“Yeah, how rich are you?” Simon asked as we looked into various rooms. “Were you making fun of Neuberger earlier?”
“Er, Mr Anson, I thought that it was very un-British to ask about money.”
He shrugged. “I’ve lived abroad. Go on, what are we talking? Well-to-do middle-class, tech start-up entrepreneur, City banker, or children’s wizard book writer?”
I remembered the situation with my contract, and my chest tightened involuntarily. “Somewhere in between the two middle ones. If I lived frugally, I could survive off my savings, until, well, a pretty long time and never work again. Maybe. It depends.”
Simon whistled. “You’re a bit of a catch then.”
We came to the last room in the corridor, and I saw a couple in their seventies talking at the foot of a bed. “Let’s say that, if I wanted to, I could afford to have paid for everything Neuberger thinks I did have done for me without getting my hands dirty.”
Simon didn’t respond to that.
“I think this is his room,” I said. The couple were pottering around a man lying in the bed, slightly raised. “They seem like the sort of people who would have a vicar for a son.” I looked at Simon. “Have you met his parents before?”
“Once,” he said. “A couple of Christmases ago, when they stayed in the village. Not sure they’ll remember me.”
He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. It was then that I realised neither of us had thought to bring a gift of any sort. Simon entered, and I meekly followed, feeling self-conscious.
The woman, who had a kind face, rose to greet us. “Not sure if you remember me …” Simon said.
“Simon, Jed’s friend from the village. Of course, we do.” She held out a hand.
He gave it a hearty shake. “This is Arden, from the village as well and a friend of Jed’s.”
“Alice Fulford,” she said. “And this is Jed’s father, Harold.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” I said. “So sorry about the circumstances.”
We both followed Alice over to Jed’s bed, where Harold was fussing around his son.
Jed was up and blinking. He looked gaunt, with reddy-brown stubble across his face, heavily mixed with grey. His skin was red and raw, and his lips were being dutifully attended to but were still chapped.
“Simon,” he said quietly, with the smallest of smiles.
“Hello, mate.” Simon came up to his bed and gently squeezed his arm. “Look at the state of you.”
“I know, I know,” he wheezed. “I’m a drama queen.”
I hung back. Not wanting to be involved in their moment. “Who’s that with you?” Jed whispered.
“It’s Arden,” Simon said.
I waved but stayed a couple of metres back by the wall. “Hi, Jed, good to see you recovering.” Jed gave me a smile.
He and Simon made small talk for a few minutes. The pair moved closer to one another, their heads together. I made polite inquiries to Alice and Harold and passed the time.
After several minutes, Jed clutched Simon’s arm, and we all started. Jed turned to his parents. “Mum, Dad, can I have a minute with Si and Arden, please?”
They looked worried at the thought of moving away, but Harold nodded and led his wife from the room. I gave my best smile to them as they departed before making my way over to the bed.
“Love them,” Jed said in his hoarse voice. “But Christ, they’re dull. Dying for a fag and a pint.” Simon looked unfazed by Jed’s abrupt change in demeanour, so apparently this was par for the course.
“Next, you’ll be complaining the hospital’s Wi-Fi has all the porn sites blocked,” Simon said.
Jed’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Why would they do that to a man trying to recover?”
Simon shrugged. “Jed, we need to talk to you,” he said, becoming serious. “You need to tell us about that day. Is there anything you can think of that could help?”
