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  ‘OK!’ he announced. ‘Would you prefer petit pois or Brussels sprouts? For your ankle. It’ll reduce the swelling. Have you got a clean tea towel?’

  ‘In the bottom drawer. Petit pois, please.’

  ‘In that case, do you mind if I take advantage of your Brussels sprouts?’

  Sophie laughed, in a way she’d thought she never would again. She watched him wrap the packet of peas and hand it over. She leant forward and touched it against her ankle and shuddered at the sudden cold. She watched him fold the sprouts into another tea towel and hold it against his temple, lowering himself into a chair and sighing with relief. And there they sat, opposite one another across the kitchen table, sipping tea and indulging Laura, with their various swellings being reduced by a vegetable medley. And time passed. And during that passing time Sophie experienced whole periods of not hearing the sound of fracturing bone repeating itself. She asked him about his brother’s children.

  ‘Jesse’s wife died five years ago. The kids were really small. I’d just come back from Hong Kong and I didn’t have a job so I put off finding one and looked after my nephews.’

  ‘Have you got a job now? I mean, are you still…?’

  ‘The boys are both at school now. So, I’ve gone back to teaching. North Surrey Uni. English. That’s what I was doing in Hong Kong. I’m part-time so I can fit in with the boys’ school times. And clubs. Obviously, today has had to be the exception.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Consequences. ‘I did Biological Sciences at uni. But I never thought of teaching. Before Laura was born, I was working in Communications at Portway Biotech. I’m supposed to be going back in September. Jonah’s a computer engineer. He has his own company.’

  ‘Blimey. That sounds impressive. Did you say “Jonah”?’

  ‘Yes, like the man who lived in a whale.’

  He picked Blue Bear off the floor and handed it to Laura. ‘I always wanted to teach. And you know what they say: Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach. Fortunately, I couldn’t do anything else. So, my choice of career was literally a no-brainer.’ He checked his watch. ‘When did they say your lift would be here?’

  ‘An hour. I’d better be getting ready. My ankle feels much better now.’ She lifted her ice-pack and got to her feet. ‘How’s your eye?’

  ‘OK, but I’ll probably have a hell of a shiner by the morning.’

  ‘Hell of a shiner? My granddad used to say that.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m a bit of a crime fiction buff. Especially the post-war stuff. People were always waking up with a hell of a shinerin those days. Although please don’t tell the Head of English that I’m a secret wannabe detective. Especially a nineteen-fifties detective. I’m not supposed to stoop lower than the Bard.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sam. Your secret’s safe with me. Would you keep an eye on Laura while I collect her things? She seems to have taken a liking to you.’

  Sam Barnes watched Laura while Sophie fussed around getting ready. Then he plucked up his bicycle wheel and hovered awkwardly beside the sink. ‘I hope it all goes OK. I think there’s a car pulling up outside. I’d better get back to my bike. Jesse won’t be long now.’

  Sophie’s stomach churned as she collapsed back into the day’s trauma. She wanted to say to Sam Barnes why didn’t he wait inside and just pull the door closed behind him when he left. But that would have been ridiculous. Trusting her house to a stranger. Perhaps he would accidentally leave the door open and when she got back she’d worry there was someone inside the house, hiding upstairs.

  ‘Thank you so much for waiting with me,’ she said instead. She wanted to tell him to call round sometime. For a cup of tea. But that would also have been ridiculous. And inappropriate.

  Suddenly a police officer was standing on the top doorstep. ‘Apologies for the delay, Ms Denham. I’m Sergeant John Wilkes and this is PC Tyler.’ Sophie could see an unfamiliar female officer standing beside a police car that was parked immediately outside. Right where Jonah’s car had been earlier. ‘Mr Royston was transferred to Southampton General and is currently undergoing surgery.’

  ‘I thought Social Services were taking me.’

  ‘Social Services have been unable to locate a driver at short notice so we’ve undertaken to drive you there. Perhaps clear up a few details on the way. If I might have the car seat? That is assuming you have not made alternative arrangements for your daughter.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘What details?’

