She answers immediately.
'Yo!' she chirps, full of the joys of spring, oblivious to the chaos in my life. 'How's it going?'
'Not good.' Out of nowhere, a sob escapes from my throat. 'I've had a massive fall-out with Dan. I've been a complete idiot.'
'What have you done?'
I groan. There's no way I want to go into that. I just need to know where he is.
'Is Clive there?'
'Of course. I'm at his house.'
'Can you put him on?'
'Are you alright?'
'Just put him on.'
I hear the sounds of a muted interchange, then Clive's voice takes over.
'Maya?'
The words stumble out through a torrent of tears. Careful not to mention the reason, I inform him that we've had a row, that Dan's taken his bike and disappeared. I tell him that I just need to know where he is, that he's safe. He agrees to make a few calls, promises to get back to me, and he's gone. Wrapped in a fog of anxiety and clutching the phone, I wait for news, giving a start as soon as the ring tone kicks into life.
'I called Norman,' Clive begins.
'Is he at the house?'
'No.'
'So where the hell is he?'
'No idea. I've tried texting him. No reply. I've called Lily. He's not round her place.' He pauses. 'Maybe he's just gone for a ride. What time did he go?'
'A couple of hours ago.'
A brief silence ensues, and I fuddle my way through the new information.
'That's not too long,' Clive reassures me. 'Listen, he's probably just holed up in some biker café.'
Or he has gone to the club, and he's at it right now, getting exactly what he needs from another woman. Awful visions cross my mind. Shit, have I really driven him to that? It's the last thing I want to know, but the first thing I need to find out.
'He could be at Isaac's,' I suggest.
'I doubt it. Not after what happened the other day. Was it really that bad?'
'Yes.'
I listen to the sound of breathing. God knows what's going through his mind.
'It's too soon to do anything,' he decides at last. 'Let's wait another couple of hours. If you haven't heard anything by nine, I'll go over to the club and check.'
'You don't need to.'
'Yes, I do. And if he hasn't turned up, I'll come over to Lambeth. Just stay where you are. I'm onto it.'
I settle in for the wait. Accepting a second mug of tea from Beefy, I suggest it's high time for him to knock off, but even though his overnight replacement is already outside the front door, he refuses, opting instead to sit at the counter and busy himself with his mobile.
Within half an hour, I hear the sound of a key in the lock. Fighting off a sudden flash of nerves, I spring to my feet and hold my breath, bracing myself for yet another confrontation. But as soon as the door opens, I realise it's not about to happen. Instead of Dan, I'm greeted by Clive and Lucy.
Ashen-faced, they enter in silence.
'What's going on?' I demand before either of them can squeeze out a word.
Taking hold of my shoulders, Clive looks me in the eyes. He's preparing me for something. I know it. And from the concern on his face, I'd say it's going to be unpleasant.
'Norman called back,' he says gently. 'The police have been to the house.'
My knees threaten to give way beneath me. Thoughts dissolve into panic. I'm steadied by Clive's grip.
'It's Dan,' he explains. And then the words I'm dreading. 'He's had an accident.'
***
I'm moving, constantly moving, but like a faulty radio, I'm lost in a world of distortion. Every now and then, I tune back in: sometimes to reality, sometimes to a flicker of memory. I'm in a car now, staring into the void of a London evening, registering a flash of light, the turn of a head. And then the air buckles. I'm back in his bed, cast adrift in those bright blue eyes but held safe beneath his body, knowing that this is exactly where I'm meant to be. A wave of static disrupts the flow and I'm walking slowly, flanked by others, making my way through endless corridors. In a stupor, I note the vapid green walls and zone out again, disembodied by interference. And then the movement stops.
Gathering my senses, I look around, taking in a waiting room, a mishmash of chairs, a handful of vacant faces. Betty pulls out a handkerchief and holds it. Norman smiles at me, asks me if I'm okay, but I can't reply. My brain has disengaged, retreated in on itself, and I'm incapable of even the most basic response. Glancing down at my hand, I realise it's being held, look up again to find Lucy next to me … and pull my fingers out of her grasp.
