Tom replied, ‘Wah hoe.’
‘What language is that?’ Laura stared them.
‘It is Hokkien Chinese,’ said the doctor. ‘My family comes from Malaysia, and I gather your father learned the language when he lived there before the war.’
‘Really? I had no idea. Dad, you never told me you could speak Chinese.’
‘Well, it was a very long time ago. Besides, I’ve almost completely forgotten it, I’m afraid. I haven’t spoken a word of Hokkien for years.’
‘Your father is just being modest. He has an excellent accent,’ said the doctor with a warm smile. He turned to Laura. ‘Look, I’m very sorry, Miss Ellis, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. I have some checks to do on your father, and then I must continue on my rounds.’
‘Could you just give me a couple of minutes?’ Laura pleaded.
‘I’m very sorry, but he will really need to rest after the tests. We mustn’t tire him. You can come back tomorrow.’
As she trudged down the long echoing corridors towards the exit, Laura berated herself for having lost the courage to tell him the truth. Why hadn’t she insisted that the letter wasn’t from the Volunteers? Pure cowardice. But did it really matter anymore? Whoever had written the letter had never written again. If she had been that concerned about getting in touch, she would surely have done so. And what difference would it make to her father to know about this now anyway? It would just make him angry about something she had done such a long time ago.
Why, though, was he so reluctant to tell her about the war? She would try again tomorrow. She thought with regret about all the times she could have asked him: night after night through the years, when they had sat in companionable silence over the evening meal. Or afterwards, as they had sat in his study together, she working on her schoolwork, he reading at his desk or on his old settee. She could have asked him about the war anytime, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t even stopped to consider him at all. All their conversations had focused on her: her education, her friends, her career. She had simply assumed that Dad was perfectly content with his life, going to his job at the law centre each morning and spending his evenings with friends, drinking with Ken or playing darts at the pub at the end of the road.
She was nearing the hospital entrance now, and the corridor was widening out. There were more people about: doctors and nurses hurrying to and from shifts; anxious visitors, like herself, carrying bunches of flowers wrapped in cellophane; the occasional patient, marked out by a feeble and pasty look, wandering about in pyjamas, dragging drips on wheels or propelling themselves in wheelchairs.
Laura began to feel claustrophobic. She needed to escape and started to speed up, but as she passed the front desk she noticed a familiar figure talking to one of the receptionists.
‘Luke?’
He turned. ‘Ah, there you are, Loz. I came to look for you. I called your dad’s house, but the old Scottish guy said you were here. You look washed out, babe. Come here.’
She let him take her in his arms. She buried her face in his hair. She recognised the scent of her own Vidal Sassoon shampoo.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said.
‘I’m so sorry I haven’t been around. You must have been through hell. How’s your dad?’
‘So so. He’s very tired. He really looks ill.’
‘Come on, let’s get out of here. Hospitals are so depressing. Shall we go to the flat?’
‘What about Rory?’
Luke laughed. ‘His mum and dad turned up this morning and whisked him away in the family Jag. His dad’s some sort of big-shot banker or something. Gave me a right bollocking.’
They walked across the car park towards the bus stop on the main road.
‘It’s hardly my fault the guy couldn’t stick university, is it? People like them make me vomit.’
‘Have they taken him home?’
‘Yeah, back to stockbroker belt. He phoned them last night. He was acting a bit strange at the pub with the guys from the protest. I know he’s been ill, but he was really anti-social. A few of the guys started ribbing him for being a toff. I guess they were a bit unfair.’
‘Well, perhaps it’s for the best that he’s gone.’
‘True. We can have the place to ourselves.’
Back at the flat he pulled her to him, and kissed her. She returned his kiss, but when she felt his hands on her breasts, she froze, and then pushed him away.
‘I’m sorry, Luke. I just can’t. Not today.’
‘It’s just been so long, that’s all. I’ve missed you so much.’
‘I know. I’ve missed you too. I just feel so bad about Dad and everything. I need a bit of time, that’s all.’
‘OK, I understand.’
‘Look. Why don’t we go down to the café in the Barbican and get something to eat? There’s no food here. It’ll be my treat. Then, would you mind very much if I had a rest? I hardly slept at all last night. I feel drained.’
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Let’s do that, then.’ But she saw from his expression that the rejection had irritated him.
After lunch, Luke made an excuse about having to meet somebody in Hackney and left. Laura returned to the flat alone. She did not have the energy to try to persuade him to stay. She drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep, but was awoken by the distant repeated ringing of a bell. As she surfaced, she realised it was the telephone. She forced herself to wake up and picked it up.
‘Laura?’ It was Ken’s voice. ‘The hospital has been trying to get in touch with you. You need to go back there straight away. Tom’s had another heart attack. It sounds serious.’
11
Tom knew he must have drifted off to sleep, because when he woke up, jolted by the tinny notes of the bugle announcing the morning roll