  Officer Wilkes presumed to step inside. ‘Mr Royston had no documentation on him at the time of the accident.’ His tone was almost accusatory. ‘We were hoping you might have access to his driving licence or passport. Some record of his national insurance number?’

  ‘I think Jonah keeps his licence and insurance papers in the car. But I’ve no idea where he keeps his passport. He was in Latvia for four weeks recently. Perhaps he keeps it in his business premises. I don’t remember ever seeing it.’

  Sergeant Wilkes did not respond. He just gave Sophie one of those policeman looks that made her feel she might have committed some felonious act that had temporarily slipped her memory. Sam Barnes took a step forward to stand beside her. ‘I’m a close friend. Samuel Barnes. Is there some kind of problem, officer?’

  Sergeant Wilkes glanced at Sophie. ‘Nothing for Ms Denham to worry about, Mr Barnes. Probably an administration glitch. But, in the absence of documentation, the hospital has been unable to locate any of Mr Royston’s details: his blood group, any existing medical conditions.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And, there appears to be nobody by the name of Jonah Royston registered as living at this address.’

  3

  ‘I don’t know what that means,’ said Sophie.

  ‘It means, at the very least, that Mr Royston is absent from the electoral roll,’ said Sergeant Wilkes. ‘Only an Emily Denham is registered as living here. And according to Council Tax records, this residence is listed as single occupancy.’

  ‘Emily Denham was my mother. This was her house. She died the year before last.’

  ‘As I said, Ms Denham, probably an administration glitch. It will undoubtedly all be resolved. Our most immediate concern is to take you and your daughter to Southampton. If I might have the child seat?’

  Sophie pointed into the kitchen. ‘It’s behind the door.’ She watched Officer Wilkes haul Laura’s car seat outside and looked at Sam Barnes. ‘Jonah thinks voting is a waste of time. And I don’t remember ever receiving any election papers.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that now. Why don’t you fetch Laura and I’ll help get your things into the car?’

  ‘But how can my mum still be listed as living here? I registered her death.’

  ‘That kind of information probably doesn’t filter through to the electoral roll. It’s a different bunch of pen-pushers. I think you’re legally obliged to complete those election papers each year, but they’re hardly going to throw you in jail for not doing it. Although they might get a bit shirty over you not paying enough council tax. Don’t worry about it right now. Does Jonah have any medical conditions they ought to know about?’

  ‘No. He’s rhesus positive. I had to have injections when I was pregnant. But I don’t think—’

  ‘Sophie, just tell them what you know.’

  * * *

  Sam Barnes helped load things into the car then returned to guard his bicycle and watch as Sergeant Wilkes pulled away. Sophie tried unsuccessfully to placate Laura, who was currently red-faced and screaming. ‘She’ll quieten down in a moment,’ she yelled.

  Officer Tyler glanced round and forced a smile then resumed staring at the windscreen. Eventually, Laura calmed and the car became unpleasantly silent. Sophie had never been relaxed about extended periods of silence, a shortcoming that, in the past, had provided many instances of her blurting out the exact wrong thing. And, right now, the silence was becoming oppressive. She leaned forward. ‘Jonah is rhesus positive,’ she said.

  ‘I imagine they would ha
ve discovered that by now,’ said Sergeant Wilkes.

  Sophie slumped back into her seat and tried to focus on the scenery: the rows of shops, houses, recycling bins, graffiti, then trees and hedges. Then the motorway. Increasingly unfamiliar. She had absolutely no idea where she was from one minute to the next. Such ignorance comes of not being a driver, of being conditioned to simply sitting and being taken places, usually by Jonah, occasionally by Katie. Katie was always pressuring her to learn to drive but Jonah had always discouraged it: they couldn’t afford to run two cars, and the insurance premium on a BMW with a new driver would have been extortionate.

  God, she needed to break the silence or she’d go mad. Again, she leaned forward. ‘How will I know where to go when we get there?’

  Officer Tyler inclined her head. ‘We’ll escort you to Reception and you’ll be directed from there. Mr Royston will undoubtedly be taken to Intensive Care during the post-operative period.’

  ‘Do you know how he is?’

