by Jill Mansell
‘Um… well, he g-gave it to…’ Catching the look on Gabe’s face, Lola amended hastily, ‘I mean, he lent it to me, because I, um, asked if I could borrow it.’
The girlfriend shot her a killer glare before swinging round to Gabe. ‘I bought you that for your birthday! Don’t go lending it out to some girl just because she’s cheeky enough to ask to borrow it.’
The thing was, Gabe hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble, he was simply thoughtless and so generous himself it didn’t occur to him that some people might not appreciate his actions.
But he broke up with that particular girl shortly afterwards and Lola had been able to start wearing the T-shirt again. From then on a stream of girlfriends came and went, entranced by the fact that Gabe was an entertaining, charming commitment-phobe. Each of them in turn was utterly convinced they would be the one to make him see the error of his ways and suddenly yearn for a life of monogamous domestic bliss.
Each of them, needless to say, was wrong.
Or had been, up until three months ago when Gabe had met an Australian backpacker called Jaydena on the last leg of her round-the-world trip. Jaydena had bucked the trend and been the one to leave Gabe, returning to Sydney when they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and were still completely crazy about each other. Back in Australia, she emailed Gabe every day and he emailed her back. Within weeks she’d persuaded him to quit his job and fly out to join her.
Lola was stunned when she heard. ‘But… why?’
‘Because I’ve never been to Australia and everyone says it’s an incredible place. If I don’t go now I could regret it forever.’
‘So I might never see you again.’ It was a daunting prospect; Gabe was such a huge part of her life. And not only for the fun times. When Alex had died five years ago—suddenly, and desperately unfairly, of a heart attack—Lola had been distraught, unable to believe she’d never see her beloved father again. But Gabe had been a rock, helping her through that awful period. She’d always be grateful to him for that.
‘Hey, I’m not selling the flat, just renting it out for a year. After that I could be back.’
Lola knew she would miss him terribly but alarm bells were ringing for another, far less altruistic reason. ‘Where are you going to find a new tenant? Through a lettings agency?’
‘Ha!’ Gabe gleefully prodded her in the ribs. ‘So it’s only yourself you’re worried about, panicking at the thought of who your new neighbor might be.’
‘No. Well yes, that too.’
‘Already sorted. Marcus from work just split up with his wife. He’s moving in.’
Oh. Lola relaxed, because she knew Marcus and he was all right, if a bit on the boring side and inclined to jabber on about motorcycles. Which could well have had something to do with his marriage breaking up.
‘So no need to panic,’ said Gabe. ‘All taken care of. You two’ll get along fine.’
‘Good.’ Visualizing Marcus in his oil-stained, unfashionable clothes, Lola said, ‘But I can’t see me borrowing his T-shirts.’
Ugh, it was raining harder than ever now. Wishing she was wearing flatter shoes, Lola hurried along the road with her jacket collar up, then turned left down the side street that was a short cut to the tube station. She winced as her left foot landed in a puddle and—
‘Get off me, get off! Noooo!’
Chapter 5
Lola’s head jerked up, her heart thudding in her chest at the sight of the violent scene unfolding ahead of her. The woman’s piercing screams filled the air as she was dragged out of the driver’s seat of her car by two men who flung her roughly to the ground. One of them knelt over her, ripping at something on the woman’s hand. When she struggled against him he hit her in the face and snarled, ‘Shut up.’
But the woman let out another shriek of fright and he hit her again, harder this time, bouncing her head off the road. ‘I said shut it. Now give me your rings.’
‘No! Owww.’ The woman groaned as he wrenched back her arm.
‘Leave her alone!’ bellowed Lola, punching 999 into her phone and gasping, ‘Police, ambulance, Keveley Street.’ Filled with a boiling rage, she kicked off her shoes and raced down the road to the car. ‘Get off her!’
‘Yeah, right.’ The man sneered while his cohort revved the engine of the woman’s car.
‘Come on,’ bellowed the cohort, ‘hurry up, hurry up.’
‘Stop it!’ Lola grabbed hold of the attacker’s greasy hair and yanked his head back hard, shocked to see in the darkness that the face of the woman was covered in blood. ‘Leave her alone, I’ve called the police.’
