I don’t need to be told when it is referencing—Valentine’s Day night at Saint Street. But it’s not as if I can question him with Ali and Stana by my side. I’m not one to push down emotions or hide how I’m feeling, but something in my gut tells me to wait on this. I’ll ask him about it, in due time.
After arriving back in London, we decide to all meet at Saint Street in the afternoon, to catch up with Owen and Lottie. Despite my disappointment that they didn’t come, I can’t exactly say I was surprised. Lottie isn’t ready to go back to Edinburgh yet, and that’s okay.
“Is Lottie coming?” Ali asks, sitting down next to Stana, throwing his arm over her shoulders.
Owen looks at the clock. “She said she’d be here fifteen minutes ago.” Everyone brushes it off, but I hear the concern in his voice. He’s grown to care deeply about Lottie.
“She’s probably just running late,” Stana says, her voice even, not worried, but Owen doesn’t seem convinced. It makes the detective in me want to dig deeper, but I know it’s not my place.
As if Lottie’s ears were burning, the main door to Saint Street is thrown open and we hear hurried little steps. Her black-and-gold combat boots come into view first, then her oversized hot-pink sweater. It’s all very Lottie.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I got stuck at work,” she calls out from halfway down. I see relief flash in Owen’s eyes, but it’s only momentary. Because in her haste to join the rest of us, Lottie trips on the stairs, her massive purse propelling her forward and causing her to lose her balance.
It isn’t a major fall, nothing life-threatening, but her side smacks into the ground step, her face clenching in pain. It’s instinctive, all of us getting up to help her. But the panic on her face and Owen’s makes me think she’s seriously injured.
“Shit, Lottie, are you okay?” Stana says, walking toward her, but Owen beats her to the chase.
Cupping Lottie’s head, he uses his free arm to lift her into a sitting position. “Call 999,” he yells at us, clearly seeing an injury we don’t. I quickly take out my phone, panic pulling at every nerve ending in my body. I feel Reeve’s presence behind me as he puts his hand on my shoulder. It’s simple, nothing anyone would read into, but it helps comfort me.
The line rings until the operator picks up, asking what our emergency is. Still unsure where she is hurt, I look to Owen, whose eyes are wide, feral almost.
Leaving Lottie momentarily, he grabs the phone from me to explain what’s happened. I look around, Ali and Stana appearing just as confused as I am.
“She’s fallen down a flight of stairs. I’m not sure if she’s seriously injured,” Owen speaks into the phone, voice clear but his fear evident. “But she’s twenty seven weeks pregnant and twenty-five years old.”
The room goes quiet as Owen listens, only the gasps of Stana and me to fill the room.
Pregnant?
How could we not have seen this? Suddenly the last few months all begin to make sense, yet so many missing pieces leave unanswered questions. Questions that need to be saved for another time, after we make sure Lottie is okay.
“No, there’s no bleeding,” Owen responds, his fingers now linked through Lottie’s. She keeps her eyes closed, one hand with Owen, one on her unborn child.
“Okay, yeah, it’s Saint Street in Notting Hill, the pub on the corner. You can’t miss it,” he says into the phone before hanging up.
The next five minutes are sheer chaos before the ambulance arrives and takes Lottie to the hospital for a checkup, Owen in tow. The paramedics assure her that everything seems to be fine, but a checkup is routine, and they wouldn’t feel comfortable not doing one.
Once they’re gone, the room goes back to an eerie emptiness. The sound of a needle dropping would ring out. It’s in that absolute silence that the reality of the situation kicks in. Not just for me, but for everyone.
“Holy shit.” Reeve is the first one to speak, his hand long gone from my shoulder.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Stana admits from next to me. I don’t know when she came over, but here she is.
“I mean, it makes sense,” I start, turning to face everyone. “Her behavior the past few months, Owen’s behavior. She’s been pregnant this entire time and we were all too daft to see it.”
“It’s the middle of winter, Em. It doesn’t seem out of the ordinary for her to be wearing jumpers and coats,” Ali adds in, of course trying to be the logical one.
“I want to go to the hospital,” Stana whispers, her voice clearly on the edge of tears. My brother walks to her side and brings her into him, then gently rubs her back.
“Owen said not to come, that she doesn’t want us to.” Even as the words leave my mouth, they hurt to say.
“Well, Owen doesn’t know shit. He isn’t her family,” Stana snaps, voice husky. Stana loves Owen as much as the rest of us do, but I understand her frustration here.
“It’s what she wants, Stana,” Ali tells her. “We need to respect her wishes. And babe, I promise, if there is something wrong, you will be the first one there. Okay?”
She peers up at him, eyes wide and filled with tears. “Okay.” She hiccups before burying her face into his chest.
“I’m gonna take Stana home,” Ali tells Reeve and me. “Do you guys want to come?”
I shake my head. The only place I truly want to be is with Stana and Lottie together. Ali gathers up her things, then takes a zombielike Stana out of Saint Street.
The feeling of helplessness begins to creep in, and Reeve, clearly sensing it, pulls me into him, tears suddenly flowing down my face at the pure sense of dread and helplessness that fills the air.
“She’s got to be okay,” I whisper to him as he cocoons himself around me. “They both need to be okay.”
Like what Ali did for Stana, Reeve runs his hand up and down my back, holding me as I completely crumble. We stand in the middle of Saint Street for I don’t know how long, my love comforting me in his arms, letting me cry for one of my best friends.
It’s past ten a.m. when I finally wake up. After letting it all out in Saint Street, I let Reeve take me home and fell into a deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I’m sure I would have kept sleeping, but Stana’s call wakes me.
“I’m heading to Lottie’s flat in twenty, come with?”
Not having to be asked twice, I toss on some overalls, boots, and my Penny Lane coat, leaving Reeve fast asleep in my bed.
The trip to Lottie’s feels abnormally longer than usual, the anticipation and emotion of it all bubbling to the surface inside of me. But I’ve had my time to process; I had last night to let the emotions break free, away from Lottie. Now it’s her turn, because Stana and I both know we aren’t feeling even a smidgen as bad as she is.
As I walk down the familiar Notting Hill streets, early morning and sleepy-eyed vendors setting up for the markets, visions of crêpes and coffee dance across my mind. This used to be my usual, coming here every Saturday to sell. It’s how I met Stana. Now all of that feels like such a long time ago with life getting in the way.
Making sure not to be taken out by a double decker, I sprint across the road to Lottie’s flat and press the buzzer, knowing Stana is probably already inside. I’m let in, and I hurry out of the cold morning and into the damp-smelling entrance. Wasting no time, I rush to Lottie’s door and step inside.