Chapter 1 #2
“Saturday. And the prime minister is a useless wanker who lives at 10 Downing Street, and yes, I can count backwards from twenty, but I’m not going to because I can’t be arsed. Because I’m fucking fine. And don’t ask me to spell Saturday, ‘cos I’m dyslexic.”
He’s cerebrating okay, so there’s that. The dislike of bright lights is a worry though.
“Did you lose consciousness when you fell?”
“No.”
Pointedly, Ezra clears his throat.
“Maybe,” Neil corrects. “For, like, seconds.”
“Do you remember falling?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember being helped up and then helped into here?” I’ve never had a conversation with Neil before. This one is fairly underwhelming. I guess his cheekbones usually do all the flirting for him.
“Yes. Though I was perfectly fine where I was.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“No. Thirsty for another drink. Listen, are you quite done?” He laughs, a grubby sound. “Unless you want to take this cosy game of doctors and nurses to the next level, doc. Know what I mean?”
“Neil,” Ezra warns.
I ignore the taunt. “Could you open your eyes now, so I can have a look? Please?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
Roughly, Ezra prises Neil’s arm away. “Just do it, Neil.”
I don’t have a pen torch to observe his pupil’s reflexes, though judging from how Neil’s glaring at me, I’d risk a fist in my face for my troubles.
I make do with simply staring back. And suddenly, I wish Alaric was still around, cajoling and teasing this recalcitrant patient through a full neurological evaluation before Neil’s even realised he’s being assessed.
There’s one simple reason: Neil’s eyes are breathtaking.
Almost too big for his face, a shade of deep brown you don’t stare into, you tumble head first. And the more they suck me in, the more I see the caramel flecks spattered in his irises, put there just to mess with me.
Seconds tick by. The office both shrinks and gets hotter.
“This is rather romantic, doc.” Neil wipes blood from his lip, studies his palm, then wipes his hand on his jeans. He throws me a leery grin; there’s blood in the grooves between his teeth, too. “Are you an eye specialist? See anything wrong with them?”
Does being a human rights violation count? I turn my own gaze to the side, heat rising up my neck. After Neil gave an appropriate response to my questions, the other onlookers drifted away. Only Ezra remains.
“They look fine,” I answer.
“Some doctor you are.”
The sooner I’m out of here the better. “Why? Is your vision not okay? Are you seeing double? Any blurring?”
“You tell me.” Neil’s bloodied lips twitch. “You’ve stared into my eyes long enough.”
Ezra huffs threateningly.
I ignore him again. “Will you lean forward so I can have a look at the cut to your head?”
Neil shrugs but complies, which has more to do with Ezra looming over us than a desire to oblige.
His hair is a long rope of thick chestnut curls, some tight and springy, others looser.
I don’t especially want to tease them apart, because I don’t especially want someone else’s blood under my fingernails.
With Ezra shining his phone torch, I prise a matted lump away from where Neil gingerly prods his skull.
“Blood’s dried.” He draws his feet up as if about to stand. “The lump’s nothing a pack of frozen peas won’t fix. I’m fine.”
I’m inclined to agree.
“Is he?” Ezra’s hand clamps around Neil’s wrist, not letting him escape. “Do you think he’s okay not to go to the hospital?” I don’t know how their business dynamic works, but Ezra clearly doesn’t take any bullshit from his co-owner.
He worries about him, though.
Uncomfortably aware of Neil’s hostile glower, I stand too.
“If it’s a concussion, then I think it’s only mild.
If you were in front of me on a trolley in ED, then you wouldn’t fulfil the criteria to warrant a head scan.
So if you do go to ED, you’ll queue for hours to get an examination not dissimilar to mine, and then they’ll discharge you with a guidance sheet advising you what signs to watch out for and when to seek help. ”
“And those signs are?” Ezra prompts, because Neil isn’t about to.
I spent four miserable years working in the Emergency Department.
I can still rattle them off in my sleep.
“Increased drowsiness, vomiting. Worsening headaches, confusion, limb weakness, slurred speech, visual disturbance. Fitting, obviously. Be wary if any numbness develops. Ideally, the person with the head injury shouldn’t operate any machinery or be alone for the next twenty-four hours, and if they do fall asleep, someone should periodically check they’re rousable and not, you know, unconscious. ”
I suspect any number of clubbers inside the bar would be more than happy to babysit Neil for a night.
“Cool.” Neil claps Ezra on the shoulder. “So it’s you and me burning the midnight oil, babe. Just like old times.”
Ezra hesitates. “’Fraid not. Isaac’s on a nightshift and Jonty’s at home with a babysitter. I need to get back before one.”
“Then I’ll be fine and dandy on my own.”
“No.” Ezra gives his head a firm shake. “You’ve been drinking. It’s the first thing you said after you fell off the stage. Too much fucking vodka, Ez. And although you seem better now, I’m not happy leaving you alone.” He shoots me a determined look. “The medical advice is to have someone staying.”
Neil blows out an annoyed sigh. I let it waft over me. Vodka doesn’t smell very much, I suppose. Maybe he’s good at hiding it. Nonetheless, something isn’t adding up.
“Get Jacko back here, then.”
Ezra shakes his head. “No way. He’s stoned. He’ll get you stoned. And I can’t trust him not to sleep all night. I’ll ask Jess—she can finish her shift behind the bar early and I’ll pay her to stay.”
“She’ll say no. We’re not talking right now.”
“For fuck’s sake, Neil. How did you manage to upset her this time?”
“Fucked her married brother again.”
“What?”
Neil shrugs carelessly. “He came on to me. And he’s hot. Not my fault if he fancies a bit of the other after a drink or two.”
With no part to play in this conflab and my role in the evening resolved, I edge towards the door. I’ve a half pint of beer left on the bar, and I could really do with it. By now, I expect it’s been cleared away.
“Hey, Luke?” Ezra’s voice is infused with charm.
I falter, my stomach churning with the certain knowledge he’s about to turn his problem into my problem. “Yeah?” I have no clever excuses at the ready.
“I don’t suppose you could…uh… spend the night with Neil, could you?”