Chapter 28
I hate hospitals. I hate the sickly lighting that makes my skin look the color of sour milk. I hate the chipper nurses with their forced smiles and their breezy small talk, like we’re at a bloody day spa. I’m sure they think we’re a pack of whingers. And honestly? Fair enough.
One of these nurses wheels me to X-ray, chirping away about weekend plans as we go.
My suspicions about her cheerfulness are confirmed when I throw the question back at her and she tells me she’s off to the country to look after her father, who has Alzheimer’s.
“He’s been in better spirits lately,” she adds, “since he doesn’t recognize anyone at all. ”
Kill me.
The doctor at X-ray confirms what I already knew. “It’s a clean break,” he says.
“Is that right?” I say pleasantly, instead of No shit, Sherlock. I can play this faux-cheer game too.
I come across Daphne as I’m wheeled back to my room. She’s impossible to miss in a yellow feathered bomber jacket.
“Mother of God, Daphne, you look like Big Bird.”
She ignores me. “I leave you alone for one afternoon and what happens?”
She kisses my forehead. Her shampoo, something citrusy and light, mixes with the scent of coffee from the cafeteria. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”
“Peter is here.” I smile. Daphne catches it.
“Good. But I should have been here.”
“And so you are.”
As I’m pushed back to my room, I fill Daphne in. “Some kids with a vendetta came to the street with signs. When they saw me, they approached with what I thought was a gun, but what turned out to be a water pistol filled with blood or something that looked and smelled like blood.”
“Bastards,” Daphne mutters.
“I fell backward, landed on my wrist. And here we are.”
“Did they catch them?” Daphne continues. “If they did, I’d like five minutes alone with them.”
“Thanks, Daph,” I tell her. And I do appreciate the sentiment. There’s no reason to point out that Daphne, being an elderly lady with the size and strength of a child, is unlikely to intimidate even the smallest of my assailants. Any such comment would probably just egg her on, anyway.
The nurses tell me I’m to be kept overnight in the hospital, for observation.
I tell them that is a gross misuse of taxpayers’ funds, and that I’ll be perfectly fine to go home, but truth be told, I’m a little relieved when they insist. As much as I don’t like hospitals, there’s something comforting about the presence of others nearby.
The fact is, I feel a little short of breath, a little shaky.
Worse, every time I close my eyes, I see that dreadlocked man holding his arm out.
And I think, not of myself, but of Persephone, and what could have happened to her.
You didn’t have to like the child to fear something like that.
Although, if I’m honest, it’s getting harder and harder to not like her.
“Stop thinking about it,” Daphne says. “And for heaven’s sake, do not blame yourself, do you hear me?”
Peter is waiting in my room—a four-bedder ward with thin curtains dividing it. He is in a corner chair, reading a newspaper.
“For pity’s sake, you need to go home, Peter.”
“I am happy to stay with her now,” Daphne adds.
“I’ll stay a little longer if it’s all right with you,” he says, closing his newspaper.
A man in the room, behind a curtain, groans, then breaks wind.
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”
“Actually, I am. I have nothing planned and besides, my mother would roll over in her grave if I left an elderly woman in hospital.”
I flare my nostrils. “Your mother would roll over in her grave if she heard how impertinent you’re being,” I reply. “Elderly!”
Peter chuckles and goes back to his newspaper. I continue to huff and mutter under my breath, desperately clinging to my curmudgeonly facade. I know if I let the veil slip, even for a second, I might just weep at his kindness.
Persephone visits after she’s been assessed and released without a scratch on her.
“She wouldn’t let me leave without coming to see you,” Roxanne says, as Persephone climbs onto my hospital bed. “Literally wouldn’t let me leave. She’s hidden the ticket that I need to get my car out of the parking lot.”
“I had to come and thank Elsa for saving my life!”
I snort. “Saving your life? What rubbish. I’d have used you as a human shield if I’d had a chance to think.”
“Nice try,” Peter says. “We all saw you push the child behind your back as that man approached. You’re a hero.”
“See?” Persephone says. “You saved me. I could have been killed!”
I roll my eyes. The man in the next bed lets out a great fart, as if in solidarity with Persephone.
“Excuse you!” the child cries, fanning the air in front of her nose. Roxanne, by the door, winces.
“We should leave Elsie to rest,” Roxanne says.
Persephone looks appalled. “But I need to sign her cast!”
“Another time, darling.”
“Why not now? I want to be the first one.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have a lot of competition, Persephone,” Roxanne says.
There’s a beat of silence. I suspect that Roxanne means because there are no other children around, but it comes out a little harsh.
“I don’t know,” Peter says, winking at Persephone. “I might beat her to it.”
“Not if I get there first!” Daphne says, and takes off, presumably in search of a Sharpie.
“See, Mum?” Persephone says, triumphant.
Roxanne relents—as if she ever stood a chance—and when a nurse produces a blue marker, Persephone is the first to sign my cast.
“Right then,” Roxanne says, the moment she’s done. “You’ve signed the cast. Time to go.”
Roxanne does seem very eager to leave. I glance at Daphne, who I can see is thinking the same thing.
“But why?” Persephone whines. “We have the whole—”
“Now, Persephone,” Roxanne says.
I tell myself that the speed with which they leave afterward is a result of the flatulence of my roommate, but I have a sneaky feeling in my bones that it’s more than that.