Julie Smith, the nurse who’d admitted me, was standing in my room when I got back. I opened the door and the initial look of panic on her face turned to anger when she saw it was me.
“And where do you think you’ve been?” she said. “Do you think I’ve got time to hang around patients’ rooms, waiting for them to decide whether to show up?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realise you were coming back, tonight.”
“I told you I was.”
“Really? I don’t remember. And the truth is, I’ve got a bit of a problem.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I took two halting, half steps backwards then sat down heavily on the bed, my right hand settling against my temple for a couple of seconds before I let it fall back to my side.
“Are you OK?” she said.
“Not really,” I said.
“How are you feeling? Can you describe it to me?”
“Tired. Absolutely exhausted. It just came over me. I feel like I need to sleep for a week.”
The nurse’s hands didn’t move from her hips but her head tipped slightly to the side, she let out a long, slow, breath, and the harsh expression on her face began to gradually soften.
“Heightened fatigue is perfectly normal in these situations, Mr Trevellyan. Your body’s trying to repair itself. That takes a lot of energy. So try not to fret. Everything will sort itself out, in time. And for now, we’ll keep a really good eye on you. At least you’re back in the right place.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate the care you’re taking of me. But now, I really need to get off to sleep.”
“You’re probably right. But let’s have a look at you, first. Best to be sure, you know.”
“Couldn’t we leave that till morning? I’m honestly fit to drop.”
“No,” she said, reaching for the chart which was hanging from the foot rail of the bed. “I’ve got to do your obs’ now. Those are the rules. Now come on. Play along, and I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Nurse Smith was true to her word. She wasted no time with her poking, prodding, and scribbling. But fast as she was with her observations, I was faster to grab my phone from the bedside table drawer the second the door closed behind her.
There was a knock on my door at 9.35 the next morning, but it wasn’t one of the nurses coming to check on me. It was the MI5 agent. She was back in her wheelchair. Her blonde hair was straighter than before, making it appear slightly longer. The blue of her eyes seemed a little more pronounced. A hint of lavender and bergamot washed over me as she opened the door. And surprisingly after last night, I saw she was smiling.
“Question for you,” she said, from just inside the doorway. “Destiny. Do you know what determines it?”
“That’s profound for this time of the morning,” I said. “Do they serve coffee early, on your floor?”
“Coffee, no. And it’s not so profound, either. The answer, apparently, is ‘the choices we make, and the chances we take.’”
“Oh, OK. I’m with you. And I’m getting a vision. An old rowing boat, painted white, tied up on a deserted sandy beach. Crystal clear water lapping against its picturesquely weathered sides. Some kind of weird big rock in the background...”
“In a cheap, cheesy frame, hanging over a visitors’ table.”
“Exactly. So, you’ve had the pleasure of an audience with Mr name-on-the-door Jackson as well?”
“I have,” she said, resting her hands in her lap. “First thing this morning. I got the job of smoothing over the rumpus about that spontaneously self-collapsing chair, since its suicide occurred in my room. That wasn’t the kind of low-profile insertion my people were hoping for. They wanted me to throw a couple of buckets of iced water around, if you know what I mean. Make sure none of the neighbours were getting too nosey.”
“Were you successful?”
“Time will tell. And don’t worry – I kept your name out of it. Can I come in?”
“Be my guest.”
“So I’m told you’re here because you’re sick,” she said, crossing to the foot of the bed and unhooking the clipboard that held my charts.
“Injured, actually, rather than sick,” I said. “See for yourself.”
“This looks convincing enough,” she said, studying the papers.
I shrugged.
“One more question for you,” she said. “What were you doing in my room, last night? I mean, what were you really doing?”
“I saw that guy go in. Jones. I followed him. I thought he was a thief.”
“The elusive boot thief, perhaps?”
“You know about that?”
“I took a peep at Jackson’s email while I was waiting for him to turn up, just now. There was one from a woman called Lydia. She was refusing to officially record the theft - alleged theft - of your boots because you wouldn’t fill in some form.”
“According to her, if it’s not down in black and white, it didn’t happen."
“So, your boots get stolen and you do what? March barefoot all the way to the CEO himself. You don’t think you could have been over-reacting, just the tiniest bit?”
“There was no one else around to talk to.”
“This isn’t some elaborate cover for what you’re really doing here?”
“No. They were just nice boots. I wanted them back.”
“Listen, David. Your name actually is David? Please. I’m in a bind, here. We both could be. The people above us may not play well with others, but that doesn’t mean we can’t. We’re the ones at the sharp end. And we both have reasons to be here. They could be separate. Or they could overlap. Yes? So I’d like to know. I don’t need specifics. But tell me - should I be looking over both shoulders, now? Or only one?”
“Only one,” I said, after a moment.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m here because I hurt myself. I was busy making a serious mess of someone else’s day when a metal spike did the same thing to my head. So now, I’m waiting for test results. I’m not working. And I’m not going to interfere with what you’re doing - whatever that may be - in any way.”
“Are you sure? Cause you pretty much interfered the hell out of Tim.”
“That was an accident. He was in disguise. I didn’t know who he was.”
“Some accident. The guy’s young. He’s fully fit, and he finished top of his class in training school. Which means I’m struggling to see someone with brain damage demolishing him in two seconds flat.”
“It took longer than two seconds.”
The agent didn’t reply.
“Look, the truth is, I don’t have brain damage” I said. “And I may have prolonged my stay here a little because I want my boots back. It’s outrageous they were stolen, given how I got here, and the hospital suits won’t do anything to help. But that’s all.”
“Give me your word on that?” she said.
“I do.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“OK,” I said. “If you don’t believe me, look around for those boots. Any footwear, in fact. If you can find a single thing in this room I could wear on my feet, you can call me a liar.”