“It’s okay,” she soothes. “It’s okay if you don’t remember that. That’s perfectly normal after a bang to the head. It doesn’t mean a thing. We’re going to get you nice and warm and do a quick scan of your head to see what’s what. How does that sound? Does that sound like a good idea?”
He grimaces.
“Yeah, maybe no nodding!” Rhoda soothes. “That’s where the knock is, on the back of your head there. It’s not a big one but it’ll be a bit sore for a while. So, no more nodding, okay? You just relax.”
He blinks in acknowledgment. No more nodding.
She throws her gaze out toward the ward and seems to reach a decision.
“Right, you know what, let’s just get going without them.” She releases the footbrake on the gurney and smiles. “If there’s no porters, then I’m just going to take you over for the scan myself. If you want a job done right—”
She pulls back the curtains.
8
DR. EMMA LEWIS
DAY 6—JOE
Isn’t it funny how you can successfully not think about something for months or even years, you can almost forget, almost, and then one simple sentence or word can bring it all back with a sudden sickening immediacy?
Peter and I say our goodbyes outside the café and I head back to the hospital, my mind whirring. I need to center myself; it’s just that I wasn’t expecting that, to be confronted with the worst moments of my life. Not today, not when things seemed to be going so well.
I scan the hospital lobby as I enter—faces, so many faces, all with their lives and their own stories. I try to shake off the feeling that everyone who sees me knows, knows exactly what happened fourteen years ago. I try to shake off the sharp shame of it, the dread. The feeling I’ve managed to avoid for so long. Even if sometimes memories of it stop me in my tracks on Oxford Street, my Christmas shopping bags trembling in hand, as strangers swirl around me. Or make me fall silent mid-sentence in restaurants with countless prospective boyfriends. Even if they make me question my instincts in every aspect of my personal life, and mean my only freedom, my only escape, is through work. Even if they are the reason I have chosen to live alone, in case, just in case, somehow, I make it all happen again.
Like anyone in recovery, I try to be wary of certain people, places, and things.
And somehow, over the years, I’ve managed not to reveal it, to keep it all inside, the sadness and the regret, like a gaping hole inside me.
I take the glass elevator up to the third floor, watching the heads of patients and visitors recede beneath me and feeling my familiar stomach-flip of vertigo. My primal fear of heights snapping me back to reality. A decision needs to be made. Peter will be waiting for my phone call this evening. I’m going to need an answer by then. Do I stay and keep pretending none of it ever happened? Or do I go and face the past and perhaps make something good of it?
The elevator doors open and I head down the corridor to my office. Milly isn’t at her desk when I round the corner. I check my watch. Lunchtime. She won’t be back for a good half hour yet. I need to speak to Joe. Joe’s who I need.
I flick on my office lights, lock the door, and sink into my chair. On the desktop I bring up FaceTime, wiping the dust and various marks from the screen and camera with my sleeve. I guess it’s been a while since I needed to make a video call.
Joe is my brother, and whenever I make a big decision in life, it’s Joe I tend to run it by. Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not saying I ever actually follow his advice, but I at least know that whatever advice Joe gives, he’ll give it to me straight. And that’s what I need right now. I need another person’s gut reaction. Plus, Joe is the only one who knows about Norfolk. Well, Joe and Mum and Dad. I’ve never told another person what happened. I don’t think I’m even allowed to. Which has made relationships hard, to say the least.
My last proper relationship was with an orthopedic surgeon. Harry. It lasted three years. He was easy to spend time with but I didn’t want to marry him, so, yeah. I don’t have someone like that just now.
Joe has a family; he’s a husband and a dad. Which is great. I’m an auntie.
Joe’s got ties, responsibilities, connections. I do not. So, I’ve sort of come to value his opinion more as the years go by. He seems, for want of a better word, happy.
I pull his name up on Contacts and shrug off my coat. I take a stab at fixing my hair in the dark reflection of the screen and press call.
Joe lives in Hertfordshire, about twenty-five minutes from our mother’s house. I couldn’t do that but I suppose it must be handy for babysitting. I know he’ll be in; he works from home. He’s an architect who has the good fortune to be able to pick and choose which projects he works on, which is convenient now that they have little Chloe to look after.
The electronic bounce of the FaceTime call tone cuts out sharply and Joe’s face replaces mine on the screen. He’s in. He’s always in. He’s reliable that way.
“There you are!” Joe’s one of those people who always answers their phones no matter how busy they are. I admire that level of accessibility, because I am not one of those people. He beams at me. I expand the pixelating window until his smiling face fills my screen. His glasses are at a crazy angle on the top of his head, his hair disheveled—I needn’t have worried about mine.
“Here I am!” I call in response. Our greeting.
He catches sight of himself in his own window and sets about mushing his hair. He’s always been a hair musher. He’s only thirty-one, and yet he’s somehow managed to look like a harassed thirty-year-old since his second year at uni.
“So, where exactly have you been for the last week, missy? Thought you’d at least call us when you got back to London after Christmas.” He continues typing as he talks, as if I’m right there in the room with him.
“Sorry. Work.” I shrug a what-can-you-do and Joe glances up, frowning.
We spent Christmas together at Mum’s, the whole family. And I didn’t call when I got back because…well, life, I suppose. Actually, probably, work. Things get surprisingly busy in hospitals around the festive season.
Joe isn’t impressed. “Hmph. Right, well, just so you know, Mum started checking the traffic news for crashes, so…make of that what you will.”
“Listen, Joe, I need your advice. Something has come up. But you’ve got to promise me you won’t tell Mum, all right?”
“What are we—seven?” he chuckles.
“I need you not to tell her, Joe, please?” There’s urgency in my voice and his smile fades slightly.