“I made the call; it was me….” My voice is disintegrating breathlessly, but for once it’s not because of Jake; it’s because of fear. “Is he OK?”
“Excuse me,” says the police officer, not seeming to hear me, and heads off to consult his partner. I’m desperate to clamber under the crime tape, but I’ve seen enough TV shows to know what happens if you do that. The scene gets contaminated and the court throws out the case, and there’s no justice, and grieving families yell at you.
So instead I stand there, almost hyperventilating, needing to know: Where is he? How is he? What happened?
Abruptly, I realize I’ve been muttering aloud, and a nearby man has heard me. He’s a broad gray-haired guy in a massive puffer jacket and seems to be standing there for no other reason except to watch.
“Beat him up, they did,” he says in an accent which reminds me so strongly of Dad, I feel a sudden visceral pang. “He was out like a light. Wheeled him off on a stretcher. I saw it.”
Tears of shock start to my eyes. Out like a light?
“But he was conscious!” I say. “I was talking to him! How could he— What happened?”
The man shrugs. “He had rubbish all over him too. They emptied a bin on him, I guess. They’re animals, they are. If I had my way they’d get what’s coming to ’em. Forget parole, for a start,” he adds, warming to his theme. “None of this nancy-boy treatment. Send ’em all on National Service, that’d sort ’em out—”
“Sorry,” I interrupt desperately. “Sorry. I just really need to know where they’ve taken him. Which hospital. Do you have any idea?”
The man’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t say anything but takes a few paces to the corner and swivels his head meaningfully. I follow him, then turn my own head—and find myself staring at the top of a building. Distinctive metal letters are illuminated against the evening sky and they read: NEW LONDON HOSPITAL.
Of course. I’m so stupid.
“Won’t have taken him nowhere else, will they?” says the man. “Emergency’s round the back. Don’t even try to get a cab,” he adds. “The one-way round here’s a shocker. Quicker to walk.”
“Thanks,” I gasp, already hurrying away. “Thanks so much. Thanks.”
I sprint through the back streets, panting in the freezing air, not stopping until my heart feels it will explode. Then I walk for a bit, then run again, then get lost under a railway arch. But finally I make it to the bright lights and bustle of the New London Hospital’s emergency room.
As I step inside, the hospital smell hits me first. Then the noise. I know emergency rooms are always busy, but…bloody hell. This is mayhem. Far worse than when we took Mum in. There are people everywhere. All the plastic chairs are full, and a guy with a gash on his forehead is sitting on the floor nearby. About three babies are howling, and a man with vomit on his jacket is drunkenly berating his…Is that gray-haired, anxious-looking woman his mother?
Averting my eyes, I head to the desk and wait for what seems like an eternity before a brisk woman says, “Can I help?”
“Hi, I’m here for Sebastian Marlowe. Has he been admitted?”
The woman types at her computer, then raises her head and gives me a suspicious look.
“He was admitted earlier,” she says. “He’s been sent for tests.”
“What kind of tests?” I ask anxiously. “I mean, is he…Will he be…”
“You’ll have to speak to a doctor,” she says. “Are you family?”
“I…Not exactly…I know him, though. I made the 999 call.”
“Hmm. Well, if you wait, you can speak to the doctor who— Oh, you’re in luck. Lily!”
She beckons over a pretty Asian-looking doctor, who seems so rushed off her feet, I can hardly bear to hold her up. But I have to know.
“Hello, can I help?” she says charmingly.
“Sorry to delay you,” I say in a rush. “I’m here about Sebastian Marlowe. I’m the one who called 999. I just need to know, will he be OK? I mean, is he—”
“Please don’t worry,” she says, gently cutting me off. “He regained consciousness soon after arrival. We’re giving him a CAT scan, though, as a precaution, and taking a couple of X-rays. He’s in good hands and I suggest you go home. Tomorrow he’ll be on a ward, and if you want to, you can visit then. He’s very lucky that you phoned 999,” she adds. “Good job.”
She smiles