'Is he alive?' I whisper, surprised that my vocal chords have finally managed to function.
'Yes,' she whispers back. 'Clive's trying to find out what's going on.'
And that's all I can handle. I zone out again. I'm sitting in his arms, half-submerged in the sea, feeling his cheek against mine as I gaze up at an azure sky. And now I'm at the top of the lighthouse, taking in the view, grounded by his presence. The minutes unfold like this. It could be ten. It could be twenty. Immersed in a constant slide-show of memories, I'm only wrenched back to reality by Clive's voice.
'Maya?' Anchoring himself on my chair, he crouches in front of me.
I feel my lips move, hear my own voice ask a question: 'What's going on?'
'He's still in surgery.'
'How bad is it?'
'Pretty serious.'
My brain barely registers the information. As if it means nothing at all, I stare blankly back at him.
'So what happened?' Lucy asks.
Clive shakes his head a little.
'All I know is what Norman told me. He was on the motorway. The traffic slowed. He didn't. He went into the back of a car. The air ambulance brought him here.'
Suddenly, my lungs seem to shrink and my breath quickens.
'Will he die?' I ask.
'No.' Clive touches my hand.
But he doesn't believe it. I can tell from his eyes.
One by one, the blank expressions give way to emotion. Betty raises the handkerchief to her mouth and lets out a sob. Norman bites his lip, wraps a consoling arm around his wife's shoulder. Pushing himself back to his feet, Clive turns to the door and lowers his head, probably wiping away a tear. Even Lucy seems to be on the verge of falling to pieces. But me? Nothing. I'm numb. Gazing round at these normal reactions, I wonder why I can't be normal too. The man I love is in trouble, and I can't even cry.
'He'll be fine.' Norman's voice fills the room, trying to reassure us all, and then me in particular. 'Maya, he'll be fine.'
'He will,' Lucy echoes, brushing my arm.
I stare out of the window, into the darkness. I don't know what else to do. Closing my eyes, I zone out again, and I'm at Seven Sisters, held in an endless embrace. And time expands beyond anything familiar, until it means nothing at all.
***
'Maya?'
My name. Someone's saying my name. I open my eyes, blink into the harsh light.
Lucy frowns at me. 'The doctor's here.'
There's a woman in the opposite seat now, dressed in a pair of grey trousers and a blouse, a lanyard around her neck. I hear her ask for confirmation that there's no family. Dismissing Layla and Sophie's existence, Clive gives it. And then I watch as the doctor smiles uneasily, shifts slightly on her chair, leans forwards and launches into an explanation.
Desperate to make sense of what she's saying, I watch her mouth, but my brain's determined to scramble the information. I catch only words, snatches.
'There's been some internal bleeding. We've managed to stop it … multiple fractures … right arm … both wrists … both legs … ribs … collar bone … his right leg's pretty badly damaged.'
'But he's going to pull through?' Clive asks.
Finally, I manage to concentrate.
'In some respects, he's been incredibly lucky,' the doctor says. 'No neck or spinal injuries. The internal injuries weren't extensive. But … ' She takes a breath and then she's quiet for a moment.
There's something more.
'But what?' Clive demands.
'We're concerned about a swelling on the brain.'
'He was wearing a helmet.'
'Which made a huge difference. But with a collision at this speed, a helmet can never be one hundred percent effective. It could have been a lot worse.' She pauses, catching each one of us with a reassuring smile. 'He's being moved to intensive care. He'll be put into an artificial coma for a few days. It's standard procedure in cases like these. And then we'll monitor him closely.'
I'm picking back over the details of what I've just been told, recalling what I can, when guilt strong-arms its way into my head. Like a loud-mouthed bully, drowning out everything else in the room, it simply refuses to leave. I glance at the familiar faces, realising that they're suddenly loaded with sympathy … and they're all fixed on me. Moving automatically, I get to my feet. All I know is I need to get out of here, away from these people, because I don't want their sympathy, and I certainly don't deserve it. Leaving the waiting room behind, I make my way down a corridor, passing strangers, aware of shadows, shadows everywhere.
'Maya.' Fingers curl around my arm and I'm halted. 'Where are you going?'