Forget Her Name(7)

Like it’s already rotting.





Chapter Four

They’re doing some kind of renovations at the back of St Hilda’s Hospital in North London, where Dominic works. Scaffolding, hanging folds of plastic sheeting obscuring everything, planks and steel rods heaped to one side, a cement mixer churning away, and not a single workman in sight. I duck through an opening in the plastic and head towards the back stairs. There must be a bin lorry backing up somewhere through the chaos and debris, ready to empty the vast hospital bins at the base of the steps. I hear its high-pitched, warning beep-beep-beep, but where is it?

The sky is steel grey again, a mass of cloud hanging low over London’s skyscrapers. Another grim day slipping rapidly into winter.

I hurry to get inside, out of the cold.

The large, skin-headed security guard, smoking a sneaky cigarette a short distance outside the back door, his peaked cap balanced on the low wall, barely glances at me as I pass. To be fair though, he must have seen me go through this entrance a dozen times with Dominic. Behind him, the sign says: Strictly No Smoking Anywhere In This Area.

I push through the double doors, trainers squeaking on the yellow flooring. They swing shut behind me, and the stifling heat of the hospital hits me like a wall.

I take the nearest flight of stairs, heading for the Garden Cafeteria where I sometimes grab a quick lunch with Dominic.

Today, I am not here to see him.

In fact, Dominic’s not even here. He’s on a half-day training course at St Mary’s Hospital, a few miles west of the smaller St Hilda’s. Something to do with managing hygiene and hospital superbug controls. I left him scrolling through an email circular with some dull and unwieldy subtitle like ‘The perennial problem of hand-cleaning between patients in A & E’. Dominic looked intent on it, barely registering my kiss goodbye.

Louise is already there, head bent, reading something at a corner table. She’s one of Dominic’s colleagues at St Hilda’s – an RNMH, Registered Nurse Mental Health. Smiling, she looks up as I approach, then closes her novel, marking the page with a strip torn from a napkin.

‘Cat,’ she says, unaware that I hate the way Dominic sometimes abbreviates my name when we’re in company. ‘How are you? You look great. Looking forward to the wedding?’

‘God, don’t mention that bloody wedding.’

Louise laughs and stands up to hug me. She isn’t in uniform, as her shift doesn’t start for a few hours. Instead she’s casual, in high-heeled boots, deliberately ripped jeans, and a fluffy pink jumper that belies the discipline of her life. Her make-up is immaculate as always, her mascara crisp, lipstick unsmudged. She has straight black hair that falls sharply to just beyond her shoulders and hangs there, seemingly motionless. Never untidy, not a strand out of place. At work she wears her hair up in an old-fashioned bun, held in place with clips and pins.

I envy that impression of total control, even though I know it wouldn’t suit me. It’s also a little disconcerting. I prefer people who aren’t quite perfect, perhaps because it makes me feel better about my own imperfections.

Louise tips her head to one side. ‘So what’s all this top-secret business about?’

‘You didn’t tell Dominic I wanted to meet you?’

‘Of course not.’

I open my mouth, then shut it again. A sudden internal wobble. ‘Let’s get something to eat first, then we can talk. I’m starving.’

I’m not starving at all. But I feel uncomfortable under Louise’s steady gaze.

‘Whatever you like.’

Louise grabs her purse, and we move to the counter. The queue is short, thankfully, and the place offers pre-packaged sandwiches, which is easiest for both of us. Armed with coffee in paper cups and a sandwich apiece, we head back to the corner table.

‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’ Louise asks, frowning as she sits down. ‘About marrying Dom, I mean.’

Now it’s my turn to say, ‘Of course not.’

‘But?’

I pretend to be preoccupied with my sandwich packaging. Though it’s pointless trying to hide my nervousness, the way my hands are trembling. Louise is one of Dominic’s closest work colleagues, and she’s both intelligent and highly observant. Too bloody observant, frankly.

Perhaps I ought not to have asked someone so close to Dominic for advice about this. But ever since he introduced us in a nightclub, soon after I started dating him, I’ve felt a certain affinity with Louise, a natural connection between the two of us. Like I could tell her anything and she wouldn’t judge me for it.

I just hope that proves to be true.

‘But . . . I do have a problem.’ I look up to find Louise watching me intently, and feel a sudden bloom of heat in my cheeks. ‘Oh, not with Dominic. He’s the love of my life. We’re perfect together.’

‘Agreed.’

I have to smile. There was the tiniest hint of warning in that one word, as if to say, ‘Don’t mess with my friend’s heart.’

Louise is not jealous, of course. She’s gay and happily in a relationship with Amita, a radiographer a few years older than her. But she looks after her friends.

‘No, this is something totally different.’

I go to take a sip of coffee, but it’s too hot to drink.