The hours passed slowly, punctuated by an expedition to the ladies’ to put Laura into her sleeping bag, a trip to the restaurant on Level B and several returns to those two incriminating Exeter images. As the evening plodded by, Laura slept in her pram and Katie and Sophie lounged uncomfortably on a couple of hard chairs. Sophie ventured over to the Neurological Unit twice and was given very little information. On both occasions, she managed to find her way back to the lift without the need for a ball of thread and, along the way, she did a lot of thinking about Jonah clinking glasses in Exeter when he should have been in Mauritania. Perhaps they were jumping to conclusions. Perhaps he’d come home via Exeter to visit some company or other. A company that woman worked for. And she’d taken him to dinner. Perhaps wearing a wedding ring was Jonah’s way of not getting involved. He wouldn’t have bothered to mention it. He never discussed his business affairs with her. It was almost midnight when Sophie nudged Katie and insisted she go home because she had to go to work within hours and this was really her dilemma and hers alone.
‘I’ll phone in sick.’
‘No, Katie! People who phone in sick never get promoted. And I can’t see me getting away from here for hours. I’ll ring you as soon as there’s any news.’
‘Will you be all right on your own?’
‘Yeh.’
Katie rubbed her eyes. ‘Sophie, what are you actually doing here? I mean, surely you’re not going to let him move back in with you?’
‘Well he didn’t actually manage to move out, did he? And he is Laura’s father.’
Katie shrugged. ‘OK, Soph. Phone me the minute you need me.’
‘I will. And drive carefully. I don’t want you finishing up in a ditch because you’re exhausted. That would be something else to hold against Jonah.’
‘Perhaps it would help tip the balance.’
‘Yes, well, don’t do it.’
Sophie watched Katie disappear towards Reception then settled back into her uncomfortable chair, determined to stay awake, just in case someone attempted to steal Laura. Babies had been stolen from hospitals in the past, albeit usually newborns. She was surprised, therefore, to be jolted awake by a woman in scrubs and informed that Mr Royston was now in Intensive Care and a surgeon was available to discuss the situation if she came straight away. She jumped up and checked Laura was still in her pram, checked her watch: one twenty. Laura hadn’t stirred since falling asleep at around eight. At least Jonah had presented her with this situation when Laura was still young enough to be contained in a pram.
Back on Level B, Sophie left Laura with the woman in scrubs and was escorted into a side room, empty apart from a bed, a person whose head was swathed in bandages – presumably Jonah – and a mass of equipment to which he was attached. Even his eyes were bandaged over and the place where his mouth ought to be was blocked by a fat tube, which fed into the machine that was breathing on his behalf. No chair. She waited. After a few minutes, a doctor walked in, shook her hand and introduced himself as Ben Donovan: grey haired, weary, green scrubs, a red splodge just below his knee. Nice manner. He explained that Jonah’s skull fracture had caused some damage to the surface of his left dorsal cerebral hemisphere. The protective layers had been ruptured causing leakage of cerebrospinal fluid and, obviously, some moderate bleeding into the intracranial space. They were not able to anticipate the extent to which neurological function might be compromised by this. It had been necessary to remove fragments of bone and a small amount of superficial brain tissue and he was being held in an induced coma for the moment. Did she have any questions?
Questions? Yes, she did have questions. For a start, what did removing bone and brain tissue mean? If you remove fragments of skull bone, does the person’s skull grow back or does it always have a hole in it? Was the small bit of brain they removed the bit that contained all Jonah’s intelligence? Would Jonah still be able to do his puzzles with a piece of his brain missing? He loved his puzzle books. What was she thinking? She’d been a biologist once. Those higher things, like intelligence and memory, they all functioned deep inside the brain, not just immediately under a skull fracture. Didn’t they? She needed to ask. But all she heard herself say was: ‘What about his ear?’
‘The ear has been reattached. The attachment will most likely prove successful. Quite a clean detachment, involving only the exterior part of the ear. The tympanic membrane, the eardrum, has been compromised, although there appears to be no middle or inner ear damage. There may be some unilateral hearing loss.’
