He nodded into the darkness. “It’s okay. Night.”
Downstairs in the kitchen, his mood soured. He sipped from a glass of wine, but the Gevrey-Chambertin had lost its lustre. It tasted bitter, and the bouquet didn't reach its earlier heights, as if the atmosphere in the house had tarnished it. He drank it anyway and poured another glass in the hope things would improve.
What should he do about Jo? There would be no chance of seeing her this weekend after all that had happened. A shiver of guilt ran through him, but he ignored it. Alice was witness to South Ken attack. Police just left the house. Call you early next week. Sorry. He sent the text to Jo then deleted it from the sent folder.
The notion police were questioning Alice in their house unsettled him, and the sooner the whole thing was over with the better. He thought about scrolling through Twitter but tweets regarding Alice would only frustrate and annoy him, maybe even prompt him to get involved in exchanges he couldn't win. He took a deep breath and told himself it would all work out.
Ian reached for the remote and switched the TV on. He watched an economic report for several minutes until they cut to a commercial break. The ads bored him, and he snatched at the remote to change channel. In doing so, he knocked the half empty glass to the floor, where it shattered. A dark pool spread on the cream tiles. “Damn it,” he cursed. He listened for any sound from above, but the house was silent, save for the background noise of the TV.
He hoisted himself off the stool and mopped up the wine. Shards of broken glass had spread around the kitchen floor and he swept them into a scoop. Just when he thought he had them all, a fragment crunched beneath his foot. The damn stuff got everywhere.
While he filled a fresh glass with the last of the wine from the bottle, he glanced up at the TV. The commercial break was over, and they re-ran a familiar clip.
“...A blonde girl drinking champagne. Short black dress. White jacket draped on a chair...”
17
On Saturday morning, people milled around the reception area in Hammersmith Hospital. Relatives yelled at the staff manning the main desk. Even the security people looked nervous. Cole glanced around and concluded even getting to the harassed staff would be a challenge. He would have to use his wits to find Daz.
He studied the signs for departments and wards. Arrows pointed this way and that way. He dashed up the stairs to the next floor. Corridors led in three directions. Staff in green overalls hurried past him, swirling antiseptic odours in their wake. When he raised his hand at one, she put her head down and scurried off. He cursed her and followed a sign for a nurses’ station.
He couldn't find the station, so he pushed open several doors until he found a small office. Inside, a nurse sat behind a desk and tapped on a keyboard.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she said without raising her head.
He allowed her what he thought was a polite amount of time to finish what she was doing. That time passed. He drummed his fingers on the desk. She still typed.
“Excuse me,” he said.
She glanced up. “Yes?”
Cole smiled at her. “I’m looking for my brother, Daz, Darren Cole. They told me he was up here.”
Another nurse entered and placed several files on the desk without a word and then hurried out again. “Oh yeah?” The nurse at the computer pushed the new files beneath the pile by her side and her attention returned to the screen.
Cole nodded. “Yeah.”
He watched her work the keyboard. She typed a lot more characters than ‘Darren Cole’. Cole drummed his fingers again. “Have you found him?”
She stopped typing. “Sorry, just give me a minute here, please.”
“Too busy on Facebook, yeah?”
“Look, mister. I have 27 patient notes to type up. Plus the ones Parveen dropped on me.” She pointed to the pile of documents. “Some writing is impossible to read. If I type the wrong thing, a patient could get the wrong treatment, so I need to be careful with each entry into the computer, including this one. I should’ve finished hours ago. But I’m still here, barely earning enough to pay my rent. Trying to concentrate. We all are. It’s mad busy in here since last night, in case you didn’t notice. Visitors should get information from downstairs. This isn't a public office.”
Cole put his hands up. “I was there last night. In South Ken. You know what? I was on TV. You might have seen me?”
“Told you already. I was working. Sure didn’t have time for TV.”
“I stopped the terrorist.” Cole stood up straight. “He drove over my brother. Broke his leg. They wouldn’t let me visit after. Said to visit today. The people on TV called me a hero.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Did they really?”
“Yeah. They did. I’m Lewis Cole.”
She stared at Cole and sighed. “Oh go on then. What’s your brother’s name again?”
Ten minutes later, Cole stood at a counter, faced with an older nurse. “Yes?” she asked.
“Looking for Darren Cole. They told me he was here.”
“ICU’s down to your left, second door on your right. Ring the bell and wait for someone to let you in.”
“What? ICU? Why’s he in there?”
“Sorry. I can’t tell you. Data protection.”
“But I’m his brother.”
“Talk to ICU.”
Cole nodded his thanks and hurried in the direction the nurse had pointed. Ignoring her instructions, he pushed