  ‘I believe his condition remains critical,’ said Officer Wilkes. ‘The surgery is likely to continue for several hours.’

  Sophie glanced at Laura’s sleepy eyes. Perhaps she should have waited at home. She wanted to ask how much longer before they arrived at the hospital, but good sense told her that was verging on infantile. Yet again, she addressed the back of their heads. ‘We moved into the house the year before last, after my mother died.’ No reply. Sophie resumed looking through the window.

  Officer Tyler broke the silence. ‘Where did you live previously?’

  Did that sound like an attempt at friendly conversation? Not really.

  ‘We rented a flat. The other side of town.’

  ‘And Mr Royston’s place of work is nearby?’

  ‘Jonah rents some space at the Business Centre. He mostly has clients in London and the South, but he often takes contracts abroad. He was in Africa for six weeks in the spring. He missed Laura’s first Easter.’

  Silence resumed. Then Officer Tyler turned in her seat. ‘Does Mr Royston have any clients that need to be notified? You’re likely to have quite a long wait. Making a few phone calls would occupy some of the time.’ Another attempt at a smile.

  ‘I wouldn’t know how to contact his clients. Their details are probably on his phone.’

  ‘Mr Royston did not have a phone with him when he arrived at Accident and Emergency,’ said Officer Wilkes. It sounded snappish.

  ‘He probably left it in his car.’ She was beginning to feel uneasy.

  ‘And you have no house phone,’ said Constable Tyler.

  OK, now she was scared. ‘How do you know that, Constable Tyler?’

  Officer Wilkes was quick to reply. ‘We’ve been trying to trace Mr Royston’s records. On behalf of the hospital. But, also, regarding his involvement in today’s unfortunate traffic incident. Perhaps you would forward details once you’ve retrieved them from his car.’

  * * *

  Officers Wilkes and Tyler escorted Sophie and Laura to the brightly illuminated reception area and left them in the care of a youngish woman, who introduced herself as May Barnet, Family Support. Her face was rigid with sympathy and compassion. She fussed over Laura then bustled Sophie along the main concourse, past shops brimming with consumer opportunities, and on into the hospital Costa. Sophie took a quick look around her: tables, chairs, food cabinets filled with the usual quick-satisfaction carb snacks. Tired, worried people. Waiting. An air of resignation. A place to be because you had no choice: just like Sophie had no choice.

  ‘This would be the best place to wait,’ said Mrs Barnet. ‘It’s open twenty-four hours and it’s less-stressful than the Intensive Care Unit. I’ll take you there shortly. There’s a nice restaurant on Level B. And the Chaplaincy is on Level D, if you feel you need to chat to someone about the situation.’

  Sophie’s stomach took a dive. The last time she’d been encouraged to visit the hospital Chaplain was when her mother was unconscious and about to die. It had been a mistake. The Chaplain had offered to pray with her and it had made her angry. What was she supposed to be praying for? For her mother not to be dying? For her mother not to have developed cancer in the first place? For her mother to rally and open her eyes one last time and, amidst the pain, have one more cherished conversation with her daughters? Or perhaps for God to realise that allowing Emily Denham to suffer in this way was not her, Sophie Denham’s, idea of Divine Love. God’s punishment for mankind’s sin, the Chaplain had said. And all because a pair of unlikely miscreants had pissed him off way back at the beginning of time. No, seeing the person you loved most in the world being dealt that fate was incompatible with praying to a benign creator.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  Sophie looked up. ‘Yes, please. Is it all right if I use my phone?’

  ‘Sure. Although not in Intensive Care. Can I get anything for Laura?’

  ‘No, it’s OK. I’ve brought supplies. Will the people in Intensive Care be able to tell me how the surgery is going?’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll let us know as soon as there’s any news. I’ll just get our coffees.’ She wandered over to the counter and Sophie took the opportunity to phone Katie.

