My brother just stood there, looking tired and confused. I glanced at him and thought:Was he right about you? Three girlfriends, yeah, but El’s gaydar is pretty spectacular. Was. No,is. I don’t care what Dr Luthor says.
“Now, before my son answers any questions I want to make one thing absolutely clear,” said Dad in his pompous lawyer’s voice, even though he only ever really draws up people’s wills. I’d imagined him drawing up mine after I decided to leave all my worldly goods to El. When did that conversation happen, anyway? A week ago? A month? Dad butted into my thoughts: “Dylan willnotbe interviewed without legal representation.”
“Well,” said the doctor, blinking, “that’s not really my department, but I believe the police only want a preliminary word. He won’t be interviewed tonight as such.”
“Oh. Well then,” Dad huffed. “I suppose that’s all right.”
“Poor Ellis,” said Mum, giving my hand another squeeze. “We all really liked him. Didn’t we, love?”
“Eh?” Dad grunted.
“Ellis. He was a nice boy, wasn’t he?”
“Oh. Yes. Interesting. Interesting boy. Very…”
“Interesting,” I agreed, and my dad relaxed so much I wondered if Dr Luthor had given him an enema.
“And very funny. Wasn’t he funny, Chris?”
My brother dragged himself into semi-consciousness. “What? Oh, yeah. Funny. He was really funny.” I could practically hear the gears grinding into reverse. “I mean, funny ha-ha. Not weird-funny. You guys weren’t weird. Being gay isn’t weird at all. In fact, Hannah only just said tonight she thought you were really nice together. Cute.” He grasped at the word like a life jacket. “Really cute.”
Hannah’s his old girlfriend. Number two since Christmas. The current one is Izzy.
It was then that I noticed the doctor looking at me, and I couldn’t be sure – those lenses were so thick – but I thought I saw pity in his eyes. He consulted my chart and sighed.
“Ellis was your boyfriend, Dylan?”
“Yeah. He’s…he’s my boyfriend.”
Dr Luthor nodded his great dome of a head. “Then you’ve lost someone very special. All right, once we’ve got your head fixed up, I think I’m going to allow the constable outside to have a few minutes with you, but then I’m going to prescribe a sedative, okay? It’s just something to help you sleep.”
The doc checked my pulse, asked if I was warm enough, took my temperature, listened to my chest, grunted, made a note. While all this was going on, Mum said Dad and Chris were heading home; she would just go grab herself a coffee from the canteen and be right back. Dad said he was leaving his mobile for me and that he’d call first thing in the morning. Chris seemed at a loss. Then he gave me a thumbs up and appeared delighted with himself.
I was left with Dr Luthor. He waved a pen light in front of my eyes.
“Dylan, do you know you’re in shock?” He tutted at himself. “I’m sorry, stupid question. Now look, I can’t sugar-coat this for you, I wish I could. What you’ve experienced tonight…” He shot a glance at the door and then gave me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. And suddenly I knew who this man was. It woke me up, just a little. “It’s better for your generation than it was for mine,” he confided. “When we lost someone we loved it wasn’t always easy to show our grief. Not that any of that matters tonight, or at all, really. The grief’s exactly the same. But, Dylan, it is important that youdogrieve. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Course.”
He looked uncertain. “All right,” he said finally. “Now I’m going to attend to a bit of paperwork while the nurse takes a look at your head, and then I’ll let this police officer in to see you.”
Right about then my brain went into free fall. Time got confused somehow. I have my head glued by the nice nurse, and I freak her out, and now the police officer is coming in just as I’m remembering my chat with the doc. Honestly, I have no idea what the officer looks like or what he’s saying to me.
“Well, that’s enough for now,” he murmurs as I resurface. “A horrible accident. I’m really sorry about your friend.”
My friend? Does he mean El? I shake my head. “So what about the guy who rescued me?” I wonder why I haven’t asked this before. Shock, I guess, just like the doc said.
“I’m sorry?”
“The person who pulled me out of the car? Didn’t he help Ellis too?”
The officer’s frown deepens. It’s weird because even now that I’m concentrating, I still can’t really see what he looks like.
“I don’t understand.”
Jesus. Why is this man so dense? I’m not asking him the socio-economic causes of the French Revolution. It’s a simple bloody question.
“Who,” I say slowly, “saved me?”