‘Let go of me,’ roared the man, fighting to free himself.
‘No, I won’t.’ Grappling with him on the ground, Lola smelled alcohol on his fetid breath and felt ice-cold rain seeping through her tights. The woman was lying on her side facing away from her, curled up and moaning with pain. The man swore again and twisted like an eel to escape, but Lola had him now and she was damned if she’d let him go before the—
CRRRACKK, an explosion of noise and pain filled Lola’s head and she realized the other attacker had hit her from behind with some kind of weapon. Then everything melted and went black and she slumped to the ground.
As if from a great distance Lola heard the screech of tires as the car accelerated away. Close to, the woman groaned. Without opening her eyes, Lola stretched out an arm, encountered the woman’s foot, and clumsily patted it.
‘S’OK, you’re all right, just hang on and the police’ll be here.’ God, she felt so sick. The pain at the back of her head was intense. But the woman next to her in the road was now sobbing hysterically, in need of reassurance and comfort.
‘Th-they tricked m-me, I th-thought someone was hurt… then when I stopped the c-c-car they d-dragged me out…’
‘Hey, hey, don’t be upset.’ Lola stroked the woman’s leg, the only part of her she could reach. ‘I can hear sirens, someone’s coming, you’re OK now.’
‘I’m not OK, there’s b-blood everywhere, he punched me in the face and b-broke my n-nose.’
‘Sshh, don’t cry.’ Squeezing the woman’s calf and shivering with cold, Lola forced down a rising swell of nausea. ‘Here’s the ambulance. I hope they don’t run over my shoes…’
The next twenty minutes were a confusing blur. Lola was dimly aware that she was having trouble answering the questions put to her by the paramedics and the police. She hoped they didn’t think she was paralytic with drink. Blue flashing lights gave the otherwise pitch-black street the look of an eerie disco but no one was dancing. Requested to hold out an outstretched arm then touch her nose with her forefinger, Lola missed and almost took her eye out. Asked to name the Prime Minister she struggled to put a name to the face floating around in her mind. ‘Hang on, don’t tell me, I know it… I know it… is it Peter Stringfellow?’
The other woman had already been whisked off to hospital in the first ambulance. When a second arrived in the narrow, suddenly busy street and a stretcher was brought out, Lola waved her hands and protested, ‘No, no, I can’t go to the party, I’ve got work tomorrow.’
‘You need to be checked over, love. You were knocked out.’
‘I know I’m a knockout.’ Lola beamed up at the curiously attractive paramedic… OK, so he was in his fifties and resembled a pig but he had lovely eyes. ‘Will you dance with me?’
‘Course I will, love. Just as soon as you’re better.’ He grinned down at her.
‘You’re gorgeous.’ How on earth had she never found big double chins and enormous stomachs attractive before?
‘I know, I know. Johnny Depp, that’s me.’
‘No you’re not, you’re way better than him.’ As she was expertly lifted onto the stretcher Lola gazed adoringly up at the paramedic and wondered why he was sw
aying back and forth. ‘You look like Hagrid.’
***
‘Mum, I’m fine. They’ve X-rayed my skull and checked me out all over. It was just a bash on the head.’ Gingerly Lola leaned forward in bed to show her mother the egg-sized bump. ‘They’re discharging me later. They only kept me in overnight because I was knocked out for a few seconds and when I came round I was a bit muddled.’
‘So I’ve just been hearing in the nurses’ office,’ said Blythe. ‘Apparently you were hilarious, propositioning one of the poor ambulance men. I can’t believe you did something so ridiculous.’
‘It wasn’t my fault! I was concussed!’
‘I don’t mean that. I’m talking about you launching yourself into a dangerous situation. You could have been killed.’
This had occurred to Lola too; at the time she’d simply acted on impulse although in retrospect it had been a bit of a reckless thing to do. ‘But I wasn’t. And I’m OK.’ Apart from the blistering headache. ‘Could you give work a ring and tell them I should be in tomorrow?’
