by Linda Regan
“How’s she doing?” Alison asked quietly.
“Not great,” answered the nurse.
“Will she make it?”
The nurse shrugged. “Not up to me to say, and it’s much too soon anyway. If she does, I’m betting she’ll be have some kind of paralysis, and her speech may well be affected. She’s suffered a lot of internal damage; she lost nearly six pints of blood, and all her organs were starting to shut down by the time they got her into theatre. It’s unlikely they’ll ever be back to normal. That’s if she pulls through at all.”
“On a scale of one to ten, what chance do you give her?” Banham asked.
“You didn’t get this from me -but no more than one,” the nurse said sadly. “We all watch Screened when we can. It doesn’t bear much resemblance to what really happens in a hospital, but we all love her to bits, and want to look like her. She’s so pretty.” She swallowed hard and corrected herself. “Was so pretty.”
Banham moved softly to the side of the bed and bent to speak into Katie’s ear. “It’s all over,” he said, with more compassion than Alison had ever known him show. “Kevin will go away for a very long time, and the Scarlet Pussy Club is history. You’ll never have anything hanging over you again. So you have to get better, do you hear me? So many people love you, and you have so much to live for.”
Katie’s eyelids fluttered. Alison touched Banham’s shoulder. “I think she heard you.”
They walked back along the corridor, in silence. After a few minutes Banham stopped. His blue eyes held hers for a few seconds, then he said, “Please, let me buy you that dinner?”
It took Alison all her resistance. “No. I’m sorry.” She shook her head a bit too hard.” No. My mind is made up. Detectives are notoriously unreliable. Their mobiles always ring and something turns up, and a five-course dinner turns into tea in a paper cup and a stodgy bun in the police canteen.” She didn’t dare meet his eyes. “And you end up eating both the buns and paying the one pound forty yourself,” she added.
He had stopped walking and was staring at her, smiling. “It’s not that big a deal,” he said. “It’s a thank-you, for helping me out with Lottie.” Then after a pause and a sharp intake of breath he said at a rate of knots, “No, it’s not, actually. It’s because I’d like to have dinner with you.”
She looked down at her brown cords and anorak. “I’m not dressed,” she said, realising she should just have said no.
“Go home and change. I’ll come with you. While you’re dressing, I’ll ring the restaurant. You choose which one.”
She moved her head from side to side, keeping her eyes cast downward as if she was weighing up the options, but actually taking the seconds to curb her enthusiasm. Then she looked at him. He looked so vulnerable. Her resistance melted. “OK, but it’s just dinner.”
His smile looked so sincere, and those crinkles appeared at the side of his eyes, the ones she found so damned irresistible.
They left the hospital by the main exit. Banham made another announcement to the press, leaving out the news that Katie might not make a full recovery. “She’s out of theatre,” he told them, “and the hospital will issue bulletins about her progress.”
“Can you confirm the rumour that Katie Faye was once a whore?”
The voice came from the back. Banham began to push through the crowd, fists clenched; Alison pulled him away. “Let someone else deal with him,” she told him. “It’s time to forget work.”
He blew out a breath and she felt him relax. They turned and walked towards the car park, leaving the crowd behind.
She halted her in her tracks. “I -do -not -believe it,” she said, staring at her car, all thoughts of their night out evaporating.
“What?”
“My car! Look! I’ve got another bloody puncture!”
“I’ll change it for you.”
Her eyelids slowly lowered. Never in the seven years they had worked together had he once offered to help her with her car. And now, as well as a night out at her favourite restaurant, he was offering to change her wheel. But –
“The spare’s in the garage being mended,” she said, trying not to let out a loud wail.
He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “We’ll phone the garage.”
“It’s after six o’clock. They’ll be shut.”
She looked at him, and their eyes locked. She squeezed her lips together. She didn’t know whether to laugh or let him see her disappointment.
He lifted his eyebrows and smiled that smile again. “The hospital canteen then? The tea doesn’t come in paper cups and their buns are home made. And I’ll pay.”
