'He remembers leaving work. That's it. It's quite common for a few hours to be wiped out.' Checking the connections, she nods to herself, apparently satisfied. 'Anyway, he's been filled in on everything. The accident. His injuries.'
'How did he react?'
'A little shocked.' She folds her arms and gazes at me. 'But the main thing is, he's doing well. He'll probably be moved out of intensive care today. He's sleeping now.' She gives me a sympathetic look. 'Why don't you just hold his hand? Talk to him. He'll wake up again soon.'
Left alone, I take a while to move. Gazing at his face, I reach out and touch his cheek, gently stroking my finger across a three-day growth of beard.
'I love you,' I whisper. 'And I will marry you. I hope you can hear that because it's a yes.'
There's no movement, no reaction. Eyes closed, he continues to breathe, drawing in deep and steady breaths. Unwilling to wake him, I simply do as the nurse suggests. Taking a seat, I hold his hand and rest my forehead on the edge of the bed. It's not long before I feel it: the slightest twitch of a finger. Sitting bolt upright, I stare at his hand, willing the finger to move again.
'Up here,' he whispers hoarsely.
With a jolt, I turn my attention to his face, and my heart nearly explodes with joy. It's what I've been waiting days to see. His blue eyes are open, if a little fuddled, and he's smiling at me. His fingers close weakly around mine and I could punch the air.
'Love you,' he murmurs.
The words I've been craving to hear.
'And I love you too,' I murmur back, rising to my feet and leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips.
'I wouldn't do that,' he grins. 'My breath stinks.'
'And I don't care.' I kiss him gently, run my palm across his forehead and enjoy a few precious seconds lost in those blue eyes. 'How are you feeling?' I ask, sinking back onto the chair and taking his hand.
He seems to think. And then he speaks again, slowly, quietly, pushing out his words on separate breaths.
'Pretty much like … I've crashed a motorbike … at seventy miles an hour … and broken a few bones.'
He raises his eyebrows as if to say 'well, you did ask.' And I'm thoroughly relieved. He's definitely back.
'Sarcastic bastard,' I admonish him. 'Are you in pain?'
'Yes,' he replies archly. 'There's a tube in my penis … and you're giving me a hard-on. It's not good.'
'Seriously? All you can think about is sex?'
'Now that you're here.'
'You haven't been ogling the nurses?'
'Why would I?' His eyes twinkle for a second beneath heavy lids. 'I've got you. Besides, they scare the shit out of me.' He turns his head, carefully. 'That one there? A dominatrix. I'll lay money on it.' When he looks back at me, he's suddenly serious. 'Is Beefy with you?'
Jesus, he's laid up in hospital and he's still worried about that?
'Of course.'
'All the time?'
'All the time,' I assure him. 'And if it's not Beefy, then it's one of the others. Don't worry about me. Just concentrate on getting better.'
Fingers entwined, we stare at each other for an age, cocooned in a quiet bubble of love. My heart beat settles into a steady rhythm, almost matching the beeps from his monitor.
'It's going to take a while,' he says at last.
'I know.'
'I'll be in plaster. Arms and legs. I'll look like the Michelin Man.'
'No you won't,' I correct him. 'You'll look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Much sexier.'
He chuckles a little, and winces.
'Don't make me laugh, Maya. It hurts.'
And we slide back into the bubble. Without breaking eye contact, I reach up and smooth his hair.
'So, what about that leg?' I ask.
He lets out a breath of frustration. 'Another operation. Pins and plates.'
'At least you're not going to lose it.' I run a finger across his upper arm. 'It's just broken bones. They'll heal.'
'I know, but I'm going to be stuck in here for a few weeks.'
'It doesn't matter. We've got years ahead of us. I'm going nowhere. And you'll just have to slow down.'
'I don't do slow.'
'You've got no choice now.'
While his lips curl up at the corners, his eyelids begin to droop. He's clearly worn out, but before he slips away again, there's something I need to tell him.
'You don't remember the accident?' I ask.
He shakes his head.
'I was at work … and then I was here.'
So I've been given a reprieve. The trouble is, I just don't want it. I can't keep anything from him, not any more. I love this man, and I'm going to be open with him about everything. Starting now.
'Dan, I need to tell you something.'
He lifts an eyebrow.
'When you got home, we had a row. I did something stupid.'
'I don't care,' he cuts in. 'It doesn't matter. I can't remember so it didn't happen. Every day is a new beginning.'
