“What condition is she in?” he shouts to Alex as he hurls himself into the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know, they didn’t say. Look, do you want me to drive?”
Erik looks at his shaking hands as he fumbles and misses the ignition keyhole. He flexes his fingers, wincing painfully; they seem so stiff and unyielding.
“Could you?” he asks, hating the pitiful tone in his voice, but imagining Alex to be a capable and proficient driver, especially if he’s used to driving around London on his police duties.
They switch over, and as Alex pulls away Erik clutches at the dashboard.
“What did he say? On the telephone, I mean,” asked Erik.
Alex’s concentration is on the road but he glances over at Erik. “He didn’t give me much information, just that she survived and is at this hospital. But Erik, you need to tell me where I’m going.”
Erik jerks upright and from between clenched teeth he directs Alex the short distance to the hospital. As they pull around to the brightly illuminated Accident and Emergency entrance, Erik wonders why Naomi was at the Episcopalian Church. He knows of it, it’s not too far from their shared home, but Naomi isn’t a church-goer. She’s not got a religion or faith at all. And why didn’t she go straight home, because to get to the church she would have walked past their house? He bangs his fist on the dashboard, bets that she’d got a call from one of the Scheveningen girls, in need of something or other. He’s told her so many times not to give out her personal number but she still does. The girls call her all the time, wanting medication or a sympathetic ear. Once she had a call from a working girl who had run out of condoms! Erik had wrestled the phone from her grasp and told the woman never to call Naomi again with a pathetic reason like that, before hanging up on her. That little scene had led to their first fight as a couple. Sadly, it hadn’t been their last. And he curses himself now, because he more than anyone should understand that her work and her girls are Naomi’s life. How many times has he, Erik, taken a call whilst off duty and gone off in the dead of night? Why does he believe his work is more important than hers? And he promises himself, if – no, when – she gets through this, he’ll be different. He’ll be supportive and affectionate and–
“Shall I pull up here?”
Alex interrupts his thoughts and Erik looks up to see the car pulling into the emergency parking bay. He’s out of the car and running through the entrance. A couple of his colleagues are there, and they grab his arms as he continues to run blindly. He grapples with them, he can see them talking but can’t hear them and then Alex is there, pulling at his arm, tugging him away.
“Erik, is that her? They’re now bringing her in …”
Erik turns around. Two paramedics are wheeling her in behind him; he sees the hair, the high cheekbones, the closed eyes.
Naomi …
He darts over, racing to keep up, shouting at the paramedic to tell him what happened, what’s wrong with her, will she be okay?
And as Naomi vanishes through the double doors along with hurried, promised words from the paramedic that he’ll be back as soon as he can.
Erik steps up to the door and looks through the porthole window. They’ve taken her through to a bay, and the last thing that Erik sees before the curtains are yanked closed, is the first paramedic pumping hard on Naomi’s chest, and the doctor who has joined them reaching for the paddles of the defibrillator.
45
ELIAN & THE DOCTOR
HOLLAND SPOOR
10.7.16 Early morning
Elian rides the tram to the surgery. She’s missed rush hour and she takes a seat on the left hand side row. It’s cloudier today with a sky the colour of gunmetal, and as the woods flash past they seem eerie and desolate. She shivers and looks down at her notebook that she’s bought along with her.
She’s not made a decision yet whether to tell the doctor what she saw last night. Already the images, so clearly imprinted the previous evening, are fading and she’s glad she wrote down her witness account.
Idly, she pulls her pen out of her bag and turns to a fresh page. She writes Alex’s name, stares at it and then hastily scribbles it out, closes the book and stuffs it back in her bag. She can’t allow sentimentality now, not yet, although it may be too late for rebuking herself and her emotions. Last night, as she walked back to her apartment, she was sure she saw him driving a car. It whizzed past her in such a blur and took off around the corner so fast she couldn’t get a good look. But of course it wasn’t Alex. Alex isn’t here. He doesn’t know that she’s here because she purposefully covered her tracks so he couldn’t find her. Because when she goes back to him she wants to go back as herself, healed and healthy, not the broken down girl that left him.
And then a terrible thought strikes her; what if he’s not searching for her? What if he’s not waited? What if he’s moved on with one of the many, beautiful, more age appropriate women that he could get with the click of a finger? What if he’s not given her a second thought since she left London?
She takes a deep breath, knowing that it’s a distinct possibility. But it’s something to
