Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

“The accident. What happened. How it happened. It was hot. Terribly hot. The sun was so bright. And I was so tired, Maeve. So tired…”

“Oh, Patrick…” She’d been terrified of this ever since she’d heard about it, certainly since she’d known he was going to live. She wanted to stop him, to shut him up, to keep him-and her-safe from the memories. But…

“I was eating jelly babies, you know, and they weren’t working. I can remember eating them, lots of them, handfuls, I could feel my head going, you know? The fuzzing, I’ve told you about the fuzzing.”

“Yes, Patrick, you have.”

He had: the feeling his brain was getting confused, not working for him.

“I went to the doctor about it, you know, but he couldn’t help. That’s all I can remember. The fuzzing-and then blankness.”

“Yes, but Patrick, darling, that was when you blacked out. Lost consciousness. Not went to sleep. Went unconscious. Of course you can’t remember.”

“I think… well, I think I can. And Maeve… I think there was someone else in the cab.”

“Someone else? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just seem to remember… remember… there was someone else there.”

“But, Patrick, how could there have been? There was no one with you when they found you, and where could they have gone…”

“I know. But I still think… Oh, I’m so afraid, Maeve. So afraid I must have… must have… gone… gone to…”

And then he stopped talking and tears squeezed slowly and painfully from his eyes, rolled down his cheeks, large, childlike tears. And Maeve, still clutching his hand, stroking it, trying to comfort him, thought that if he had gone to sleep, if he had caused that awful, dreadful crash, for which he had been punished, and was still being punished so horribly, then she was to blame as well: for hassling him, hurrying him home, when perhaps another hour or two of rest would have made all the difference. All the difference in the world-and for some people, indeed, the difference between life and death.

“Dr. King? Emma?”

Emma turned to see who had called her and saw Barney Fraser, Toby Weston’s friend.

“I thought it was you. How are you?”

He was looking different. She couldn’t think why, then realised he was in his city togs: sharp suit (although the jacket was slung over his shoulder), formal shirt (pink check, really suited him), tie even (although hanging loose round his neck).

“Good.”

“I’m on my way to the café, get a shot of caffeine before I go back to town. You?”

“I’m in search of caffeine, too.”

“OK… we could go together.”

He smiled at her. God, he had a wonderful smile. God, he was so gorgeous… Stop it, Emma. He’s taken. And so are you… now.

“OK. Mustn’t be long, though.”

They went into the café; she grabbed a Diet Coke, and then joined him at the coffee counter, ordered an Americano.

“Snap. Same as me. I actually wanted a double espresso, but they’re not great at coffee-speak here. Can you sit down for five minutes? Or do you have to rush back?”

“Well, five minutes.”

“Cool.”

“So, have you been visiting Toby?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Driven all the way down from London?”

“No, I came on the train. I’m about to call a cab; there’s a notice about them in the main reception. How’s the service this time of night?”

“Not bad. Not great. How… how is Toby?”

She knew he wasn’t very well; she’d talked to Mark Collins about him the day before. He had been running recurrent fevers from Sunday night, and complaining of feeling generally unwell. Today he even seemed confused.

“It points to infection, I’m afraid,” Mark had said. “We’ve upped the antibiotics and we’re going to take him to the theatre tomorrow and do a washout. And the end of this road-the bad end, anyway-well, you know what it is as well as I do.”

Amputation, Emma thought, wincing: what a terrifying prospect for a bloke of thirty. She hoped Barney didn’t realise that, at least.

“How is he?” she said again. As if she didn’t know.

“Not great. They did some washout thing today.”

“Well,” she said carefully, “that should do some good…”

“And if it doesn’t, he’ll lose the leg, right?”

She was shocked.

“Nobody here told you that, did they?”

“No, no, I rang a mate who’s a medic.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. Well, without knowing Toby’s case-”

“Emma, it’s OK. I’ve taken it on board. It’s hideous, but-”

“But it really would be a last resort. And I’m sure-well, I hope-he’s miles from that. I… I hope you haven’t told his parents this.”

“No, of course I haven’t. I’m not a total retard.”

“Sorry. It’s just… well, we have to be so careful about that sort of thing.”

“I’m sure. No, it’s fine; I haven’t told anyone. Except Amanda, that is.”

Amanda. The preppy, perfect girlfriend. Correction, the preppy, perfect fiancée.

“How did Toby seem in himself?”

“Oh, bit out of it, actually. When… when will they know if it’s worked?”

“Oh, not for several more days. Um… what about his fiancée; has she been down much?”

“I’m not sure. She’s still at home with her parents, getting over her cancelled wedding.”

His voice sounded bitter; Emma looked at him sharply. He interpreted the look, said, “Sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”

“You can say what you like to me, Barney. But… well, it must be pretty awful for her, worrying about Toby, and she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t upset about the wedding…”

“Of course.”

“What do you all do?” she said with a glance at her watch.

“Oh, Tobes and I are those wicked banker people. You know, earn as much as the budget of a small country. If you believe the press, that is.”

“And Amanda, what does she do?”

“She’s in HR. In the same bank as Tobes. And Tamara, she’s on the French desk at my firm. Yeah, so it’s all a bit incestuous, really. Tamara is seriously cool. You should see their apartment-talk about retro.”

“I probably wouldn’t appreciate it,” said Emma, laughing. “I’m still at the furnished-flat stage myself.”

“Yeah? How long will you be here, do you think? Moving on, up to London or whatever?”

“I have no idea where I’ll be. But I want, eventually, to go into obstetrics. At the moment I’m just a general surgeon. Doing my four months’ stint down here, in A and E, which I do love.”

“You’re a surgeon? You mean you actually… well-”

“Cut people up? Yes, I do.” She laughed. “Don’t look so horrified.”

“Not horrified. Just seriously impressed. I mean, you don’t look old enough-well, hardly-to be a doctor at all, and-”

“Oh, don’t,” she said. “If I had a pound for every time I’m told that… I think I’ll put it on my tombstone: ‘She didn’t look old enough…’ Barney, I really must go. It’s been lovely talking to you, but God knows what’s happening down there.” She nodded in the direction of A &E. “Look, I’ll pop up and see Toby tomorrow. If you think he’d like that.”

“Emma, anyone out of short trousers would like being visited by you. Actually, even if they were in short trousers. Thank you so much. And for your time. Really cheered me up.”

“It was a pleasure. Honestly.”

She held out her hand; he took it, then rather hesitantly bent down and kissed her cheek.

“Pleasure for me too. Honestly. Thank you again. For all your help, not just this evening.”

And then he was gone, hurrying out of the café, pulling on his jacket.