One Minute Later: Behind every secret is a story, the emotionally gripping new book from the bestselling author

When Vivi woke up again Mark was there, plugged into his iPhone, probably watching the latest episode of Breaking Bad. He’d told her, when she’d first asked, that he was getting into The Walking Dead.

‘Good choice,’ she’d croaked drily.

‘I thought it was appropriate,’ he’d grinned, knowing it would make her smile too. They’d always had an easy, teasing relationship in spite of their difference in ages. From the moment her mother had brought him home from the hospital, all big blue eyes and grasping fists, Vivi had loved having a brother, and nothing had ever happened to change that.

Now, realizing she was awake, he tugged out his earbuds and removed his feet from the edge of the bed. ‘Hey, looking good,’ he said admiringly, looking a lot better himself than he had over the past few days. He’d shaved and made an effort with a comb, and with his naturally moody eyes, strong jaw and drop-dead smile he surely had to be the fittest nineteen-year-old going. Not that she was biased.

‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked.

‘Downstairs in the coffee shop with a couple of your work friends. Do you want some water, or anything?’

‘Water would be good.’

After sipping from the glass he passed her, she said, ‘You don’t have to hang around here, you know. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do …’

‘Hey, we’re only on season one of Breaking Bad. There are four more seasons to go after that.’

Lifting a hand she linked her fingers through his, careful not to dislodge the tube in hers. He was more man than boy now, almost six feet tall with toned biceps and broad shoulders, but he would always be her little brother. ‘It’s a good series,’ she told him, grateful for the distraction it had provided during the endless hours they were spending here, in spite of how often she nodded off. She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she suspected she was asleep more often than she was awake.

He shrugged. ‘Everyone said it was fantastic, but I never got round to it until now.’

‘Promise not to keep me here for the entire five seasons,’ she said wryly.

‘It’s a deal. Let’s aim for starting season two at home, yeah?’

Her eyes drifted at the mention of home. They both still referred to it as that, even though she’d left when she was eighteen and so had he. The only family they had in Kesterly these days was their mother, who’d moved back in with NanaBella after her marriage to Gil had ended. Gina now had the whole of number eight Bay Lane to herself, the last house of ten (there was now a 1A and 2A) past a private gate (always open) off the coast road. They were less than fifty metres from the towering coastal cliffs of Exmoor, with a back garden that climbed in wide, low layers up to a rocky ridge behind. Their front garden looked out over the circular turning space of the cul de sac to a wide stretch of sandy dunes that separated their house from the beach and constantly changing vista of the estuary beyond.

She and Mark still had their rooms at number eight, unchanged from the time they’d left, and always freshly made up in case they made a surprise return. All the neighbours they’d known while growing up had moved on now, having sold their desirable seafront properties to the London elite for use as holiday homes. Vivi had never understood why any of them would want a place in Kesterly-on-Sea when they surely could have afforded much more exotic locations on the south coast, or even in Europe. Never in a million years would she have chosen the dreary, depressing coastal town as a weekend or summer escape. She was a London girl through and through, she wanted colour, life …

She didn’t realize her eyes had drifted closed until she heard Mark say to whoever had come in, ‘I think she’s asleep.’

‘OK, I’ll stay for a while in case she wakes up,’ Gil murmured.

For the next few minutes Vivi drifted in and out of awareness, catching only parts of what was being said and who was saying it. However, it seemed Gil was going to be around for Arnie Novak’s visit tomorrow, and her mother, who had returned, was sounding grateful for it. Gil was such a good man, so gentle and considerate. She’d always feel grateful to him, love him, for the differences he’d made to her life during the time he’d been in it – differences he still made, in his way. Mark was lucky to have him as a father. Gil would be there for his son if the news wasn’t good tomorrow. He’d be there for Gina too if she’d allow it, but Vivi wasn’t sure that she would.

‘Why don’t you have a daddy?’ Michelle whispered.

‘I do,’ Vivi whispered back. She glanced at the bedroom door to make sure it was closed and no shadows were moving about in the cracks of light underneath. They were having a sleepover tonight, at her house, and she didn’t want her mother to hear what they were saying.

‘Then where is he?’ Michelle asked.

Vivi hesitated. She’d never shared this secret with anyone, hadn’t even admitted to herself out loud that she knew who her father was, but she thought she could trust Michelle. ‘I can show you if you like,’ she dared to suggest.

In the orangey glow from the nightlight Michelle looked excited and dreamlike, as though she was a kind of fairy whose very presence could make things come true.

