‘I can call my brother if I find I need anyone.’ She tried to imagine Freddy abandoning his big, comfortable house in leafy Orton Longueville to sit beside her on these crowded seats. He would in a heartbeat, of course, if she asked him. But it had probably been a long time since he entered an NHS hospital. Much more likely companions were Ivan and Melvyn, who would willingly charge in to keep vigil for their big brother. They’d take over. They’d tell her not to worry, sit either side of her and be grim and demand to see every doctor in the place.
No, she’d wait alone, listening to the vending machine’s satisfied gurgles as a steady procession of people fed its coin slot. A group of teenage lads laughed and swore. Kiddies, pale and whiney, red and sleepy, crying, noisy kids that should’ve been in bed instead of arguing in the children’s playroom, waited while their siblings had their broken limbs and split heads seen to.
‘Diane?’
She jumped. A man loomed over her, his black leather jacket shining dully and his thick dark hair looking freshly cut.
‘Yes?’ she answered, cautiously.
He took the seat the policeman had vacated and smiled. ‘I’m James North, Valerie’s husband.’
Sorting rapidly through her memory, Diane failed to locate a James or a Valerie North.
‘Valerie was in the crash, too,’ he added, as she hesitated. Then, patiently, ‘You know who Valerie is, don’t you? Valerie North?’
She blinked. She hadn’t had time to wonder if there were others in the crash. ‘If you’re her husband, I’ll take a stab that she’s your wife.’ And, realising she’d been unnecessarily curt, ‘Does she work with Gareth?’
His brows went up. ‘Of course not.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, then.’
His eyes narrowed intently. ‘You don’t know who Valerie is?’ He leaned nearer, as if he could hypnotise her into divulging all she knew. The leather jacket brushed her hand; cool, sinuous.
She resisted the urge to check out its stitching to see if it was as well-made as the rest of him. ‘Should I?’
Frowning, he murmured, almost to himself, ‘I don’t know.’
His grey-eyed scrutiny made her feel like a specimen under his microscope. She put on the crisp voice she used with the bank to cover up a dread of uncovering unpalatable facts – this time that Gareth had been with this man’s spouse. A chill rippled through her guts. ‘You’re talking in riddles. How about simply telling me what’s going on between my husband and your wife?’
‘For God’s sake! What could be “going on”?’ For an instant something blazed in his eyes and she realised with a little shock that behind his show of patience, James North was smouldering with anger.
Before Diane could bark back that that was exactly what she wanted to know, a pale and untidy young woman rushed up, big-eyed as a fawn. ‘Dad – look atPops,’ she hissed, a hand fluttering towards an older man who, drained of colour and sunk in a chair, was foraging vaguely in the folds of his jacket.
‘Hell,’ muttered James. In four strides he was at the older man’s side. ‘I’ll get it, Harold.’ His big, deft hand extracted a bottle from the old man’s jacket pocket. In seconds a tablet was beneath Harold’s tongue and his collar and tie had been loosened. James had even found time to reassure the young woman twitching beside him. ‘He’ll be fine in a minute, Tamz, when he gets his breath.’
Relief, then uncertainty, flitted across her face. ‘I forgot about his medication, didn’t I?’
‘You did fine, you fetched me, you did the right thing.’ James smiled and his daughter smiled tremulously back.
James North turned the beam of his attention back to Diane. ‘Could you sit with Harold and Tamzin while I see if I can organise somewhere a bit quieter?’
Not waiting for an answer, he launched a charm offensive at the woman behind reception desk, his low voice warm and his smile persuasive. ‘My father-in-law’s not well, he has angina –’
Diane dropped into the empty chair beside Harold. ‘Any better?’
His large, old man’s nose was threaded with red veins, white hair lay neatly to one side and his eyes were kind. Already, the blue tinge was leaving his lips. ‘Getting that way.’ Hands slack and palms up in his lap, he nevertheless managed a trace of grim humour. ‘Shocks can do old codgers in. I shall have to point it out to my children.’
Diane was reminded of her father. Peter Wibberley hadn’t possessed much of the friendly dignity in this man but he, too, had spoken ‘nicely’ and automatically dressed in a jacket, shirt and tie whenever he left the house.
‘Pops will be much better soon.’ Tamzin’s bony hands moved restlessly. ‘The pills are well good.’
‘Good.’ Diane smiled. She’d first taken Tamzin for about sixteen, with her waiflike figure and James North as her sheepdog, but now she saw that Tamzin’s eyes were much older. Sadder. Reflecting the world in the grey of her eyes. She spoke like a princess who’d learnt the vernacular from the servants, inserting ‘well good’ clumsily. She would’ve been pretty if not such a scarecrow. ‘His colour’s improving already.’
‘Reassuring,’ Harold murmured.
Then James was back. ‘There’s a room we can use. They’ll let us through a security door.’
When Harold had gathered his energy, they herded along the corridor, James stationing himself at Harold’s elbow as well as resting a hand on the thin shoulders of his daughter as if to ensure that she didn’t get lost. He settled the older man in a room that was cramped but better than the busy, noisy area they’d just left. ‘Tamz, will you stay with Pops for a few minutes?’ His eyes settled purposefully on Diane. ‘We’ll organise hot drinks, shall we? We could all do with something.’
