Liars All by Jo Bannister

Brodie. He didn’t, for two reasons. She was preoccupied with her trip to Switzerland – expecting it to be another wasted effort yet unable to ignore the remote possibility that this time would be different. Like a busted gambler buying one more hand, because you only have to win once to pay for all your losses.
    And the other reason was, Deacon knew Daniel had said nothing to her about his visitor. That he’d avoided seeing her because his bruises would have prompted questions he wouldn’t lie to answer. Knowing that running her business had put him in danger would have given her a terrible dilemma. She’d still have gone to Switzerland, but the knowledge would have added vastly to her burdens. So Daniel stayed where she couldn’t see him, and Deacon said nothing.
    As the traffic began to build approaching Gatwick, Brodie said with a trace of a grin, ‘Maybe we should have taken the train from Haywards Heath.’
    Deacon gave a deep chuckle. The last few months had taken a lot out of her. But they hadn’t taken the resilience – the inbuilt knowledge that, when things are as tough as they can get, they aren’t going to be made worse by a bit of black humour. When this was all over – however it ended – she’d still be there: battered, sad, but capable at some point of starting to pick up the pieces.
    She loosened her seat belt and turned to smile at Jonathan, secured on the back seat. ‘Jack…’

    They were directed to the Urgent Treatment Centre at Crawley Hospital. By the time they got there the baby was breathing normally again. But neither of them believed it was anything other than a significant deterioration in his condition, and by the time he’d been examined and his history considered, the consultant confirmed it.
    â€˜I don’t think you can continue your journey, Mrs Deacon. I think we should admit Jonathan for twenty-four hours, just to monitor what’s going on. Then, if he’s stable, you should go home.’
    â€˜Farrell,’ said Brodie absently – unaware that, by correcting the error, she was driving a fresh scalpel under Deacon’s ribs. ‘My name is Farrell. So’s Jonathan’s. Can I stay with him?’
    â€˜Of course.’ The doctor was checking his notes, wondering how he’d got the name wrong. ‘Try not to worry too much. I don’t think this is a quantum change in the situation. You say he’s had seizures before?’ Brodie nodded. ‘I think he’s just very tired and rather poorly, and by tomorrow he’ll seem a good deal better. But home’s the place for him now. I understand why you’ve been doing so much travelling, but I think now it’s time to stop.’
    Brodie felt as if he’d quietly, politely but very firmly shut a door in her face.
    Deacon said gruffly, ‘Are we down to the last week? The last month?’
    The consultant shook his head. ‘There’s no reason to think so. See your own specialist in the next few days, she’ll be able to tell you better, but I don’t see this as the
beginning of the end. Just a warning that it’s time to rethink your plans. He’s not getting any stronger and you need to reduce the stress. On everybody. Your wife as well as your baby.’
    Deacon said nothing until he saw that Brodie was about to. ‘She’s not my wife. I’ll call the airline, cancel the tickets.’
    â€˜Tell them…’ For a moment Brodie was going to ask him to have them hold the ticket rather than cancel it. As if a few days might make all the difference. As if next week they’d be able to go to Switzerland after all. As if nothing the doctor had said had registered with her.
    Then cold, hard reality laid its hand on her. Held her against the wall and spoke directly into her face. This was the end of the line. She’d done everything she could do. All that was left was to wait for