Dead Scared

THE WOMAN BEHIND the hospital’s main reception desk gazed at Nick Bell as if he were a rock star who’d just wandered in off the streets. Not that I could entirely blame her. I made a point of avoiding exceptionally good-looking men myself, they always behaved as though they were doing you a big favour, but there was something about Bell, about the way he seemed oblivious of his looks and gave you his full attention, that was flattering in spite of all the warnings you could give yourself.

We’d gone back in to see Bryony again but there had seemed little point staying with a patient who was deeply sedated. ‘If she’s awake I just sit and talk to her for a while,’ Bell had told me in a low voice. ‘Any old stuff about what’s going on in the news, how the various university sports teams are doing. I imagine it must get quite bewildering for her otherwise, having no idea of the time, hearing nothing but nurses creeping around her and doctors muttering medical terminology.’

‘What about her family?’ I’d asked.

Nick’s mouth had given a little twist but he avoided making eye contact. ‘They’ve visited,’ he said. ‘Although not for a while. They live some way away. And she doesn’t seem to have many friends. I don’t know, maybe peace and quiet is what she needs. Maybe I’m just trying to salve my own conscience.’

We didn’t talk on the way out of the hospital. Nick seemed genuinely upset by the condition Bryony was in. Outside, the air was so cold I felt as though my face had been slapped.

‘It won’t be easy for you,’ he said, as we reached the car park. ‘Joining a university partway through the academic year. Friendships are already formed. Everyone around you will appear to know exactly what they’re doing. They’ll be busy. Won’t have time to look after a newcomer.’

‘I expect I’ll cope,’ I replied, before remembering I wasn’t self-reliant, cope-if-it-kills-me Lacey Flint any more. I was Laura Farrow, insecure and vulnerable. ‘I know what you mean though,’ I back-pedalled quickly. ‘Everyone seems to have formed tight little groups. I haven’t even met my room-mate yet. She’s never in.’

We’d reached my car. Bell glanced up at the clouds, which had taken on the colour of charcoal now the sun had gone in, then back down at me. ‘It was kind of you to come and see Bryony,’ he said. ‘Take care.’

He turned, walked quickly over to an old Range Rover, climbed inside and drove away.