22

His key card lets him into ICU. It’s late enough for the lights to be dimmed, throwing the corridors into shadow. A single light illuminates the reception desk where the nurse in charge is tapping her mobile phone, like her life depended on it, engrossed in some silly game when she should be caring for her patients.

She looks up and smiles at his uniform.

‘Hi.’

‘Evening. I brought the young girl in today. The one found in the woods. I just thought l’d drop by and see how she is, sit with her while you go and have your break. I know the family.’

The nurse puts her phone down, but the tinny music from her game still blares out. He wants to tell her to switch it off. This is ICU, not an amusement arcade, for goodness’ sake.

‘Are you a relative?’

For someone who thinks it’s acceptable to play games at work, her sudden decision to take her job seriously surprises him.

‘No, as I said, I’m the paramedic that brought her in. I saved her life. I just wanted to pop my head round the door to make sure she’s OK.’ He glances down the darkened corridor, trying to gauge which room she is in.

‘She’s still in the operating theatre.’

‘Oh?’

She nods in agreement, interpreting his response as a bad sign.

‘I know. It’s been five hours. Not good.’

Five hours. They’re fighting to keep her alive. Hopefully, it’s a battle they’ll lose, not that he can share that with this excuse for a nurse.

‘So what time are you expecting her?’

‘No idea.’ The nurse shrugs.

He hesitates, trying to decide what to do. He can’t wait. That would look odd.

‘I’ll pop back later.’

‘I’m not sure they’ll let you in. She’s in a pretty bad way. The mother’s around here somewhere. She just went to get a coffee. If you wait, she’ll be back any minute. Maybe you could speak to her.’

He’d forgotten her mother would be around. He definitely can’t risk being seen by her. Not that she would suspect him. He’s a paramedic.

‘It’s fine. I don’t want to bother her unnecessarily.’

‘Yeah. I’d leave it if I were you.’ She checks both ways and leans across the desk. ‘Between you and me, I don’t think she’s going to make it. Sorry, I know you guys did the best you could.’

‘Thanks.’ He makes for the exit, pauses and turns back to the nurse. ‘By the way, I heard one of the ward sisters moaning about the night staff spending too much time on their phones. They’ve been checking the CCTV and anyone they catch is looking at a disciplinary.’

She squints at the camera as her phone disappears under the desk.

‘Shit. Really?’

But he’s already buzzed himself out.

The toilet cistern digs into his back, but he doesn’t care, he’s spent. He’s been through hell, these last hours. First, Trisha changes her mind about going shopping and then she insists on riding up back with the girl. Then, just when he’s managed to bring it back from the brink of disaster, she’s not even on the ward.

He was so looking forward to it too. It all seemed so perfect. Just the two of them, surrounded by the dark and the quiet. But it’s all been for nothing and now all he’s left with is the memory of their meeting on the trail. What use is that?

Maybe, just this once, if he concentrates hard enough, it will be enough. Closing his eyes, he makes himself as comfortable as he can on the toilet seat.

People always see the uniform first and she was no different. She was wondering what a paramedic was doing there, but then as he drew closer, she recognized him and smiled. It made his heart swell. Not everyone remembers him.

He remembered her even though it had been six months since they had met in the school hall and even then they had been surrounded by flapping teachers muttering about health and safety and a grandmother who was seriously put out at being there.

When he met her, he assumed she would be too difficult a nut to crack. Teenagers usually are. Their natural contempt and in-built defensiveness towards anyone more than five years older than them can make them more trouble than they’re worth, but she was different. She was happy to answer his questions in the back of the ambulance, but then she’s probably been taught to trust men in uniform. By the time they reached the hospital she had told him everything he needed to know. Even then, he wasn’t sure about her. You might win a teenager’s confidence, but can you trust them to keep their mouths shut? They’re so unpredictable alongside a predisposition to share their every waking thought with the world and his dog. Still, he gave it a go, but when she batted away attempts to meet, he began to admit defeat. Besides, he had other options. At that point, the girl Janie was a much better bet anyway. It wasn’t until he saw her photo in the car park at Morte Sands and realized she was the CSI’s daughter that his interest was reignited. The CSI was so like Danielle that he struggled not to stare at her. He seriously considered switching his attentions to her. It would almost be reliving history, every glorious moment of it. But these things take time, and she’d be wary. All police people are suspicious. She’d take a lot of planning. No, right now, he’d make do with her daughter, but the CSI was definitely one for the future.

He didn’t immediately react, he didn’t want to spook her, so he kept it casual and walked by before pausing and turning back.

‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

She nodded, still smiling, pleased to see a friendly face out on the trail.

‘Yes, I fell off the beam at school and knocked myself out. You took me to the hospital, to make sure I didn’t have a concussion.’

‘That’s right. I remember. You were with your gran.’

‘Yes. My mum was working so the school called my nana.’

‘Let me think… TwilightSparkle – right?’

‘Er, yes.’