  * * *

  Katie Hurst had been Sophie’s closest friend for much of the last decade. They had met on an induction course in the days well before Jonah had entered the scene, and had spent several years sharing dates and holidays. Katie had met her husband around the same time that Jonah had been contracted to install a new computer system in the biotech company Sophie worked for. Katie had been married within the year and was filing for divorce before her third anniversary. Sophie and Jonah had chosen not to marry. Actually, Jonah had chosen not to marry. He had experienced a messy break-up not long before and was feeling bruised and cautious. And what did it matter? They had enjoyed a modestly happy relationship. At least, Sophie had believed it to be a modestly happy relationship until Jonah’s announcement earlier that day.

  Lately, though, she had suspected that Katie was reluctant to spend time with her when Jonah was around. Perhaps she’d had an inkling about Jonah’s intention to leave. Perhaps she had known about this other woman. Although, surely, she would have told her? But then people don’t, do they? People know about infidelity and feed it life by staying silent.

  May Barnet chatted to Sophie over their coffees. Sophie got the impression that her conversational skills were the result of some course in how to fill time in a potentially tragic situation. She also seemed to have majored in pulling faces and waving at babies. It was beginning to drive Sophie to distraction when, fortunately, Katie came bursting into the cafeteria. They hugged. May Barnet looked on, apprehensive. Substituted. She attempted to introduce herself, but Katie dismissed her with a brief handshake then hurried round to appreciate Laura. ‘Have they told you anything, Soph? Have you got to wait here?’

  ‘He’s in surgery. Then they’ll take him to Intensive Care. We’ll be able to wait there.’

  ‘I’m afraid they don’t allow occasional visitors in the ICU,’ said May Barnet.

  Sophie sensed a contest for her soul. ‘Perhaps, May, if you could show me the Intensive Care Unit. Katie could stay here and look after Laura while we’re away. Then I’d know where to go when Jonah comes out of surgery. And I wouldn’t have to take up any more of your time. There must be so many other people that need you.’

  May Barnet’s mouth twitched a half-smile. ‘Of course. If Mrs Hurst is happy to wait with your daughter.’

  * * *

  The lift down to Level B was almost as big as Sophie’s spare room, although instead of a bed there was a porter and an elderly man on a trolley. The lift came to a halt, the doors opened and the elderly man was wheeled out and away. Sophie stepped out into the lift area behind May Barnet and was briefly reminded of her twisted ankle. She followed her over to a set of swing doors and, as they opened, the smell of disinfectant hit her like a baseball bat.

  ‘Is it all Intensive Care o
n this level?’

  ‘Good gracious, no. There’s all sorts here.’

  It had been a stupid question. Sophie was an expert at stupid questions. So, she decided to say nothing, always the safest option, and followed May Barnet along identical corridors, reading signs, fearing that, without a guide, she would never find her way back to the lift and would be lost for ever in a super-sanitised hospital maze. The smell seemed to be intensifying. When Jonah came round after the surgery, it would be sure to drive him insane. She ought to mention his olfactory intolerance to the nursing staff.

  May Barnet came to a sudden halt in front of some wide swing doors, stroked a card across a security panel then led the way through into a world of humming and beeping and distant voices. She directed Sophie towards a reception desk where they waited in silence. Presently, a woman in scrubs came over and explained that Jonah would not be out of surgery for some hours and that a room would not become available until nearer the time. Then she hurried away to respond to a buzzing noise.

  On the way back to the lift Sophie recognised nothing. She recalled a fable in a long-ago storybook, about some hero finding his way out of a labyrinth by unwinding a trail of thread as he went in to kill a monster, then following the line of thread back out to safety. He might have been carrying the monster’s head with him on the way out. Although the monster’s head might have belonged in another story. Perhaps the head had belonged to Samson. She couldn’t remember.

  Back on the ground floor, May Barnet presented Sophie with a business card, told her to call if any problems arose, then wandered away towards Reception. Sophie inserted the card into her purse, behind the card Suzie Kay had given her earlier. She wondered if she would ever see her again, if she would recognise her if she passed her in the street. Her memories of the day were such a jumble. Hadn’t she said it was her day off? Yes. She worked for a travel service in Guildford. Poor woman, becoming embroiled in Jonah’s calamity like that. You can never know what the fates are going to throw at you.