The Dead Ex(14)

‘She rang for an ambulance.’

If she was a nurse, she probably didn’t panic. It’s why I feel relatively calm myself. When people freak out, it’s catching – especially if they’re still doing it when you come round. This makes it harder to compose yourself afterwards.

I’m so sleepy that Adam is now drifting in and out. I could ask how he knows my name, but that’s what my silver medi bracelet is all about with my ID. (Naturally I always remove this when treating clients, to avoid questions.)

‘Did something upset you, Vicki?’ His voice comes at me through a mist. ‘Something that might have brought this on?’

They usually ask this. It’s all part of building up a profile picture. But my eyes are heavy. I can’t think properly.

‘Not sure,’ I murmur. But something is nagging inside me. Something did upset me.

I just can’t remember what.

When I wake again, I’m in a hospital bed. I’m in a green gown. If I twist my neck – ouch – I can see a small wooden table with a jug of water. Blue and white striped curtains are surrounding me, although I can hear muffled sounds coming from the right: ‘Nurse. I need the toilet. Nurse!’

What time is it? It’s not dark. But nor is it very light either. That’s the thing about my ‘condition’. You might think you’ve been out for hours when it’s only been minutes. And vice versa.

Either way, I always feel as though I’ve had a long, deep sleep. A bit like when you’ve come out from an anaesthetic.

I hate hospitals. So hot and airless. The heat amazes me, given the cutbacks. Right now I’m sweating, even though I’ve just realized I’m not wearing anything underneath this hospital gown. Only paper pants. What have they done with my clothes?

Places like this (and I’ve seen a few) always leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth of liver and bacon: a meal I always hated as a child and which still comes to me when I have to do something I don’t want to. I simply want to get out. Be normal.

On the other side of the curtain I hear a trolley rattling past. ‘Breakfast!’ says a cheerful voice.

That answers my earlier question, then.

‘What do you want to do about that one?’

‘She’s waiting to see the nurse,’ said someone else. ‘We need to make sure she’s not nil by mouth.’

Are they talking about me? There’s a gnawing feeling of hunger in my stomach. I’m often ravenous after a seizure. I’m about to call out when there’s a high, persistent beep that makes the hairs on my arm stand up. At least it’s not coming from the machines I’m attached to. Although I can’t see anything, I can hear tense voices and movement from across the room. ‘ICU. Now!’

My heart goes out to the patient. I’ve been there a few times myself.

Someone else – I think it’s the occupant on my left – is on the phone. It’s an oldish, wavering voice. ‘So the doctor said I had to take these tablets. Two, he said. Every day. I only did what he told me. And now the consultant says I should have been on something else.’

I’d forgotten how noisy hospital could be, even though it’s only been two months since the last one. That was in Devon, before word got round my clients and I had to move again.

‘Vicki?’

The curtains are being opened now. Why is it that hospital staff always speak as though they know you intimately? It was reassuring in the ambulance, but I’m not too keen on it now.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine.’

I ease myself up on my elbows, wincing at the pain. One of them, I notice, has a big blue bruise, presumably from my thrashing around under the bench. ‘Where are my clothes?’

‘They got torn and muddied during the incident. Don’t worry. We’ll sort you out later.’

I feel a sense of panic. ‘But I need something to wear so I can go home.’

‘I’m afraid we can’t allow that unless you have someone who can be with you for at least twenty-four hours after discharge.’

She glances at her notes again. ‘It says here that you don’t have any next of kin. Is there a neighbour or a friend you could call?’

And that’s when I remember. The thing – or rather things – that had upset me. David. The police. And then that girl on the promenade.

‘I’ll be all right on my own. I’ve done it before.’

It’s true. I’ve lied to other hospitals about having someone at home. Too late, I realize I should have lied this time too.

‘It could be dangerous.’ She speaks as if I have never been through this before. Then again, she’s young. Maybe I’m her first. ‘You’ve had … well, quite a traumatic experience.’

I put on my firm voice. ‘I’m better off just getting on with it, taking the medicine and hoping I don’t have another one.’

Superstition makes me stop and touch the wooden table.

‘You shouldn’t be getting many at all if you’re on medication, so we need to check that out. There’s something else, too. I’m afraid you have some visitors.’

Afraid?

Her eyes won’t meet mine. ‘We wouldn’t allow them in until we were sure you were up to it but …’

Her voice trails away as she opens the curtains. Everyone on the ward is looking. And no wonder.