We are a broad bean and a pea in the same pod that have defied nature to end up in the same place.
After breakfast, we arrive inside the front foyer of the hospital and it’s then that my panic sets in. ‘Can we stop for a minute?’
Lucy knows why. She’s kind enough not to point out that it’s weird or to brush off the need for this hour’s check like so many others have in the past.
Sometimes, like today, Lucy stops and does the same. I watch as she also lifts the sleeve of her coat to locate her pulse point.
‘Go,’ I state, and let the seconds drum by until, ‘Stop,’ arrives.
‘Eighty-two. That’s a bit high, even for me. I blame that hill on Dale Road,’ Lucy says.
‘Seventy-nine. It’s definitely the hill. At least the exercise will have done us some good.’
At times like this I always want to add a thank you. But whenever I have Lucy has always told me that I didn’t need to thank her, that this is what friends are for. There is comfort in that. It’s like a hug on an autumn day when the clouds are matching your mood.
When we arrive on the ward, we both squirt antiseptic hand gel on our palms, knowing the Mecca of germs we will face just by walking along the corridor. It’s better to be on the safe side.
Case study number five is on the CCU ward, still in the same bed space. I decide it’s going to be easier thinking of him as a case study while I’m here. It’s a way of reminding me this is for my PhD study and he is a subject that will help provide me with data. Gathering information is part of my job. It’s what I’m here for. Not helping with jars of pickled onions.
Lucy does the talking as we make our way onto the ward. She’s far more confident in new environments than I am.
‘Ah, and who did you say set up the appointment?’
‘It was booked through the consultant, Dr Hutchins,’ Lucy says.
It’s a different member of staff from the other day. This male nurse is taller, more strikingly handsome, and familiar somehow. He has a floppy fringe of brown hair and his brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black, and for a moment I fall into them. I can feel my breathing is shallower, the sensation catching me off guard. I wonder if he knows about my humiliation of practically running away from the ward.
‘Ah,’ he says again.
‘Is there a problem?’ I venture to ask.
‘There shouldn’t be, but I’m not sure if anyone has explained. We’re hoping that you won’t mind sitting in on his police interview to get some of the information you need. I think some of the questions you need to ask will be covered and we don’t want to make Mr Ellington do this twice.’
‘This is what we need to know.’ I pass over the crib sheet of information and the questions that I need answered.
Diligently, he reads through the papers I’m showing him. ‘Some of this will definitely be covered. I just want to let you know that it isn’t as shocking as it sounds.’
‘What do you mean?’ His comment reminds me of the look in Clive’s eyes the other day.
‘I’m not sure how much I can say. But I just don’t want you to think the police are being lax. It’s not quite what it seems. I’ll find out how much I can say and let you know afterwards.’
‘Right,’ I say, not understanding at all.
‘Do you want to come and take a seat? PC Doyle is waiting already. I’ll just go and get Clive.’
By the time we are all stuffed into the small office, I have far more questions than are in the list on my sheet of paper.
10
Clive
This time, Clive had more monitors on than when the police officer had last questioned him. George had very kindly explained that if at any point the interview was stressing Clive, he’d like to know about it, and he felt that he had more chance of knowing that with the extra equipment rather than leaving it to Clive to tell him.
It was true. Clive was feeling too melancholy to admit to anything. This interview had been playing on his mind and he’d not slept properly as a result. Not that sleep was an easily achieved feat in the hospital environment he was stuck in. He was beginning to long for home, but