Page 92 of The Jealous Girl

‘I think Dad had it last night.’

I frowned. ‘He did? Why?’

Ryan shrugged as he filled his water bottle. ‘I guess he just wants to keep an eye on things. After that mishap with the feed invoice, you can’t blame him.’

‘I told you⁠—’

‘Yeah, I know, it wasn’t your fault,’ he cut in, sounding frustrated.

My shoulders slumped. ‘You still don’t believe me.’

‘These things happen,’ he said, giving me a kiss on my cheek as he passed. ‘Take a look on Dad’s desk in the living room, he probably left the book there.’

I opened my mouth, ready to protest my innocence again, but closed it quickly. What was the point? He was never going to believe me.

Not over Charlotte.

I walked through to the living room and peered at the chaotic collection of papers and notebooks on Martin’s desk. It was almost as bad as the office in the stables had been.

‘Aha,’ I murmured satisfactorily as I spotted the liveries record book, buried beneath a discharge letter from the hospital. I pushed it aside and picked up the book. But my attention snagged as two words jumped out from the page.

Cardiac event.

I frowned. Not a heart attack? Or was that just the medical terminology?

Unease churned in my stomach as I pulled my phone from my pocket and quickly typed into Google: ‘Difference between cardiac event and heart attack’.

My eyes skimmed the results. ‘Cardiac event’ was a broad term. Heart attacks fell within it. But so did less severe cardiac episodes.

I scrolled further down. Typical hospital stays after a heart attack ranged from several days to over a week.

Martin had been in hospital six days. That was consistent.

But something still felt off. I turned back to the discharge letter, reading it fully this time.

Presentation atypical for myocardial infarction.

My frown deepened and I typed the unfamiliar phrase into Google. Myocardial infarction was the medical term for a heart attack.

My pulse quickened. So did ‘atypical’ mean Martin hadn’t actually had a heart attack? Did that mean his condition wasn’t as serious as everyone had first thought?

But, if that was true, why hadn’t Ryan told me?

Did he know?

I slid the papers carefully back into place and walked back across the yard.

‘Ryan,’ I called as I approached the paddock where he was saddling a horse.

He nodded at me. ‘You found it then.’

I glanced at the liveries record book nestled under my arm. ‘Yeah, thanks. But…’

I licked my lips.

How could I ask him if his dad was really as sick as everyone thought?

‘How about we go out for dinner tonight?’ I suggested. ‘Just you and me. We can start thinking about what we want to do when we leave here⁠—’