No, but it'll end eight years of lies. I set her hand on the bed and stood up.
'Bye, Sophie.'
I walked out into the corridor. My footsteps rang on the hard floor as the clamour of the hospital enveloped me. I felt an odd detachment as I walked through it, as though I were encased in a bubble separating me from the noise and life around me. Even the fresh, cold air outside didn't dispel it. The bright autumn sunlight somehow seemed flat as I went back to my car. I unlocked it and stiffly lowered myself into the seat. My cracked ribs were manageable but still painful.
I closed my eyes and put my head back. I felt empty. The idea of driving back to London didn't appeal, but I'd been here long enough. Too long, in fact. The past was beyond reach.
Time to move on.
Rousing myself, I reached into my pocket for my phone, wincing as my ribs protested. I'd turned it off in the hospital and when I switched it back on it beeped straight away. For an instant I was back in the darkness of the cave, then I shook my head.
I had a message waiting. Or rather messages: I'd missed three calls, all from the same number. It wasn't one I recognized. I frowned, but before I could play any of them my phone shrilled again. It was a call this time, from the same number as before. I straightened. Something urgent.
I felt the familiar quickening of interest as I answered.