Page 19 of The Dead Ex

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 feela 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 hadupset 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, quitea 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.

The couple in front of me are all too familiar.

The nurse backs away. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’

‘Mrs Goudman. Vicki.’ Detective Inspector Gareth Vine’s handshake is as unforgiving as the last time.

I pull my handback. ‘How did you know I was here?’

He waves away the question as if this isn’t important. ‘Your name came up on the system when you were admitted. Sorry to hear you’re not well.’

‘I don’t see it that way,’ I say defensively. ‘It’s part of me.’

This was a phrase I’d picked up from one of various forums on the net.

‘Is that why you didn’t mention your condition when we spoke before?’

Thatlovely feeling of having woken from a deep sleep is beginning to evaporate. Instead, my skin is prickling with discomfort. The woman in the bed opposite is staring. She has a drip at her side and a bald head. Cancer maybe?

‘May we close the curtains, please?’ I ask.

‘Of course.’

Just the three of us in an enclosed space. Two against one.

I put my hand over my eyes to shield them from the fluorescentstrip above.

‘Does light make it worse?’ he asks curiously.

‘Only strobe flashes,’ I retort. ‘And stress. Your previous visit didn’t help. Or the news about David.’