Or maybe headbutt her again.
Instead Arthur dropped his hands and turned away. ‘Tidy up. When you’re finished I’ve got a job for you.’
9
Kay was waiting for her after school. She made her way through the crowds spilling out of the school gates and slung her backpack over her shoulder. He sat up on the high wall.
‘What’s going on?’ Billi asked.
‘Read this,’ said Kay as he passed Billi a sheet of paper. It was an email from the head of the children’s ward of some hospital. She scanned it. Four kids had died in the last two days. Their hearts had simply stopped. The autopsies had brought up nothing. Each child had only been in for minor operations, tonsillectomies, grommets and one, Rupresh Patel, just for an in-growing toenail. But it didn’t seem much to go on.
‘Dad thinks it’s something supernatural?’
‘That’s for us to find out.’
The main building of China Wharf Hospital, a tall six-storey Victorian structure, reeked of decay. There was a damp odour clinging to the walls, green mould coated the drainpipes and the wooden window frames were rotten and cracked. The hospital never saw direct sunlight. It was forever cringing in the shadows cast by the titanic towers of nearby Canary Wharf. A couple of sallow-faced patients sat in wheelchairs, numbly staring up at the glass-faced bastions of wealth. Beside them a trio of weary nurses having their cigarette break, clustered together under the entrance canopy.
‘Let’s go to work,’ Billi said, and entered through the hospital gates.
They pushed their way through the outpatients reception area. Every seat was filled, and almost every patch of floor space too. There were lots of kids, some in buggies, others being cradled by their parents, while a seriously harassed-looking registrar was trying to make his way through the dense mass to prioritize the worst. It looked like something out of a Third World news story. Billi ploughed through the crowd towards the lifts. Kay hadn’t moved. He stood in the middle, eyes narrowed.
‘What’s up?’ she asked.
Kay frowned. ‘Do you hear something?’
Billi concentrated. ‘A bunch of screaming kids. Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Can’t tell. Maybe nothing.’
‘Fine. Let’s get a move on.’
Kay had checked the building plans on the web; the children’s ward was on the top floor. They slipped into the lift with a party of visitors. Kay pulled out a box of Quality Streets, wrapped in a bow. In case anyone stopped them, they’d pretend they were visiting a friend.
They made their way up floor by floor. Through a pair of large wooden doors they entered a grim series of rooms. Someone, a long time ago, had tried to decorate the walls with scenes of cartoon characters, colourful rainbows and portraits of cheerful patients. But over time, and through lack of care, patches of damp now discoloured the ceiling tiles. The smiling portraits had sickly, cancerous skin as the paint had aged, flaked and yellowed. There were four wards on either side, then the special care unit containing a regiment of occupied incubators with the maternity unit beyond.
‘You check down there -’ Kay pointed at the west-end ward – ‘and I’ll look here. Give me a shout if you see anything strange.’
Billi had expected there to be some life, some ambient noise of natural childish laughter and excitement. But there was none. A single ward nurse sat at the viewing station, almost hidden behind the high battlement of the desk. In the staff room beyond Billi could hear Eastenders crackling through the speakers of an old telly, and there were two other nurses within, lying almost comatose on their armchairs, each staring dumb-eyed at the flickering screen.
Billi moved down the corridor, fighting down the feeling of cold unease.
From their beds the children seemed listless, while others watched her with icy distrust.
What was she looking for? There were beds, there were sick kids. What else did she expect? It was a hospital. Another one of her dad’s paranoid fantasies. She couldn’t see Kay – where had he gone? She wanted to wrap this up and go home.
‘Excuse me, dear, but are you a visitor?’ A ward nurse had appeared out of nowhere. ‘These children need rest and if you’re not visiting you should leave.’ She spoke with a weary firmness, not harsh, but certain.
Billi pointed at a door and headed to it. ‘I’m here to see -’ she got closer and noticed a sign, REBECCA WILLIAMSON – ‘my friend, Becky. Just for a minute.’ And she went in.
The lights were off and the curtains drawn, but there was enough illumination from the pallid glow of the monitors to see a girl asleep in the bed. She was small, seven or eight, with a drip in her arm, a pulse sensor tapped to her finger and a breathing tube threaded through her nose. Her hair was thin and Billi could see her skull, the skin thin and lined with blue veins. Billi would wait here a minute then sneak out and find Kay.
The girl opened her eyes. When she breathed it sounded like she was trying to suck air in against the will of her body.
‘Hello,’ said the girl. Her voice was fragile and weak.
Billi wanted to leave, but she looked into the girl’s eyes and saw the life burning fiercely within. The girl wanted to do something other than just wait in the dark.
‘Hi… Rebecca.’
Rebecca let out a long breath, then with great effort sucked in a new lungful. Her skinny body trembled under the sheets.
‘Are my mum and dad here?’
‘No, I’m sure they won’t be long, though.’
The girl started crying. Her head jerked slightly and her tears bubbled then trickled down. There was hardly any sobbing, just a short feeble panting sound. Billi looked around the room and found a box of tissues. She passed Rebecca a handful. She watched as the girl limply lifted them and the effort to wipe her face exhausted her. The damp tissues floated to the floor.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’m afraid.’
Billi didn’t know what to say. Comforting the sick was work for Hospitallers, not Templars. She just stared at the way Rebecca’s skeletal chest rose and sank. She could see the ribs beneath the white nightdress.
Rebecca turned to face her. Her focus settled on the silver crucifix round Billi’s neck. ‘Do you believe in God?’
Did she? Billi touched the cross out of habit. She’d spent half her life praying to Allah, the other half to Jesus. She’d asked her dad early on how she should pray. Arthur’s answer, for a Templar Master, had been a heretical one. He didn’t know, and thought God, whoever He was, probably didn’t care.
‘I… suppose.’
‘Why?’
Billi looked at the dying child, at how her brittle fingers gripped the sheets. ‘I guess… there has to be a reason why the world’s the way it is. A reason why -’ she listened to the terrible sucking noise as Rebecca fought on – ‘a reason why bad things happen.’
Rebecca closed her eyes. ‘My mummy never used to pray -’ her breathing setting into the shallowest, quietest ripple – ‘but she does now, all the time.’
‘Billi?’ Kay’s head appeared round the door. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere -’ He looked at Rebecca, eyes widening. He came in and grabbed Billi’s arm.
‘Leave. Now.’
‘What is it?’
‘We’ve got to tell Arthur,’ said Kay. He was already backing away, dragging Billi with him. He was terrified. His eyes darted into the corners of the room, into the shadows.
Billi tugged her arm free. ‘Stop freaking. What is it?’
Kay looked like he was going to run. Instead he took Billi by the shoulders and turned her round, facing the sick girl. He stood behind her and covered her eyes with his hands. Billi felt their coldness on her eyelids.
‘What are you do-’
‘Look.’ He separated his fingers, letting the sight slowly filter in. Billi blinked as the cobwebs of reality gently tore apart.