‘I’ve told Vivian. And I tried to ring Louis, but he didn’t answer,’ she says.
‘Oh no. Don’t tell Louis. I’m OK. I want him to have a good break. It’s his honeymoon.’
‘You’re his dad.’
‘Yeah, and whatever is bruised or broken will still probably be bruised and broken in a few days when he’s home.’
She nods. ‘OK, if you’re sure.’
We’re silent for a moment, then I ask her. ‘So what exactly is bruised or broken? I mean, how bad is it? I know I had surgery but…’
‘They haven’t spoken to you?’
‘They might have. I’m a bit—’ I twirl my finger in the air to indicate both dizziness and borderline lunacy.
She laughs. ‘Well, at least that hasn’t changed.’
‘Hey, aren’t you meant to be nice to me? I could have died!’ I quip. Her face contorts and I’m suddenly sick of myself again. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, it’s OK. It’s good you can joke,’ she says, giving me a watery and not-quite-convincing smile. ‘It’s just when you rolled down that bank, and you were unconscious… well, I just didn’t know how it was going to end.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why were you chasing us, anyway?’
I swallow. ‘You know, I can’t remember.’
‘It must have been something important.’
I lift a finger and brush a little hair from her forehead. ‘Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter now. I’m sorry. It must have been so traumatic for you.’
‘I’ll survive.’
We fall silent and I can hear the sounds of the hospital beyond the room, the wheels of trolleys or beds being manoeuvred from one place to another. Distant voices.
‘It’s your leg,’ she says at last.
‘My leg?’
‘Yeah. You were lucky, they said. Minor concussion. But a bad break; a problem with blood supply that they had to correct with surgery. There was a chance… well, as I said, you were lucky. I think they put a metal plate in it. But it’s going to be OK.’
I am aware for the first time that my leg is encased in a thick plaster cast, raised on a pillow. How did I not notice that before? I look at the rest of my body where it’s exposed – my arms, my other foot. There are bruises, scratches but everything else seems reasonably OK.
I let out a single ‘Ha!’
‘What?’ she says, leaning forward.
‘We’re matching now. Twins,’ I say. My voice sounds slightly raspy and I cough to right it.
‘Not quite. You got the fancy plaster cast. I’m stuck with this stupid boot.’
‘I like the boot. You know. Much more modern than that white plaster stuff.’
She laughs. ‘Do you want me to autograph it?’
‘I’ll be the envy of the ward.’ We smile at each other, then she breaks away, glances at my leg briefly then down at her lap.
‘Did they say when I’d be able to get out of here?’
