In a Dark, Dark Wood(66)

‘We’ve got a young man here to see you,’ she says without preamble. ‘Name of Matt Ridout. Says he’d like to come and visit you if you’re up to it.’

I blink. I’ve never heard of him.

‘Is he a policeman?’

‘I don’t know, pet. He’s not in uniform.’

For a minute I think about sending her back out there to find out more, but she’s tapping her foot, plainly impatient and busy, and I realise it would be easier just to see him and get it over with.

‘Send him in,’ I say at last.

‘He can only have half an hour,’ she warns. ‘Visiting hours end at four.’

‘That’s OK.’ Good. That will provide an excuse to get rid of him if he proves awkward.

I sit up, gathering Nina’s cardie around myself and raking my hair off my face. I look like a car crash so I don’t really know why I’m bothering, but it feels important to my self-respect that I at least make a token effort.

I hear steps in the corridor, and there’s a hesitant, diffident knock.

‘Come in,’ I say, and a man walks into the room.

He’s about my age – maybe a few years older – and dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt. His jacket is slung over his arm and he looks hot and uncomfortable in the hospital’s tropical atmosphere. He’s got a scrubby Hoxton-style beard and his hair is cropped close to his skull; not a buzz-cut, but something like a Roman soldier, short curls, flat against his head.

But the thing that I really notice is that he’s been crying.

For a minute I can’t think of anything to say, and neither can he. He stands in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, and he looks shocked to see me.

‘You’re not from the police,’ I say at last, stupidly. He rubs a hand through his hair.

‘I— my name is Matt. I’m – at least—’ He stops, and his lip curls into a grimace, and I know he’s fighting back some very strong emotion. He takes a deep breath, and begins again. ‘I was James’s best man.’

I say nothing. We only sit, staring at each other, me clutching Nina’s cardigan to my throat as if it’s a suit of armour, he rigid and tense in the doorway. And then, unbidden, a single tear runs down the side of his nose and he swipes at it furiously with his sleeve, and I say, simultaneously,

‘Come in. Come and sit down. Do you want a drink?’

‘Got whiskey?’ he says, and gives a short, shaky laugh. I try to laugh too, but it doesn’t sound like a laugh to me, more like a choke.

‘I wish. Hospital tea or coffee from the vending machine, or water.’ I point to the plastic jug. ‘On the whole I’d recommend the water.’

‘I’m OK,’ he says. He comes and sits in the plastic chair next to my bed. But he’s hardly sat down when he pushes himself to standing again. ‘Fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come.’

‘No!’ I grab his wrist, and then look down at my hand holding his arm, astonished at myself. What the hell am I doing? I let go at once, as though his skin burns. ‘I — I’m sorry. But I just meant …’ I trail off. What did I mean? I have no idea. Only that I don’t want him to go. He is a link to James.

‘Please stay,’ I manage at last. He stays, standing, looking down at me, and then gives a short, curt nod and sits.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘I wasn’t expecting … You look …’

I know what he means. I look like I’ve been beaten within an inch of my life and then patched up again. Badly.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ I say, and I surprise myself by managing a smile. ‘It’s mainly just scratches and bruising.’

‘It’s your face,’ he says, ‘your eyes. I see a fair bit of domestic violence in my line of work, but those shiners …’

‘I know. I only saw them myself this morning. They’re kind of spectacular, aren’t they? They don’t hurt though.’

We sit in silence for a second and then he says, ‘Actually you know what, second thoughts, I might get a coffee. Want one?’

‘No thanks.’ I’m still coasting on the remnants of the coffee Lamarr brought. I’m not yet desperate enough for the vending-machine stuff.

Matt gets stiffly to his feet and walks out of the room, and I can see the tension in his shoulders as his back disappears down the corridor. I almost wonder if he’s going to come back, but he does.

‘Shall we start again?’ he says as he sits down. ‘Sorry, I feel like I kind of cocked that one up. You must be Leo, right?’

I almost flinch. It’s such a shock hearing it – James’s name for me – from his lips.

‘Yes, that’s right. So James … he told you about me?’

‘A bit, yeah. I know you were … I dunno. What would you call it? Childhood sweethearts?’

For some reason the words bring a rush of tears to the back of my throat and I feel my lip wobble as I try to answer. Instead I just nod, silently.

‘Fuck.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry – I just – I can’t believe it. I was only speaking to him a couple of days ago. I knew there was stuff … things going wrong … but this …’