Hidden Cottage by Erica James

in bed hooked up to an intravenous drip, Jensen had looked so very weak and vulnerable.
    Prior to that day, Jensen had been poorly with a bad throat infection and the GP had prescribed a course of penicillin. But then one afternoon when Mia was sitting on the sofa reading to him, Jensen just didn’t look right to her; he seemed even more tired and lethargic and he had a strange puffiness around the eyes. Afraid he might be having a reaction to the antibiotics, she phoned the surgery and took him to see the doctor again. By the time Jensen was being examined, Mia could see that his hands had swollen, as had his ankles. When the doctor lifted his T-shirt, Mia winced at the sight of Jensen’s distended stomach: something was very wrong. Within the hour they were at the hospital and Jensen was being examined by yet another doctor.
    Numerous tests were done – blood, urine and blood pressure – and then the doctor said that he wouldn’t be absolutely sure until they’d carried out a biopsy on Jensen’s kidneys, but it was looking very likely that he was suffering from something called nephrotic syndrome. ‘I’ve only ever seen one case of this before,’ the doctor explained. ‘What happens is that when there’s loss of large amounts of protein in the urine the protein content of the blood is lowered, causing oedema – that’s the swelling you can see. For now the priority is to completely flush out Jensen’s system and to get his blood pressure down. We’ll need to have him on an intravenous drip with fluids and hydrocortisone.’
    ‘But how has this happened?’ Mia asked, trying to hide her fear and her shaking hands as she looked down at Jensen, who was lying on the bed staring at her with glazed eyes. ‘He’s so rarely ill.’
    ‘It’s probable that as a result of the streptococcal throat infection he’s had, his immune system has gone on the blink and attacked the kidneys. Like I said, this is very rare. But you mustn’t worry, we’ll soon have everything under control. It’s going to take time, though.’
    But she did worry; of course she did. Jensen meant the world to her – he was her world – and to see him so ill was utterly heartbreaking.
    At about seven o’clock that evening, while Jensen was fast asleep, she was advised to go home and fetch some things for him – pyjamas, toothbrush, a few books and toys, anything that would make him feel more at home. She also needed a bag of essential items for herself as she would be staying with him in the side room he’d been put in to.
    She took a taxi from outside the hospital and when the driver dropped her off she asked him to wait for her so he could drive her back. She was on her way up the stairs to their first-floor flat when Mrs Frost’s door opened. ‘You have a visitor,’ she said. Oddly her voice didn’t have its customary glacial tone; there was a cheery lightness to it that Mia had never before heard. But she didn’t care who the visitor was; all that mattered to her was getting what she needed and rushing back to be with Jensen. She didn’t want him to wake and find her not there. But then she registered the present tense Mrs Frost had used. Whoever the visitor was, he or she was still here. But where?
    She turned and looked down the stairs at Mrs Frost and was about to explain that Jensen wasn’t well and that she was in a hurry when Jeff appeared in the gloomy hallway. ‘Hello, Mia,’ he said, ‘your delightful landlady and I have just been enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of cake together.’
    She was struck by so many thoughts in that moment, but chief amongst them was disbelief that Jeff could do the impossible – that he could charm Mrs Frost. But then all the fear and worry of the afternoon, all the emotions she had kept hidden from Jensen, combined with the extraordinary coincidence of Jeff turning up just when she needed help most, overwhelmed her and she burst into tears.
    Once she’d calmed down sufficiently to