‘You’ll have to be really quiet,’ Vivi cautioned. ‘I’m not supposed to know where he is, but I found him in my mum’s room when she was outside in the garden.’

Bemused and seeming a little worried, Michelle crept on tiptoe after Vivi, out of the room and along the passage to the three stairs that led up to a door that was half open.

Vivi paused, listening for the sound of the TV downstairs. Her mum and NanaBella always watched Come Dancing on Saturday nights, and from the sound of the music she could tell it had already started. That was good, because they wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, not that she and Michelle were going to make a noise. Grandpa, she knew, was out at one of his card nights, so he wouldn’t hear them either.

‘Better not turn the light on,’ she whispered to Michelle as they crept into her mother’s room, ‘but the curtains aren’t drawn yet, so we might be able to see.’

Michelle kept close behind as Vivi led the way round the high bed with four short posts and over to a chest of drawers with photographs of a baby on the top (Vivi), and a wooden-framed mirror that reflected an unlit chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

‘Ssh,’ Vivi murmured as she eased open the bottom drawer. ‘He’s in here.’

Michelle was looking worried again. ‘Is it a photo?’ she said faintly.

Vivi shook her head, and pushing aside a pile of clothes she found what she was looking for and lifted it out.

Michelle stared at the big round bundle. ‘If it’s his head I don’t want to see it,’ she said earnestly.

‘It’s not his head,’ Vivi assured her, and carefully unwrapping the muslin shroud she revealed a heavy bronze figure of a man in a hat and a baggy suit, with arms outstretched and legs that seemed to be moving. ‘This is him,’ Vivi whispered, holding it so Michelle could get a good look. ‘I think it’s why my mum always watches Come Dancing, just in case he’s on.’

Michelle was bewitched. ‘Why does your mum keep him wrapped up in a drawer?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You should ask her.’

‘I think she’d be cross if I did.’

Seeming to understand that, Michelle continued to gaze at the sculpture until Vivi wrapped it up again and put it back in the drawer.

Vivi was feeling strangely distanced from the life-saving equipment around her, hardly hearing it, or even sensing its attachments to her body, as she willed time to stop or, better still, turn back. Her mother and Mark were on one side of the bed, Michelle and Gil on the other and the senior cardiac nurse plus two junior doctors were grouped around the end, trying to look professional and compassionate. Dr Novak himself, with his Slavic features and easy manner, was studying the tablet he’d been handed on entering the room, assessing the latest reports of her progress and saying nothing yet.

Eventually he turned his attention to Vivienne and smiled in a way that made her feel fleetingly brave, even though she was racked with dread.

What was he going to say? Whatever it was she had to try to deal with it, even if it was bad.

As he came closer his grey eyes didn’t move from hers, and for a bewildering moment it felt as though they were the only ones in the room. ‘What I’m about to tell you is good news,’ he began in his pleasantly accented voice, but before Vivienne could register relief he was saying, ‘It probably won’t seem like it at first, but once you’ve had time for it to sink in I think you’ll agree that it is.’

Vivienne’s eyes went to her mother. Gina apparently didn’t understand either. She was clinging tightly to Mark’s hand.

‘You have presented us with an unusual situation,’ Dr Novak informed her, ‘because the sort of infarctions and arrests you’ve suffered are currently falling between two diagnoses. Please don’t look so worried.’ He smiled gently. ‘I said unusual, not impossible, as both conditions are treatable, it’s simply a question of going forward in the right way.’

This was sounding reasonable, not too frightening. Treatable was always good.

‘… because of the damage the muscle – your heart – has suffered, and the complications that have arisen, I’m afraid your recovery isn’t going in the way we’d hoped.’ He put a hand over Vivienne’s as though sensing the deepening of her fear, and wanting to hold her back from it. ‘It’s my professional opinion,’ he said softly, ‘that your heart isn’t strong enough to give you much more than a year of life, and that life won’t be like the one you’ve known up until now. This is why, with your permission, I’m going to recommend that you are assessed for a transplant.’

Vivienne heard a gasp, a small cry of shock, but she had no idea where it had come from. Maybe her; or maybe it was her mother. Her eyes were still on Dr Novak’s, her fingers holding fast to his, as if letting go would cause her to spiral down into an abyss of such darkness and despair that she would never find her way back.

He began speaking again, saying more, much more, but none of it changed what he’d already said. The heart she had was so weak, so sick, that unless it was replaced, and soon, she was going to die.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f03e3357-5724-5f72-afd8-a0295e77fabe)

SHELLEY (#ulink_f03e3357-5724-5f72-afd8-a0295e77fabe)