mother’s specialist to look into it. The Aditron trial. She might not qualify—the requirements are pretty stringent. But if they can submit an application in the next couple of weeks, she’ll at least be considered.”
Victor’s grip on his phone tightened, the sting of losing on the account fading at the hope replacing it. “I will. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just don’t mention me when you ask about it.”
“Got it.”
The line went dead, and Victor shoved his phone back into his pocket. Peter was sliding out of his pinned coat, the fitting finally over.
A drug trial. He might be able to finally do something good for his family. Bring something of value. He walked back toward the couch and scooped up his jacket. As soon as he got back to the office, he would get back to work. Come up with some plausible reason to explain why he might know about the new trial.
“Do you guys need anything more from me?”
Peter had looped his arm around Emelia’s waist and pulled her in close, his lips brushing against the top of her head. A burst of jealousy hit Victor square in the chest, his desire to be back at a derelict Walmart in Small Harbor so strong he could feel the cracked linoleum and see the flickering fluorescent lights.
Emelia’s eyebrows puckered together, her straight-lined mouth not exactly the picture of a joyous bride ten days before her wedding.
“Is everything okay?”
She sighed. “Sorry, it’s not you. Just a blip. My cousin won’t arrive until the day before the wedding. She’s had some work stuff come up.”
Victor searched his memory bank for any information about Emelia’s cousin but came up blank. “Have I met her?”
Emelia cracked half a smile at his question. “Trust me, you’d remember if you had.”
Victor wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what that meant. Given the bits and pieces he’d heard about Emelia’s dysfunctional family, it wasn’t even worth hazarding a guess, so he changed the topic. “Do either of you know if Mum has a specialist appointment any time soon?”
Peter loosened his hold on his fiancé just long enough to pick up his jacket. “No idea. Em? You see her more than I do.”
Emelia thought for a second. “Not that I know of. She hasn’t mentioned one. Why?”
Victor paused. It was probably better that all of them were in on this, but if it turned out to be a dead-end then it would just be another way he’d disappointed everyone. “That call was a friend giving me a tip about a new drug trial he suggested we look into.”
“Does your friend work for the company?” Peter regarded him with suspicion, as if Victor was suggesting they send their mother to visit the local witchdoctor.
His fiancée jabbed him in the ribs. “Peter, don’t ask questions we don’t need answers to.” She turned to Victor. “I assume it’s a properly approved and legal trial.”
“It is. But it’s limited. Her specialist would have to make an application for her in the next couple of weeks.”
Emelia nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to her and make an appointment. Hopefully, we can get in before the wedding.”
“Em, you have enough to do. Victor can do it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. Why should Victor drive up from London to take your mother to the doctor when I’m right there? All the wedding stuff is pretty much sorted. It’s just an appointment. Her specialist can look into it and work out if it might be good for her.” She looked at Victor. “Assuming you can give me enough information for them to go on.”
“I’ll do some more research this afternoon and email you.”
“Okay, done. I’ll talk to her at church on Sunday.”
Church. Victor should go this weekend. It had been a while since he’d graced the pews of his local parish. When he did attend, he was a distinct oddity among the pensioners and harried parents with small children. But that would require him to examine why he was feeling so cross with God, that the one woman he’d met who pulled him in like a fish on a lure was completely out of his reach.
Maybe a meeting would be better. No couples snuggling into each other during the sermon there. No small children running around with their father’s hair and mother’s eyes. Just people trying to make it through, one step at a time.
“Victor,” Peter cleared his throat.
“Yes.” He waited for some wedding errand that needed running or relative that needed collecting on his way to Oxford.