Mr. Nobody(17)

“Obviously, Emma, we had to do a background check prior to contacting you. Surprises aren’t exactly ideal when the media are already swarming over this case. But, needless to say, what happened back then, it isn’t an issue for us if it isn’t an issue for you. I wouldn’t be here if it was. I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to, to be perfectly honest, considering what happened there.”

    I feel my face flush.

He knows what happened there.

I try not to let my breathing change. I try not to let my body betray what I’m feeling.

What kind of background check did they do to find that out? That information isn’t just available on the Internet. But I suppose they have access to old police records. Yes, I guess he would need to do that, especially if they’re worried about the media; it makes sense.

I look down at the table and try to get a hold on myself, my heart thudding in my chest.

“That’s why I came down in person, you see, Emma. I thought you might need a bit of extra persuading. Considering…”

I turn back to Chorley now. His eyes are flickering across my face, assessing; God knows what he sees there. I’m too busy trying to keep my breathing normal to worry about that. Too busy trying not to think about what exactly his background check threw up. The photos of that night. The aftermath.

“I see.” I say it slowly and clearly. “I hadn’t realized. I didn’t know the case would be up there.” To my credit my voice doesn’t crack.

His eyes soften. “I’ll totally understand if going back is not something you’d be comfortable with. We could keep looking. I’m happy to tell Richard you aren’t available after all. I’m certain he’d understand. And I wouldn’t divulge your reasons, obviously….” He trails off.

“Richard doesn’t know, does he?” I blurt. I don’t know why this is so important but it is.

Peter gives a concise shake of the head. “We don’t pass along background check information.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Thank God. I would hate for Richard of all people to know.

    My brain is whirring. What does this mean? So many good things have happened today. This perfect offer out of the blue, this opportunity, the chance I’ve been waiting for. But I’d have to go there? Why does it have to be there of all the places in the world?

I’ve spent fourteen years of my life trying to get away from that place, what happened there, and now…now I find out that the only way forward, the only way out, is back.

But could I go back? Is it worth it?

I look out at London bustling by the café windows, and across the street, outside Euston Station, I see a man and a woman waving as they rush to greet each other. The crowd swirls around them as they hug, then there’s a cheek kiss, she rumples his hair, he pulls her bobble hat down over her eyes, and she laughs. I look back at Peter.

“I’d need to check with someone else before I say yes. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. Of course,” Peter agrees. “Of course.”





7


THE MAN


DAY 1—HOSPITAL

At the nurses’ station, Rhoda, a Trinidadian triage nurse with warm eyes, looks down at the intake notes she’s just been handed and carefully squeaks the words UNKNOWN MALE out onto the large Triage whiteboard. She adds his priority status next—P2—seriously ill or injured but not in immediate danger. He needs a CT scan for his head injury.

In cubicle 7 he lies silently curtained off as the ward bustles around him. The unconscious man is hooked up to an IV drip, an oxygen mask cupping his blueing mouth and nose. It mists and clears and mists with each breath.

His wet clothes have been removed and replaced with a crisp medical gown. Metal foil blankets help to slowly raise his core temperature.

Rhoda erases the name from the cubicle 4 box; her last patient, discharged. She checks the other priorities on the board. There are three P2s on the board. It’s a tough call. She checks her watch—she’s technically finished her shift. She should call it a day, or rather a morning, but she looks up at the words she’s just scrawled out.

Cubical 7: UNKNOWN MALE.

    The words snag her interest. Time for one more before she clocks off. It must be fate, she thinks, and nods, scrawling her own name onto the whiteboard next to his.

As Rhoda turns, the duty nurse catches her eye and raises a comic eyebrow. “Last patient, right? No more,” she warns, mock-stern.

Rhoda smiles. “Last patient, I promise, Maeve. Got to go pick Coco up after the shift.” Rhoda thinks of Coco’s fluffy little face. Ha, such a good doggie. “Can you call ahead to Radiology, Maeve?” Rhoda asks. “Book the CT, we’ll get that done first and hopefully ICU will have space by then. And Maeve, could you page up another doctor? That junior doctor is still up to his eyeballs with that missing-finger situation. He isn’t going anywhere soon.”

Maeve lets out an unexpected burst of laughter and sets about calling Radiology.

Rhoda grabs the unknown man’s medical notes again and breaks into a gentle jog back toward cubical 7, her white nursing shoes squeaking across the linoleum.

“Oh, and porter, please!” she calls behind her as she disappears out of Maeve’s sight.