Sophie felt a wave of nausea. She looked at the person lying there, looking like an early Hollywood version of the Invisible Man. ‘How long will he be in the coma?’
‘Several days. Once you’ve stayed with him for a while, you might consider returning home. There can be little virtue in subjecting yourself and… is it a son or daughter?’
‘A daughter. Laura.’
He smiled. ‘There’s little to be gained in subjecting yourself and Laura to any more discomfort. So, I would suggest that you return home to wait. We’ll notify you of any changes in your husband’s condition. And, of course, you may phone in for updates. We’re hopeful that, although Mr Royston’s condition is critical, he will make a fair recovery.’
‘Fair?’
‘It’s unlikely that such an injury will not carry consequences, although many head injury patients do return to a normal life. He will probably need a period of rehabilitation. But let’s cross that bridge when the time comes, shall we?’
Sophie sighed. It was pointless asking anything else. Futile. Too many permutations of good news and bad news and nobody knowing. So, she thanked the surgeon and he left. She lingered for a while trying to deal with the tirade of thoughts that were crashing through her mind but she was too tired to organise them into any kind of logical order. It would be better if Laura woke in her own room. She wished she hadn’t insisted Katie left. She couldn’t phone her now: she was probably asleep, dreaming away the trauma she had been dragged into. She’d call a cab. There were approved numbers by reception. So, that’s what she did. The cab driver was apologetic about the fare. It was double rate after midnight. And it wasn’t officially morning until seven o’clock. Sophie shrugged: money was the least of her concerns. Of course, that situation was about to change.
Sophie suffered a restless couple of hours, drifting in and out of dreamy sleep, with each transition being filled with the kind of madness that revels in fear and doubt: Jonah’s detached ear lying in the gutter; Laura stolen from her pram; peeling Jonah’s bandages away and discovering that his head had degenerated into a mass of macaroni cheese; Sam Barnes unloading the dishwasher wearing nothing but her Cath Kidston apron. Right, enough was enough! She sat up and checked the alarm clock: seven twenty. Laura was stirring.
Sophie turned towards Jonah’s side of the bed, touched his cold pillow. She was used to sleeping alone when he was on his trips, but today his half of the bed looked more than unslept in. It looked left. Just like her. Last night she had been desperate to rationalise; today she wasn’t feeling that generous. Perhaps, even if his Exeter stopover had been legitimate, perhaps his clinking-glass supper had proved to be so enjoyable that he’d decided to embrace West Country life permanently. Perhaps that woman was his somebody else. Sophie pictured her sitting at home wondering why he hadn’t contacted her. Why he wasn’t there with her to start their new life together. Perhaps she’d been trying to call him. She needed to check Jonah’s mobile for incriminating evidence, but she didn’t want to do that right then. Instead, she concentrated on getting herself and Laura ready for the day, and that way she managed to put off thinking until almost nine thirty, when she phoned the hospital and was told that Jonah’s condition was unchanged.
The doorbell rang.
Sophie’s heart skipped several beats. She bundled Laura into her playpen then hurried through to the front door. This time her heart almost stopped completely: Officer Wilkes was standing on her top step, Officer Tyler on the pavement below, holding Laura’s car seat. Sophie wrung her hands. ‘Is it about Jonah? They said there was no change.’
Officer Wilkes held up his hand. ‘No, no. We gather Mr Royston is as well as can be expected. We’re returning your car seat.’ His attitude seemed to have mellowed. ‘And we were hoping you might be able to provide us with Mr Royston’s car details. There are a few problems related to yesterday’s traffic incident. If we could come inside?’
Sophie stepped back and directed the two officers into her lounge, invited them to take a seat, glanced at Officer Tyler, who gave her a convincing smile. OK, that was unexpected.
‘What’s this all about, Officer Wilkes?’
‘Ms Denham, might we ask how long Mr Royston has owned his vehicle? The black BMW?’
‘About three years, I think.’ How could they expect her to know such things at a time like this? ‘Isn’t the road tax up to date?’
‘No, no, the vehicle’s documents are in perfect order. The problem arises from the fact that the vehicle does not appear to belong to Mr Royston.’