‘They have those bloody lines painted for a reason, you know!’ the driver yelled out of his window.
‘Piss off!’ I hollered back, before I could stop myself. The irate husband parked on a double yellow line and opened the door for his wife, the pair of them glaring at me all the while.
I lowered myself onto the pavement and felt my knees buckle. I had just straightened up as Ed caught up with me. ‘Nice driving, pet. Bet you would’ve enjoyed that in different circumstances, eh?’
I had just run seven red lights and even briefly managed to push the dilapidated heap up to a hundred on the straight. ‘Any other time.’
Ed placed huge hands on my shoulders, suddenly serious. ‘Look, I hate to have to do this, but I’m going to have to nip off for a while. Call just came through about some nonsense on one of the estates. Too much loopy juice and hot weather, no doubt. Bloody typical – I crawl out from behind my nice, cosy night-desk to cover for a mate with a case of Delhi belly and it all goes off. Anyhow, I can’t see your young man going anywhere for a while, so what say you if I pop back later for that chat? Just you and me, like I said.’
‘Is that a promise?’ I asked.
‘What, that I’ll be back, or it’ll be me that talks to you?’
‘Both.’
Ed surveyed my face. ‘I do my very best to be a man of my word. And most times, I manage.’ Before I could respond, he gave me a spontaneous hug that made me think even more of bears. ‘You take care of yourself, Lili. You and young Finn there.’ With that he gave me a rueful smile and went off to confront his rioters, and we were alone against the world once more.
*****
Finn had not spoken since Ed had stopped us. I left him in the car and tried to appear as calm as possible as I walked into the deserted reception of Castlerigg Hospital. It was a small, genteel Victorian building, a throwback to when monied gentlefolk would pay a small fortune to attend the sanatorium, and the poor just had to suffer and find a quiet corner to drop dead. I had forgotten just how much I hated hospitals, and I did my best to breathe through my mouth; anything to avoid the universal smell of disinfectant and disease.
The minute I saw the receptionist, I knew she must have come with the fixtures and fittings. Where Ed had been the answer to my non-believer’s prayers, this woman looked like a twin-set-wearing guard dog at the gates of hell. I stepped up to the counter.
‘There is a system.’ The woman, identified as Marjorie Blandford on her neat little name badge, stapled a sheaf of papers together and didn’t look up.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said, there’s a system. It’s called a queue and you’ll find that that is the start of it.’ She used her stapler to indicate a roped-off area that bore the sign, Please Queue Here.
‘You’re kidding. It’s six o’clock in the effing morning. There’s no-one else here. Does it even class as a queue if there’s only one of you?’ In fact, there was a bored-looking young security guard standing by a flickering drinks machine, listening to something loud and unpleasant on his MP3 whilst he picked at the acne on his chin, but he definitely didn’t count.
‘And I am busy, and once I’ve finished, I’ll be available to help you.’ She finally glanced up and I found myself appraised by marble-hard, disapproving eyes. ‘And I’d be grateful if you didn’t swear.’
‘What? I said ‘effing,’ for f... for heaven’s sake! And it’s not for me – it’s for my friend. He’s waiting outside.’
Marjorie glared at me. ‘Well it’s obviously not serious enough to warrant a trip to a proper casualty department. If your ‘friend’ requires private treatment he’ll have to come in here and give me his details himself. And I must inform you, if he’s been drinking, we have the right to refuse -’
‘James Maxwell. I was told to bring him to see Doctor James Maxwell,’ I interrupted, finally remembering the man’s bloody name.
‘Young lady, you can’t walk in here and simply demand to see the Senior Consultant. Certainly not on a bank holiday.’ Marjorie, with her neat, salt-and-pepper bun and Stalinist’s blouse, had taken in my unkempt appearance and acted as judge and jury: I was trash, to be dealt with at arm’s length. She delivered her coup de grace. ‘And anyway, Mr Maxwell isn’t in attendance. He’s golfing all day.’