrest is quite unusual. Someone must have been looking down on her that night."
I doubt Doctor Maynard knew about my dad, but I'd already thought as much myself. Someone definitely was looking out for her. Someone wanted her to stay alive, to carry on living. Maybe even to find happiness of her own again.
Before I could think straight, the words tumbled from my lips.
"Why don't you pop in once you finish here?" I said. "I'm sure mum would be pleased to see a familiar face other than mine."
He let out a gentle laugh. "I don't know how familiar my face is to her these days," he smiled. "It's been nearly thirty years since we were close."
"No," I smiled back, "She'd love it. I'm sure of it."
I could almost see the cogs in his brain whirring as he figured out just how weird it would be to accept a random invite from the daughter of a woman he'd been childhood friends with.
After a brief pause, his puzzled smile broke into a grin and his bright eyes shone turquoise in the harsh light of the hospital corridor.
"Okay then, why not?" he laughed. "I finish up here at around three. Would it be completely unprofessional of me to say I can find out the address for myself?"
I laughed as I nodded in approval. "Can always rely on the NHS for the utmost in patient confidentiality."
John let out a genuine laugh, his deep voice echoing around the corridor.
"Debbie's dry sense of humour didn't skip a generation, I see."
Causing me to jump, the sharp vibration of my phone in the back pocket of my jeans was accompanied by a loud ring.
"Sorry," I flapped, reaching my hand behind my back. "I thought it was on silent."
"It's fine, you're allowed phones in hospitals nowadays," John said, a wry smile curling up on one side of his mouth and causing a small dimple I hadn't noticed to pop in his cheek. "Even NHS hospitals."
As I mirrored his smile and silenced the call, John was already turning to leave.
"I'll see you this afternoon, then," he said.
"See you then," I replied, giving him a wave before swiping my finger across the screen to answer the unknown number.
By the time the call came to an end, I'd somehow found my way out of the labyrinth of a hospital on autopilot and was sat on a bench outside staring at the phone in my hand.
Taking a deep breath, I scrolled through the phonebook until Noah's name came up and I tapped it with my thumb.
He answered within two rings.
"Hey, Abs, how's it going?"
I wanted to get the small talk out of the way, to tell him about bumping into Doctor Maynard and how I'd gotten on at the family planning clinic, but instead I launched straight into a tirade of overexcited rambling.
When he could finally get a word in edgeways, Noah spoke up.
"So, hold on. Arla's team wanted the duet? The one we wrote that night in the studio?"
"Yep."
"And she's going to release it with Shaun Carerra? As in, poster boy pop icon Shaun Carrera?"
"Yep."
"So, unless I'm massively wrong we could be looking at a massive hit here? Like, worldwide Number One kind of hit?"
"Yep."
I could picture his grin as a couple of seconds' silence fell between us.
"Fuck," he finally said. "This is amazing. You're amazing."
"Yep," I replied, basking in the glow of his laugh as it travelled through the phone and wrapped its warmth around me.
They say bad things always come in threes. After the shit hitting the fan for The Ambition, Charlotte's trial ending in a 'not guilty' judgment and then mum nearly dying, it felt as though the sun was finally starting to shine once more.
Things were good. Life was good. And I couldn't have been happier.