I felt a hand on my cheek, its touch warm, soft, and familiar. Opening my eyes, saw Sarah standing over the bed.
“Jack, I’ve been so worried.”
“Nothing to worry about now,” I said, opening my arms and sitting up, only to feel my side shoot with a spasmic pain. “Oh,” I groaned, lying down again. “Perhaps you’d better come to me, Sarah.”
And she did, throwing herself around me, which also hurt my sprained neck (‘sorry darling, is there any part of you that doesn’t ache?’), clinging for several minutes before withdrawing her embrace and sitting down on the side of the bed.
“I got the call last night from the police but there was nothing I could do until this morning. Train took hours and hours. Stopped everywhere, almost no food, and changes in Birmingham, Bristol, Plymouth and—”
“Never mind, you’re here now. Er… could you lift this pillow, help me sit up?”
“Of course, darling.”
“Did you speak to the doctor?”
“I spoke to the school matron, what’s her name?”
“Mrs Davey.”
“Yes, Mrs Davey. Seems the doctor says your wounds are superficial.”
“Superficial. Ha, he should see for himself what it feels like.”
“What the doctor meant, darling,” she said, kissing me again, “is that they’re not lasting wounds, and he also thinks you could leave here today providing you’re careful, don’t wear a seat belt, and I do any driving.”
“All the way home?”
“No, just back to the hotel for a quiet evening. And they’ll all be keen to see you, Morwenna, Pasco and co.”
“How d’you know?”
“I dropped my bag off on the way here. Ever so concerned they were.”
“Alright,” I said, envisaging anything but a quiet evening. “But let’s move to a ground floor room, I don’t fancy all those stairs.”