THIRTY-SIX
Black and white. Sky, hospital. Black sky, white hospital. Rory was so concerned to ensure his senses were intact, since the silence of the mobile against his ear felt as if his hearing had shut down, that the reason for the colour of the sky didn't immediately occur to him. He almost grabbed a man who was walking away from a taxi. 'What time is it?' he demanded, having realised that his watch must have been destroyed in the crash.
'Nearly eight. Just coming up.'
Rory found the additional phrase redundant, not to mention unwelcome in some way he hadn't time to grasp. The thought that Hugh and their cousins were out somewhere in the night on his behalf with no means of communication dismayed him. Why couldn't he have regained consciousness before any of them left? They weren't even all together. His lurch after the vacated taxi only seemed to send it faster onto the main road. No other taxis were in sight, and he saw that he oughtn't to leave people wondering what had become of him. He turned almost fast enough to leave his vision behind and hurried back into the hospital.
While visitors were loitering in the reception area, they didn't appear to be queuing. Rory dodged around them and waited for the receptionist to notice him – waited several heartbeats before blurting 'Excuse me.'
She still didn't look at him. 'Which ward do you want?'
'None of them. I've been.'
Even when she peered at him she seemed hardly to be seeing him. 'Aren't you visiting? Didn't you just come in?'
'I had an accident. I'm discharging myself.'
'From where?'
'Whichever your ward is where you stick tubes in folk.'
'Intensive Care?'
He'd snagged her attention at last, rather more of it than he needed. 'That'll be it,' he said as if he were unconscious of her frown. 'Can you tell them I'm fine and I've gone?'
'You mustn't leave your bed till someone's seen you.'
'I can, look. I've got to be somewhere else.'
Her expression had vanished as though it had never existed, and he hoped her objections had too. 'What's your name?' she said.
'Lucas. Rory Lucas.'
She hadn't reacted when he heard a murmur at his back. 'Isn't he the feller that was in the smash-up?'
'The one built a hill out of rubbish, you mean.'
'It wasn't a hill,' Rory muttered.
'Right enough, a mound.'
'Not one of those either,' Rory said louder and turned to confront the man, but no face owned up to having spoken. He swung around again to find that the receptionist had changed sex – at least, had moved aside for a broader-shouldered colleague. 'What seems to be the trouble, Mr Lucas?' the replacement said.
'None that I know of. You can see I'm fit to leave.'
'Better let a doctor be the judge.'
'Look, I know how I feel. If there's any problem I'll be back.'
As Rory took a sidelong pace towards the exit the man mirrored him. 'I can see myself out,' Rory said, turning to the doors.
He must have moved too hastily. At once he was surrounded by nothing, not even colour. He felt as though he were floating inert in the midst of a void. He couldn't let anyone observe his condition, and so he stumbled forwards in the hope this would lend him balance. He was just aware of blundering inside a segment of the revolving doors, which someone must be pushing. Suppose he tottered all the way around only to flounder blindly back into the hospital? As soon as he felt a shift of the air on his face he staggered towards it. He must be in the open, because he could smell cigarette smoke. As if the detail had returned all his senses to him, the blindness set about seeping towards the edge of his vision. There were no taxis on the forecourt of the hospital, and so he headed for the main road.
He was wary of moving too fast now. He could imagine that senselessness was lying in wait for him. He was yards short of the road when a taxi swung onto the forecourt and coasted towards the hospital entrance. He had to retrace practically all the steps he'd taken outside to be in a position to board once the passenger made way for him. He couldn't help peering into the lobby to make sure nobody had pursued him, and perhaps this was why the driver said 'Have they let you out, then?'
'Can we go to the station?' Rory slammed the door and, having sat back, clipped the seat belt into its slot. When the driver only squinted in the mirror Rory had to demand 'How do you mean?'
'You got your release.'
Rory fancied he was being asked to produce some kind of document until he saw that the driver was being facetious. 'I was visiting,' he said.
'Is that a fact.'
Insisting that it was might make Rory sound too determined to convince his questioner. 'Can we get going now?' he urged instead.
'When they've got this woman and her chair in unless you want us running them down.'
Rory was dismayed to realise that he hadn't noticed the large car ahead, into which a man was helping an invalid while a second man stowed a folded wheelchair in the boot. Surely Rory's senses weren't deserting him again; surely he was just preoccupied with leaving the hospital behind. He stared at the entrance to reassure himself that none of the emerging crowd was after him, and so he failed to observe the departure of the other car. He was sagging with relief as the taxi left the forecourt when the driver said 'How are they getting on?'
'I wish I knew,' Rory almost said despite knowing that the man didn't have Hugh or Ellen or Charlotte in mind. 'Well enough,' he hoped.
The taxi was among white buildings now – so white that he could have thought the world was being drained of colour. 'What's wrong?' the driver said.
'Nothing whatsoever. I'll be fine.'
A frown narrowed the driver's eyes as if to fit them better into the strip of mirror. 'With them.'
'Oh, I see,' Rory said and tried to judge a laugh. 'Nothing too bad.'
'Something must be or they wouldn't be kept in.'
Rory nodded, careless of how much agreement that implied if it saved him from further discussion, but it felt like a threat of subsiding into unconsciousness. It seemed to have silenced the driver until the man said 'Parent, is it?'
'Neither of them. They're away having a good time.'
'Wife.'
'I've not got any of those.'
'Give us a hint at least. Man or a woman?'
Rory wondered how determined the fellow might be to turn the situation into a game. He would have advised him politely or otherwise to desist if the man weren't providing a stimulus without which Rory felt in danger of losing awareness. The fear was enough to make him blurt 'Both.'
'That's bad, that. Same problem?'
Rory seemed to have left himself no answer except 'Yes.'
'Something that's making the rounds, is it?'
'Nothing like that. Don't worry, I can't pass it on to you,' Rory said as the taxi swerved into another onslaught of whiteness.
'What, then? Not a secret, is it?'
'I can't say.'
'You're never telling me the hospital don't know.'
'That's the truth,' Rory said, only to reflect that he didn't know much. Rather than give in to calling Hugh or their cousins again – rather than risk hearing the same voice take their place – he shut his eyes. 'I don't want to talk about it any more,' he said.
