Small Blue Thing (26 page)

“Do you know I was up here the very first time I saw your face,” he said reflectively, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger as he spoke. “I come up here a lot – it's one of my favourite places. I love to stand here and watch the light change over the city. Really early morning is the best time.” I stole a quick glance at his face – his eyes were focused in the distance, remembering.

“It was mid-afternoon and I had had a good day of gathering. I was up here alone with none of the others around, and I was leaning on the railing looking at the river when your face suddenly jumped into my head.”

“I had no idea how I'd find you, or even whether you were
in your world or mine. You were so beautiful, I think I started to fall in love with you then,” he admitted. I turned to look at him and caught his look of happiness. I would never tire of that face, especially now I could reach up and kiss the hollow of his jaw. He was so real, so gorgeous, and he loved me. I wanted to stay with him forever, but I knew that wasn't possible. I glanced at my watch and groaned as I realised that I was going to have to start making my way back home. I looked back at him and could see the love and longing I felt mirrored there.

“Come on,” I said gently, as I hauled myself upright, “I'm going to have to go soon, and we need a plan.”

We stood locked together watching the sunlight play over London, seeing the windows sparkle and the soft light glitter on the river snaking away into the distance. All around, the city was thrumming with energy and noise and business, completely oblivious to us above it. On a nearby rooftop I could see a lone figure with a large sketch pad. From the direction he was facing it looked as if he was probably drawing the cathedral. Would we both be in it, I wondered, or would he see a lone figure on this balcony?

As we watched the city I felt his gentle lips kiss the top of my head again and I leaned back against him contentedly. Here he was, someone I could see and touch and smell and hear. I examined his hand which was so tightly held in mine, the long fingers and the smooth palm, and raised it to my lips. I kissed it gently. “What do we do now?” I whispered. “How can we make this work?”

“I have no idea,” he murmured in my ear, “but I think we can have some fun trying.”

I looked down again and saw his wrist next to mine, with the matching amulets side by side now, two identical blue stones
glinting in the sunshine. The fire in them seemed intensified somehow, as if the two together had a greater power than they had individually. I knew I would never take mine off again, and smiled to myself at the thought. I turned around in Callum's embrace and lifted my face to kiss him again.

Epilogue Guy's Hospital

It was quiet in the ward. The nurses had finished preparing all the patients in good time for the impending ward round. There was a new consultant, and he was known to be a stickler for details, so all the staff, from the registrar down, were keen to impress him with their knowledge of the patients.

It was a general medical ward, dealing with a variety of patients and conditions. At any one time you could hear conversations in at least ten different languages between the patients and their visitors, who came in to leave a card, a bunch of flowers or food in fancy bags or plastic containers. Only one bed was different. The patient in bed twelve had had no visitors and had been given no gifts. She lay silently, staring at the ceiling while the buzz of the ward went on around her. Her eyes were empty.

Earlier the social worker had tried to get her to speak, but had got absolutely no response. After a while he had sighed, scribbled something on the chart at the end of the bed and returned to the nurse's station.

“I can't get a thing out of her. I've no idea who to inform. She doesn't match any of the missing person descriptions either. And that injury! Who did that to her? No one would do that to themselves.”

“Well at least the silence is better than the noise,” replied the young nurse. “I could do without that on the ward round.”

She was interrupted by the social worker's bleeper. He read the message quickly and pulled a face.

“Let me know if anything changes, will you, Penny? I have to get over to A&E now.”

“Sure, I'll take her over a cup of tea later, and maybe some magazines. Perhaps she likes to read.”

The sheer curtains in the staffroom fluttered as the summer breeze stirred the hot air. Penny was sitting at the corner desk and looked up expectantly as the door opened. A harassed-looking young doctor rushed in, then looked at his watch and swore under his breath.

“Have you lost something, Dr Luck? Can I help at all?” She rose from her chair, keen to take this opportunity to do a favour.

“Thanks, Penny. I've just lost my notebook and the ward round starts in a few minutes. I have to mug up on the amnesia patient in bed twelve. Do you have any notes at all? I wasn't on yesterday's round and don't want to be seen getting the update from the desk this close to the event.” The young medic ran his hands through his hair distractedly.

Penny smiled. “Of course, Dr Luck. Would you like a full history?” She tried to sound as efficient as possible. Dr Luck nodded, his pen poised.

She consulted her notes. “Found in the Thames near Blackfriars Bridge three days ago, unconscious. Only visible injury's a burn around her wrist. Vitals are all good. Given she was found in the river there was surprisingly little water in her lungs. I mean, physically, she's fine.

“She's had a full tox screen but it came back completely clean. She's got no identifying marks apart from her injury and she carried nothing.

“Yesterday she regained consciousness, and for a while we thought we would have to ship her off to the psych ward. She wouldn't stop screaming and ranting until we got ready to sedate her earlier today. Then she suddenly quietened down, but when we tried to talk to her we got nowhere. Her memory seems pretty patchy. She spent all of yesterday shouting that she should be dead, and ranting about someone called Callum, and the fact that he was responsible for everything, but then she couldn't – or wouldn't – give us any idea who he is. She's just been staring into space since mid-afternoon.”

Dr Luck looked up from his scribbled notes. “Psych consult?”

“We've requested one, but they've not been over yet.”

“Great. Just what I need: a suicidal amnesiac.” He sat back in his chair, his long legs stretching out towards her.

“There was some improvement later this afternoon though,” Penny added, pleased to be able to give the doctor some new information. “I think maybe something is coming back to her. I opened the windows near her bed to get some fresh air in, and you could hear the bells ringing the hour. She suddenly sat up and asked me, quite rationally, what church it was. ‘St Paul's Cathedral,' I said. ‘Have you ever been there?'

“There was a moment of silence and then she said, ‘Catherine. I am Catherine.'”