The street lights on the path are the black, ornate type that glow orange – a decorative feature rather than a functional source of light – and as I step into the gloom of the staff car park an unease begins to settle over me.
I look behind me to the pathway that leads back to the hospital and tell myself it’s nothing. There’s no one here. You’ve never ventured on to hospital grounds before. I imagine the CCTV cameras and security team put you off. As though trying to convince myself, I look up, searching for a camera. The car park is in darkness. There are no lights, let alone CCTV cameras like there are in the visitor parking. How did I not realize this before?
I quicken my pace, heading for the far corner where I parked my car.
The feeling of being watched creeps over me – a spider crawling up my back. My pulse races, my breath burns in my lungs to be set free. There’s a noise, a clatter, like a pebble being kicked. I glance one way then the other. The darkness, like the panic, closes in.
I start to run, but my feet feel heavy as though my pumps have become a pair of Stuart’s clomping work boots.
A loud whisper hisses through the night air. ‘Jennnnnaaa.’
I gasp and stumble, my muscles freezing. I scan the outer edges of the car park, searching for the source of the voice, searching for you, and at the same time I’m desperate not to see anything, to just get to my damn car before you get to me.
‘Jennnnaaaa.’ The whisper is like an echo coming from all around me.
Then there’s a movement, a rustle of leaves from the bushes.
It’s enough to ignite the panic, and now I’m digging into my bag for my car keys as I sprint forwards.
‘Jennnnaaa.’
‘Who’s there?’ I shout. ‘Leave me alone.’
A lump forms in my throat. I can’t breathe. There’s someone behind me. Footsteps coming. I’m never going to make it.
My fingers wrap around my keys and I pull them from my bag, pointing them at my car. Nothing happens. ‘Come on,’ I hiss. The second time, it works and my headlights flick on automatically, blinding me for a moment as I rush towards the driver’s door.
I yank it open, almost safe, and just as I’m about to dive inside, a hand grabs my shoulder.
The scream catches in my throat and I spin around, my arms flying up to protect myself from you.
‘You all right, Jenna?’ I recognize the mumbling Yorkshire accent and I look properly at the figure standing in front of me. It’s not you, it’s Thomas Carrick, one of the doctors I work with. He’s eighteen months into his specialist training and a doctor I trust.
‘Thomas.’ His name escapes as a gasp. ‘Did you just whisper my name a minute ago?’
‘No.’ He takes a step back from me and glances around. ‘Are you … is everything …?’ He doesn’t finish the questions he wants to ask. He never does. It’s a habit Diya and I have teased him about more than once.
‘Not really. I thought someone was in the car park. Someone was whispering my name.’
‘Was it him … your …?’ He looks around again. ‘Who’s there?’ he shouts.
My cheeks flame. I hate how everyone knows about you. All of the emails you’ve sent to my work colleagues have been mortifying.
‘Let me have a quick look about,’ Thomas says.
I nod my thanks and watch him stride towards the edges of the car park. Every few paces he ducks down, checking around the sides of the cars he passes. He disappears into the dark and I realize I’m shivering all over.
‘Couldn’t see anyone,’ he calls out suddenly and I jump.
‘Where’s your car?’ I ask when Thomas has jogged back to me.
‘Nowhere. My house is just over there.’ He points towards the road. ‘It’s quicker to cut through the car park and hop over the wall than go the main way.Do you want me to …? I can sit in the passenger seat if you want some reinforcements.’
‘Thanks, that’s really kind, but I just want to go home.’
‘OK. Well, if it’s all right with you, I’ll wait here and watch you drive out, make sure no one jumps out.’
‘You really don’t need to.’