She squirmed at the mention of her Instagram username. Like her friends, she didn’t use her real name. Maybe she was embarrassed by its childishness, maybe it was because she’d shared it with him as he tended to her. He didn’t care.

‘So, how’s the head?’

‘All better.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Waiting for a friend.’

‘Who’s the lucky boy? I’m guessing it’s a boy. With all the effort you’ve made.’

She smoothed her long auburn hair, but it was a self-conscious act, like she was embarrassed he’d noticed.

‘Yes.’

‘Guess he must be special, though, if you’re meeting him out here?’

He was being childish, but he wanted to hear her tell him how amazing he was. She didn’t disappoint.

‘Yeah, he is. Really funny and sweet.’

‘And good-looking, I’ll bet.’

Her cheeks flushed red.

‘This is the first time we’ve met.’

‘Like a blind date.’

‘S’pose.’

But she wasn’t interested in him. She was turning her phone in her lap desperate to read its screen and find out where her Prince Charming had got to. He wanted to grab her there and then and tell her: Ruggerboy666 is me.

‘Look, he sounds perfect. You have fun and be careful, right. There’s a lot of weirdos out there.’

She laughed and he strolled away, distracted by the curlews out in the estuary, spearing the mudflats with their knitting-needle-thin beaks, until he rounded a bend and ducked back into the woods.

Keeping low, he climbed the steep bank and tracked over to where she was sitting. Leaning against a tree, looking down, he had a direct view of her back.

She glanced at her phone and scanned the trail. Ruggerboy666, or rather Peter, was late. She wasn’t going to wait much longer. He couldn’t blame her. It was rude to keep her waiting, but he couldn’t make his move. Not yet.

He spotted a yellow bike frame through the trees. He’d come, Peter, wearing the red puffer jacket like he’d told him to. He skidded to a halt in front of her, his back tyre swinging out. It was meant to impress her, but she was surprised and annoyed by the act, shifting in her seat, turning her head sideways, hoping her body language would be enough to repel him. But Peter isn’t the type to pick up on signals.

He said something to her and she shook her head. He spoke again. He couldn’t hear what Peter was saying, but he didn’t have to. The words that came out of Peter’s mouth were his.

Then he heard him.

‘You’re very beautiful. I want to stroke your hair and kiss your lips.’

‘Go away.’ She said this loudly enough for him to hear, her eyes sweeping the trail for her knight to rescue her. Don’t worry, you won’t have to endure him for much longer.

Peter dug around in his pocket and produced the bag of Minstrels he’d given him. It had already been opened. He offered the bag to her, but she ignored him. Never take sweets from a stranger. Everyone knows that.

Peter helped himself to a handful of Minstrels and shoved the packet back into his pocket. He crunched happily on them for a few minutes, still sitting on his bike, while she pretended he wasn’t there.

‘I want to make love to you.’

He almost burst out laughing at the suddenness of this although he knew it was coming, but she didn’t find it funny. She leaped to her feet, her phone clattering to the ground, and shouted at him.

‘Look, just fuck off or I’ll call the police.’

Such language for one so young. So coarse, but he had to take some of the blame. Her anger sent Peter into retreat. A face full of confused hurt, he swung his bike round and cycled back towards the town, but he’d been there long enough to condemn himself.

He made his way down the bank and emerged from the woods, feigning breathlessness.

‘Was that boy bothering you?’

Still flushed from her outburst, she didn’t question what he was doing in the woods.

‘A bit.’

He felt her relief. It had been bravado: Peter had scared her.

‘Do you want me to call the police?’

‘No, it’s OK. Thank you.’

She smiled at him. She was in safe hands now. He was no threat to her. She could relax now. Silly girl.

‘I better be going.’

He took her arm. She tensed but was too polite to brush him off.

‘There’s no hurry.’

‘My mum’s waiting for me.’

Ah, that old chestnut. The thing is, he knew she was lying. She didn’t tell her mum she was there because she hated her mum and, anyway, she didn’t care about her. No one cared about her. That’s what she told him.

‘It’s OK. You’re safe with me.’

And then she understood. That delicious moment when they realized they’d got it wrong, but before she could resist, he had slapped his palm over her mouth. But he must move on.

He calls up the memory of her body lying on the ground. Like studying a great painting in a gallery, he examines every inch of her form until he reaches her face. Still. Serene. At peace. His.

His breath shortens and his heart begins to beat so hard it hurts, forcing the blood through his veins, like it’s willing him on. It’s working. You can do it, Simon. He squeezes his eyes tight to make sure her face, her stillness remains anchored in his mind. He wants this so badly, surely that counts for something. Yes, yes, it’s happening, this is it. He knows it.

He looks down and the sight drives the air from him.

Nothing.

He nudges it, but it just lies there: flaccid, limp, lifeless, impotent. Useless. Tilting his head back, he stares up at the grubby grey ceiling and he just wants to scream. He touches his cheeks. They’re damp and he realizes he is crying big, fat, silent tears.

Danielle would have found this hilarious, of course.