Forget Her Name(53)

Kasia blinks. ‘Call . . . ?’

‘His mobile.’ My mother adds impatiently. ‘The number is on the wall by the kitchen phone. Really, Kasia. Wake up.’

‘Yes, Mrs Bates.’

She disappears.

Frieda, the paramedic, smiles up at me as she finishes strapping my ankle. ‘Right, that should reduce the swelling. Ready for a ride in an ambulance?’





Chapter Thirty-Two

Shortly after my arrival at St Hilda’s, being pushed into A & E in a wheelchair as though I’m an invalid, Dominic appears at my bedside, out of breath, as though he’s run all the way from the staffroom.

‘Catherine, are you okay? Sally told me you’d been brought in with a head wound. What the hell happened?’ While my mother explains, he snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves and tilts my head sideways with professional care. If he’s horrified by her story, Dominic doesn’t show it, soon calming down and even winking at me when he hears the part about the cat. ‘Well, the good news is, this cut isn’t as serious as it looks. No stitches required. The bad news is, I think my wife may be crazy.’

‘That’s not funny,’ I say crossly. ‘I wasn’t imagining it. I definitely heard mewing.’

He dabs the wound gently. ‘Maybe a neighbour’s cat got in.’

‘That doesn’t explain the light turning off, and me getting locked in,’ I say hotly. ‘Dom, someone else was down there.’

‘Who?’

I hesitate. ‘I didn’t see exactly. But I heard footsteps.’

‘It sounds like a mistake of some kind.’ He frowns, concentrating on what he’s doing. ‘An accident, I’m sure.’

‘Seriously?’ I lower my voice. ‘After everything that’s happened lately, you don’t find this a little bit suspicious?’

His eyes flick to mine, then he reaches for some bandaging. ‘You’re worrying your mum,’ he says softly.

I glance over his shoulder at my mother’s pale face, and relent.

‘Okay, maybe it was a . . . an accident.’ I’m suddenly glad he’s the one taking care of me. I’m not very keen on hospitals. Not when I’m the patient, anyway. ‘I was convinced I heard a cat though. I feel like such an idiot.’

He grins.

As soon as my mother excuses herself to ring my dad, I ask Dominic to close the cubicle curtains, and tell him what the police said about the wedding dress.

‘Pig’s blood?’ he repeats blankly, then shrugs. ‘No wonder they’re not interested in pursuing it. But I’d love to know who was responsible for ruining your dress. Some sick bastard who deserves a punch in the face.’

I shudder. ‘Please, let’s just forget about it.’

‘Sure, if you want.’ Dominic bends and kisses me on the lips. ‘I was frantic when Sally told me you were in A & E,’ he murmurs. ‘You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Mrs Whitely. You hear me?’

‘Miss Bates,’ I remind him. ‘And don’t you forget it.’

‘You stubborn feminist,’ he says, and laughs when I poke my tongue out at him.

The curtain rattles, and he straightens.

Mum comes back in, looking flustered, her hair blown about by the wind. ‘I couldn’t get hold of Robert. He’s not answering his phone. I left a message instead.’ She sighs. ‘I’ll stay with you though. I just hope it doesn’t take forever.’

Dominic stays with me and Mum while I’m examined by one of the duty doctors. I am checked for signs of concussion, and an X-ray is taken of my swollen ankle, which reveals no broken bones. As he thought, the gash on my forehead is not deemed serious enough to need stitches, but it is thoroughly cleaned and covered with a large plaster, padded with cotton wool. After a few hours I am given the all-clear and Dominic is granted permission to take me home himself.

‘Early clock-off today,’ Dominic says cheerfully, helping me out of the wheelchair. During our long wait, he’s managed to wrangle a pair of crutches for me. ‘Ever used these, darling?’

I shake my head.

‘Come on, one under each arm.’

Once I’m steady on the crutches, Dominic helps me out to the taxi rank. His manager, Sally Weston, who’s been hanging around the cubicle too, insists on coming to see us off. I get the feeling she’s curious about me.

It’s already dark outside. There’s a Christmas tree outside the hospital’s main entrance, strung with lights and baubles that wink and sway. The night air is cold, with a bitter, gusting wind that leaves me shivering.

‘Don’t forget concussion can still develop several days after a bang on the head. Watch out for any headache, dizziness, nausea . . .’ Sally begins to recite the list of symptoms, then grins at Dominic’s expression. ‘Sorry, Dom. You know what to look for, of course.’ She opens the back door of the waiting taxi for us. ‘Good to see you again, Catherine. Take care, both of you. We should go for drinks sometime.’

‘Sure,’ Dominic tells her smoothly.

Mum has come after us, hunched in her coat and fussing about me. But she’s not really needed with Dominic there, and she knows it.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him.

Dominic helps me hop into the back of the black cab, while Mum sits on one of the pull-down seats. ‘What on earth are you apologising for? You fell down a flight of stairs, you great softie.’ He puts the crutches on the floor. ‘This is hardly self-inflicted.’