‘You need to be checked over, love. You were knocked out.’
‘I know I’m a knockout.’ Lola beamed up at the curiously attractive paramedic ... OK, so he was in his fifties and resembled a pig but he had lovely eyes. Will you dance with me?’
‘Course I will, love. Just as soon as you’re better.’ He grinned down at her.
‘You’re gorgeous.’ How on earth had she never found big double chins and enormous stomachs attractive before? ‘I know, I know. Johnny Depp, that’s me.’
‘No you’re not, you’re way better than him.’ As she was expertly lifted onto the stretcher Lola gazed adoringly up atthe paramedic and wondered why he was swaying back and forth. ‘You look like Hagrid.’
’Mum, I’m fine. They’ve X-rayed my skull and checked me out all over. It was just a bash on the head.’ Gingerly Lola leaned forward in bed to show her mother the egg-sized bump. ‘They’re discharging me later. They only kept me in overnight because I was knocked out for a few seconds and when I came round I was a bit muddled.’
‘So I’ve just been hearing in the nurses’ office,’ said Blythe. ‘Apparently you were hilarious, propositioning one of the poor ambulance men. I can’t believe you did something so ridiculous.’
‘It wasn’t my fault! I was concussed!’
‘I don’t mean that. I’m talking about you launching yourself into a dangerous situation. You could have been killed.’
This had occurred to Lola too; at the time she’d simply acted on impulse although in retrospect it had been a bit of a reckless thing to do. ‘But I wasn’t. And I’m OK.’ Apart from the blistering headache. ‘Could you give work a ring and tell them I should be in tomorrow?’
‘I most certainly will not. I’ll tell them you might be in next week, depending on how you feel.’
‘Mum, how are they going to feel if you tell them that? It’s December! Everyone’s rushed off their feet!’
‘And you were knocked unconscious,’ Blythe retorted. ‘Anything could have happened. My God, for once in your life will you listen to me?’
A man who’d been walking up the ward stopped and said genially, ‘It always pays to do as your mother tells you.’ He was in his sixties, well-spoken and smartly dressed in a suit. Was this her consultant? Lola sat up a bit straighter in bed and smiled expectantly, all ready to convince him that she was well enough to be allowed home. After last night’s debacle with the paramedic she’d better put on a good show
‘Miss Malone?’
‘That’s me.’ Eagerly Lola nodded. To prove her brain was in good working order, he’d probably ask her the kind of questions doctors used on old people when they wanted to find out if they were on the ball. OK, what was the capital of Australia? What was thirty-three times seven?
Yeesh, don’t let him ask her to name the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer.
‘Hello.’ He moved towards her, smiling and extending his hand.
‘Hi!’ Quick, was it Melbourne? Victoria? Lola’s brain was racing. People always thought it was Sydney but she knew it definitely wasn’t. Might he give her half a point for that, at least?
The man shook her hand warmly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Philip Nicholson.’
He even smelled delicious. Watching him turn to shake her mother’s hand, Lola breathed in his expensive aftershave. Goodness, what charming manners, this was like being in a private hospital and getting — ooh, was it Perth?
‘I just had to come and see you,’ he went on.
‘Well, I suppose you couldn’t avoid it. All part of the job description!’ Lola beamed at him, aware that he was looking at her head. Touching the tender area she said, ‘Bit of a bump, that’s all. I’m absolutely fine. Except, can I just quickly tell you that I’m rubbish at capital cities?’
Philip Nicholson hesitated and glanced over at Blythe, who shrugged and looked baffled.
‘In case that’s what you were going to ask me,’ Lola hurriedly explained. ‘I mean, some are all right, like Paris and Amsterdam and Madrid, they’re easy, and I do happen to know that the capital of Azerbaijan is Baku, but in general I have to say that capitals aren’t my strong point’To be on the safe side she added, ‘Neither’s politics.’
Carefully Dr Nicholson said, ‘That’s not a problem. I won’t ask any questions about either subject.’
‘Phew, what a relief.’ Lola relaxed back against her piled-up pillows. ‘I’d hate to be kept in just because I couldn’t name the leader of the Liberal Democrats.’
Dr Nicholson cleared his throat and said, ‘I’m sure that wouldn’t happen.’
‘Well, hopefully not, but sometimes you do know the answer and you just can’t think of it.
Someone fires a question at you, you know it’s important to get it right and — boom! — your mind goes blank!’
‘Of course it does.’ He nodded understandingly.
‘Like, let’s try it with you.’ Lola waggled an index finger at him. ‘Capital of Australia.’
Dr Nicholson hesitated. Blythe, never able to resist a quiz question, let out a squeak of excitement and raised her arm. Lola swung the pointing finger round and barked in Paxmanesque fashion, ‘Yes, Mum?’
‘Sydney!’
‘No it isn’t.’ Lola returned her attention to Dr Nicholson. ‘Your turn.’
He was looking somewhat taken aback. Opening his mouth to reply, he
‘Brisbane!’
‘Sshh, Mum. It isn’t your go.’
‘Um...’
‘Melbourne!’ squealed Blythe.
‘Mum, control yourself. It’s Dr Nicholson’s turn.’
At this, his shoulders relaxed and his mouth began to twitch. ‘It’s Canberra. And I’ve just worked out what’s going on. I’m not Dr Nicholson, by the way.’
Bemused, Lola said, ‘No?’
He smiled. ‘Entirely my fault. I knew the police had told you our name last night and I kind of assumed you’d remember. But you were concussed. I’m sorry, let’s start again. My name’s Philip Nicholson and I’m here to thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming to my wife’s rescue.You did an incredibly brave thing and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful we are.’ His voice thickened with emotion. ‘Those thugs could have killed her if you hadn’t gone to help.’
Lola clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I thought you were my consultant, coming to check whether I was compos mentis: Philip Nicholson looked amused. ‘I realise that now.’
‘Phew! Just as well I didn’t think you were here to examine my chest.’ God, imagine if she’d whipped her top off, that would’ve given him a bit of a start.
‘Quite.’
‘How’s your wife this morning?’ said Lola.
‘Well, still shocked. Battered and bruised. Two broken fingers.’ There was a hard edge to his voice now. ‘Where they tried to wrench her rings off!
Did they get them?’
‘No. Which is also thanks to you. She’s pretty shaken up, and her face is swollen. But physically it could have been a lot worse.’ Philip Nicholson shook his head and slowly exhaled. ‘My wife and I owe you so much.’
Lola squirmed, embarrassed. Anyone would have done the same: ‘No they wouldn’t,’ Blythe retorted. ‘Most people would have had more sense.’
Their visitor nodded. ‘I’m inclined to agree. Though very grateful, of course, that your daughter wasn’t—’
‘Hello, hello! Morning, all!’ A little man wearing a maroon corduroy jacket over a green hand-knitted sweater came bouncing up to them. Pumping Lola’s hand and simultaneously pulling closed the curtains around the bed, he said, ‘I’m Dr Palmer, your consultant. Let’s just give you a quick once-over, shall we? If you two could leave us alone for ten minutes that’d be marvellous.
I say, that’s a fair-sized bump on your head. How are you feeling after your little adventure last night?’