'But … '
'Stop.'
He winces again.
'Are you in pain?'
'A little.'
'Should I call a doctor?'
'No.' He squeezes my hand. 'Listen. I'm sorry.'
'What for?'
'This.'
'Don't be silly. If anyone's got to be sorry, it's me.'
He shakes his head, grits his teeth.
'There's a rule in here.' He pauses, breathing a little more quickly. 'Patients get their own way.' Another pause. He clamps his lips together. 'I'm the one who's sorry … and that's that.' He closes his eyes, biting back a grimace.
'You are in pain.'
'I'm fine.'
'No, you're not.'
'It's just the leg.'
'Then I'll get a doctor.' I press the call button.
'Wait.' He tries to move his arm, and flinches. 'I need to tell you something.'
He doesn't get a chance. Within seconds, a nurse appears, frowns at a monitor, informs Dan that his blood pressure's on the rise and summons a doctor. A decision comes quickly: an increase in pain relief and sedation. He won't make sense for a while.
'No, wait,' he complains.
But it's too late. Drips are adjusted. His eyelids grow leaden.
'Love you.' The words come out slurred. 'Always.' He struggles to stay with me. 'What you said ...'
'About what?' I have no idea what he's going on about now, and I get no chance for clarification.
'I heard … '
He smiles dreamily. Drifting away into oblivion, his breathing settles back into a deep and steady rhythm. Within seconds, he's fast asleep.
***
After spending the best part of an hour with Dan, I decide that it's time to move. Leaving him with a kiss on the cheek, I make my way back to the waiting room and find Beefy pacing the corridor outside. He holds out an arm, stopping me in my tracks.
'Give him a minute,' he grumbles. 'He's on the phone.'
I glance through into the room. Clive's standing by the window, his back to the door, his mobile clapped to his ear. He turns, mouth open, eyes serious, and focuses on me.
'I'll do it,' he says emphatically. 'I've got to go.'
Ending the call, he stares at the mobile for a few seconds. Something's obviously riled him.
'Are you alright?' I ask.
'Yeah.' Roused from his trance, he looks up. 'Work. Problems with work. How's Dan?'
'He woke up. He was fine. And then they knocked him out again. His leg was hurting. They said he won't be waking up again, not today. Do you want to go in?'
He shakes his head.
'No point.' He gazes at the phone again, deep in thought. 'I'd better take you home.'
Chapter Twenty-Nine
'Is everything okay?' I ask, fiddling with the hem of the skimpy, flowery dress I've put on especially for Dan.
'Fine.' Clive keeps his eyes fixed on the road.
But it's not, and I know it. Taking a peek at his face, I wonder why on Earth he's so preoccupied. In spite of the fact that his best friend's cheated death, he's slumped into a mood. In fact, since yesterday's visit, he's hardly spoken a word to me, barely made eye contact. And this morning, the bleak atmosphere seems to be catching. Sitting in the back of the BMW and gazing out of the window, Beefy's done nothing but chew at his thick lips ever since we left Lambeth.
Unease prickles at my flesh as the car rolls into the hospital car park. In silence, we get out, scurry through the rain, enter the main building and wind our way through the network of corridors. Arriving at intensive care, we're informed that Dan's already been moved. He's now in the High Dependency Unit, whatever that is. Finally making it to the right ward, Clive leads me through a set of doors and, leaving the noise of a busy hospital behind, we're greeted by a quiet calm. We come to a halt in front of a desk, and a male nurse engrossed in a computer screen. At last, he looks up, questioning.
'We're here to see Dan Foster,' Clive announces.
A smile appears on the nurse's face.
'Are you Mr Watson?'
'Yes.'
'Brilliant. He wants to see you first.'
'What?' The word escapes from my throat before I can grab it. He wants to see Clive before me? It just doesn't make sense.
'He says it's urgent,' the nurse explains. 'He's a lot more alert this morning, but a little agitated.' He turns to me. 'And you must be Maya.'
I nod, mutely.
'There's a waiting room just here.' Rising from his seat, he skirts the edge of the desk and waves towards an open door.
'But why can't I see him?'
I get no answer. Instead, vaguely aware that I'm being side-lined, I'm gently urged towards the room.
'He's pretty insistent. He wants to see Mr Watson first … on his own. You'll be fine in here. Shall I get you a cup of tea?'