‘I most certainly will not. I’ll tell them you might be in next week, depending on how you feel.’
‘Mum, how are they going to feel if you tell them that? It’s December! Everyone’s rushed off their feet!’
‘And you were knocked unconscious,’ Blythe retorted. ‘Anything could have happened. My God, for once in your life will you listen to me?’
A man who’d been walking up the ward stopped and said genially, ‘It always pays to do as your mother tells you.’
He was in his sixties, well-spoken and smartly dressed in a suit. Was this her doctor? Lola sat up a bit straighter in bed and smiled expectantly, all ready to convince him that she was well enough to be allowed home. After last night’s debacle with the paramedic she’d better put on a good show.
‘Miss Malone?’
‘That’s me.’ Eagerly Lola nodded. To prove her brain was in good working order, he’d probably ask her the kind of questions doctors used on old people when they wanted to find out if they were on the ball. OK, what was the capital of Australia? What was thirty-three times seven? Yeesh, don’t let him ask her to name the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer.
‘Hello.’ He moved towards her, smiling and extending his hand.
‘Hi!’ Quick, was it Melbourne? Victoria? Lola’s brain was racing. People always thought it was Sydney but she knew it definitely wasn’t. Might he give her half a point for that, at least?
The man shook her hand warmly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Philip Nicholson.’
He even smelled delicious. Watching him turn to shake her mother’s hand, Lola breathed in his expensive aftershave. Goodness, what charming manners, this was like being in a private hospital and getting—ooh, was it Perth?
‘I just had to come and see you,’ he went on.
‘Well, I suppose you couldn’t avoid it. All part of the job description!’ Lola beamed at him, aware that he was looking at her head. Touching the tender area she said, ‘Bit of a bump, that’s all. I’m absolutely fine. Except, can I just quickly tell you that I’m rubbish at capital cities?’
Philip Nicholson hesitated and glanced over at Blythe, who shrugged and looked baffled.
‘In case that’s what you were going to ask me,’ Lola hurriedly explained. ‘I mean, some are all right, like Paris and Amsterdam and Madrid, they’re easy, and I do happen to know that the capital of Azerbaijan is Baku, but in general I have to say that capitals aren’t my strong point.’ To be on the safe side she added, ‘Neither’s politics.’
Carefully Dr Nicholson said, ‘That’s not a problem. I won’t ask any questions about either subject.’
‘Phew, what a relief.’ Lola relaxed back against her piled-up pillows. ‘I’d hate to be kept in just because I couldn’t name the leader of the Liberal Democrats.’
Dr Nicholson cleared his throat and said, ‘I’m sure that wouldn’t happen.’
‘Well, hopefully not, but sometimes you do know the answer and you just can’t think of it. Someone fires a question at you, you know it’s important to get it right and—boom!—your mind goes blank!’
‘Of course it does.’ He nodded understandingly.
‘Like, let’s try it with you.’ Lola waggled an index finger at him. ‘Capital of Australia.’
Dr Nicholson hesitated. Blythe, never able to resist a quiz question, let out a squeak of excitement and raised her arm. Lola swung the pointing finger round and barked in Paxmanesque fashion, ‘Yes, Mum?’
‘Sydney!’
‘No it isn’t.’ Lola returned her attention to Dr Nicholson. ‘Your turn.’
He was looking somewhat taken aback. Opening his mouth to reply, he—
‘Brisbane!’
‘Sshh, Mum. It isn’t your go.’
‘Um…’
‘Melbourne!’ squealed Blythe.
‘Mum, control yourself. It’s Dr Nicholson’s turn.’
At this, his shoulders relaxed and his mouth began to twitch. ‘It’s Canberra. And I’ve just worked out what’s going on. I’m not Dr Nicholson, by the way.’
Bemused, Lola said, ‘No?’
He smiled. ‘Entirely my fault. I knew the police had told you our name last night and I kind of assumed you’d remember. But you were concussed. I’m sorry, let’s start again. My name’s Philip Nicholson and I’m here to thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming to my wife’s rescue. You did an incredibly brave thing and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful we are.’ His voice thickened with emotion. ‘Those thugs could have killed her if you hadn’t gone to help.’
