- Khalil Gibran Four Years Earlier Jack followed his Dad and Callum as a nurse led them down the hospital corridor to the ICU. Curtains were drawn around a dozen or so beds, and the whole place smelt like disinfectant. It brought back vivid memories, making Jack sick to his stomach. Ever since his mother’s battle with cancer, he had associated hospitals with death and misery. And from what he could see here, he was perfectly within his rights to do so. He was an intruder, trespassing in another world. He was stuck in some alternate reality. Back in the real world, he had already dropped Callum off at his place and was down at the river, proposing to Ally. He desperately wanted to get back there, where he felt he belonged. He didn’t belong here. None of them did, and yet they were trapped. The room was busy. A doctor and nurse, heads bent over a clipboard, spoke in conversational tones at the entrance to one cubicle.
