and a large part of me wants to run away and forget it.
But somehow I force myself to walk forward, ask a nurse for Sebastian Marlowe, and make my way to his cubicle. He’s in a ward of four beds, and his is at the far end. As I approach, it’s fully screened by a printed curtain.
“Knock knock,” I say, my voice a bit shaky. “Are you there, Seb? It’s Fixie.”
There’s no reply, so I peep round the curtain, and there he is. Alone. And asleep.
I survey him silently, my heart thumping in reflexive terror, which gradually subsides. His face is bruised. His hair has been shaved a little at the temple, and he’s got a dressing there that makes me wince. One of his ankles is strapped up in a bandage, I notice. But he doesn’t seem to be on life support or anything like that. My stomach gives the most almighty lurch of relief, and without meaning to, I exhale hugely. He’s OK. He’s alive.
There’s another reason for my relief, I realize: He’s asleep. I don’t have to talk to him. Because suddenly I feel incredibly nervous and I’m not sure what I would say. Maybe my best plan is: Leave the orchid and card—then back out of his life altogether. Yes.
Trying to be absolutely soundless, I tiptoe around his bed to his nightstand. I prop the card against the wall—then as it slips, I grab at it, bumping against his water jug, which tilts. In silent dismay, I grab for the jug to right it, then realize I’ve knocked his plastic glass, shit …
Desperately I grab for the glass, then realize I’m dropping my orchid and grasp for that too, at which point the glass falls on the floor with a loud clatter, and Seb opens his eyes.
Shit.
He stares at me for about twenty seconds as though he can’t compute anything, and I stare back, agonized, wondering where to start.
“Your name is Sebastian,” I say at last, in slow, careful tones.
“I know that!” he says. His eyes travel down the hospital bed, taking in his injured ankle, and I see the click of remembrance in his face. “Right,” he says. “Right. Yes.” He’s silent for a moment, then his eyes meet mine again. “Was it you? Who called 999?”
“Yes,” I admit. “It was me. I know you didn’t want me to, but … well, I told you, I can’t help fixing things!” I give a high, fake laugh, trying to mask my awkwardness. “Usually turns out badly, but …”
“It didn’t turn out badly,” he says slowly. “It would have turned out badly, if …” He halts again, and his woodland eyes turn dark as though with thoughts he’s not going to share.
“Well. I did.” I give another awkward laugh.
“Yes.” His eyes fix on me again, then his face jerks. “I’m so sorry!” he says. “Where are my manners? Sit down, please.”
“Thanks,” I say, a little shyly, and sit on the plastic visitor’s chair. “Oh. This is for you.”
I proffer the orchid, which I’ve been holding all this while. But as he takes it, I realize in horror that my hand has been wrapped tightly around the remaining delicate petals, and they’ve all come off in my hand.
I’ve basically given him a bare twig in a pot.
“Wow,” says Seb, surveying the twig confusedly. “That’s … lovely.”
And now he’s being nice about it. I can’t bear it.
“It’s supposed to have these on it,” I say quickly, opening my hand to show him the crumpled white petals. “It was an orchid, but it had a few accidents. This is what it looked like …”
I try to demonstrate where the petals should go, but I keep dropping them, and at last I look up to see Seb clamping his lips together as though he’s trying not to laugh.
“No, it’s great,” he says hurriedly as he catches my eye. “It was great. I can see that.”
“Maybe they’ll grow back,” I say in lame hope.
“Yes, definitely. I’ll keep watering it.” He pats it, his eyes distant for a moment, then adds matter-of-factly, “You saved my life.”
I stare at him, jolted. I mean, yes, I called 999. But saved his life?
“I’m sure I didn’t,” I say.
“You saved my life,” he repeats. “And I want to thank you.”
“I didn’t save your life!” I say, totally embarrassed. “Honestly! All I did was … You know. I made one call. I thought you should have medical attention. That’s all. It was nothing. If I hadn’t called, someone