in the lock when the door opens and I stagger forward slightly, straight into Alex.
‘Whoops,’ says Alex.
‘Sorry,’ I say, steadying myself against the door.
He raises an eyebrow and gives that lopsided smile that makes my knees – bloody disobedient knees, which I wish would learn to behave themselves – go a bit weak. ‘Good night, was it?’
I splutter. ‘Hardly.’
‘You coming in, then?’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alex
13th April
Normal people would probably take advantage of the first Saturday night off in what felt like forever to go out and get hammered. Normal people – I think, as I stretch luxuriously, revelling in the fact that I’ve got the entire sitting room to myself and the house is empty – don’t work the sort of week I’ve just worked. I put my feet up on the coffee table and sink into the battered pink sofa. This is exactly what I need.
‘There’s been an explosion in the Heart Surgery ward,’ says a voice, urgently. No, I have no idea why watching a hospital drama on a Saturday night is my idea of relaxation but it’s the kind of mindless thing I need right now. It bears precisely no relation to my experiences so far of hospital life, but I quite like it for that. For one thing, they’re always using their phones in the ward. Everyone knows there’s generally only one spot in the entire hospital where you can get 4G service, and it’s usually down a corridor near a supplies cupboard. You can always find them if you’re in a hospital – just look for the spot where a disparate collection of NHS Trust staff are hovering, fingers tapping furiously, catching up on group chats or making plans for the end of their shift. Take it from me. It’s the most useful information I’ve learned so far.
So, the plan is this: Sunday off, after six days working on the trot. Lie-in, lazy, scrambled eggs and toast sort of morning, followed by a walk around Hyde Park with Jess. The blossom’s gorgeous this time of year, and we can have a wander up to look at Buckingham Palace, maybe do the Royal Mews, and be tourists for the day. That’s assuming she comes home, of course. When she’d headed out earlier she looked – well. I’d had a moment when I’d had to remind myself sharply that just because I was used to hanging out with her in jeans, a hoody and her Converse, didn’t mean she couldn’t scrub up and look frankly amazing for a date. I’d made a bit of a joke out of it, and to be honest I was still feeling a bit guilty that I hadn’t been generous enough to just tell her how great she’d looked. Emma had done Jess’s hair, and her eyes were huge and smoky with dark shadow all around them. She’d looked amazing.
Thinking of Emma reminds me of what had happened next. I had nipped upstairs to get my phone charger and overheard Emma talking on the phone, her door ajar.
‘Yeah, I don’t know what I’m doing now. I think this evening I’m having a night in.’
There was a pause, and Emma had laughed. ‘I suppose, yes. Boyfriend … no.’
I knew I shouldn’t be listening, but that didn’t stop me. It was as if time stood still for a second.
A tinkly laugh. ‘Yeah. Yes. You’ll meet him eventually, I promise. I’m working on it. Playing it cool.’
I don’t know what made me listen. Some sort of weird sixth sense she was talking about me – or us, not that there was an us. At least, I hadn’t thought there was. We’d had several this is nothing serious, definitely just a bit of fun type conversations.
‘Yeah, I’d love you to meet him. I might see if he fancies dinner next week – I mean that might be a bit soon, but—’
There was a silence and then Emma laughed, and I realised that no, hang on, she was clearly talking about someone else. She must’ve met someone. I puffed out a breath, which was half a sigh of relief and half – well, nobody wants to feel like they’ve just been given the silent heave-ho without even being consulted, do they? Emma said something else I couldn’t catch, and then laughed again.
‘Yes, he’s cute. Used to be a lawyer. He’s training to be a nurse.’
I looked down at the skin on my knuckles, which was turning white as I gripped the stair wall. Who was Emma talking to? And