Lola clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I thought you were my doctor, coming to check whether I was compos mentis.’
Philip Nicholson looked amused. ‘I realize that now.’
‘Phew! Just as well I didn’t think you were here to examine my chest.’ God, imagine if she’d whipped her top off, that would’ve given him a bit of a start.
‘Quite.’
‘How’s your wife this morning?’ said Lola.
‘Well, still shocked. Battered and bruised. Two broken fingers.’ There was a hard edge to his voice now. ‘Where they tried to wrench her rings off.’
‘Did they get them?’
‘No. Which is also thanks to you. She’s pretty shaken up, and her face is swollen. But physically it could have been a lot worse.’ Philip Nicholson shook his head and slowly exhaled. ‘My wife and I owe you so much.’
Lola squirmed, embarrassed. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’
‘No they wouldn’t,’ Blythe retorted. ‘Most people would have had more sense.’
Their visitor nodded. ‘I’m inclined to agree. Though very grateful, of course, that your daughter wasn’t—’
‘Hello, hello! Morning, all!’ A little man wearing a maroon corduroy jacket over a green hand-knitted sweater came bouncing up to them. Pumping Lola’s hand and simultaneously pulling closed the curtains around the bed, he said, ‘I’m Dr Palmer, your consultant. Let’s just give you a quick once-over, shall we? If you two could leave us alone for ten minutes that’d be marvelous. I say, that’s a fair-sized bump on your head. How are you feeling after your little adventure last night?’
‘Great.’ Lola watched as, with mesmerizing speed, he began testing her reflexes, her eyes, her coordination. ‘Are you going to be asking me questions?’
‘Absolutely.’
She couldn’t help feeling a bit smug. ‘The capital of Australia is Canberra.’
‘Good grief, is it really? Always thought it was Sydney. Never been much good at capital cities, I’m afraid. When I’m checking out my patients I prefer to ask them sums. What’s twenty-seven times sixty-three?’
‘Uh… um…’ Lola began to panic; seven threes were twenty-one,
carry two and—
‘Only kidding.’ Mr Palmer’s eyes twinkled as he snatched up her notes. ‘What day is it today?’
‘Wednesday the fourth of December.’ Phew, that was more like it, that was the kind of question she could answer.
‘Cheers.’ He wrote the date on a fresh page then added o/e NAD.
‘What does NAD mean?’ Lola peered at it. ‘Please don’t say Neurotic and Demented.’
The consultant chuckled. ‘On examination, no abnormality detected.’
‘My mother might not agree with you there. So does that mean I can go home?’
‘I think we can let you go.’
Beaming, Lola wiggled her feet. ‘Yay.’
***
‘What a charming man.’ Blythe, evidently quite bowled over by Philip Nicholson, found Lola’s glittery shoes in the bottom of her bedside locker. ‘And so grateful. His wife’s on Ward Thirteen, up on the next floor. Poor thing, from the sound of it her face is a terrible mess. I think they’re going to be sending you flowers, by the way. He asked for your address.’
‘If they’re that grateful they might send me chocolates too. Did you phone work?’
‘I did. Told them you wouldn’t be in until next week.’
‘Who did you speak to? What did they say?’
‘It was Cheryl.’ Blythe held out the cropped velvet jacket as if Lola were six years old. ‘And it was quite hard to hear what she was saying. Everyone was cheering so loudly when they heard you were going to be away, I could hardly make out a word.’
‘Cheek. Everyone loves me at work. Honestly,’ said Lola, ‘if Philip Nicholson wants to get me something really useful, a new mother wouldn’t go amiss.’
Chapter 6
‘This is fantastic. I feel like the Queen.’ Being at home and having a fuss made of her was a huge novelty and Lola was relishing every minute. Once you’d been officially signed off work by the doctor, well, you may as well lie back and make the most of it. Friends called in, bringing chocolate croissants and gossip from the outside world, a couple of police officers had dropped by to tell her that the muggers hadn’t been caught, and Blythe had come over yesterday and spring-cleaned—well, winter-cleaned—the flat.
