‘Sit,’ she says as she gestures to a hard, high-backed chair on the other side of the desk. My bony bum would greatly appreciate a cushion right now. I push my back against the chair, noticing the sensation of the stitches for the first time, and try to remember when I’m to get them taken out. I wonder if my name is down on every hospital register: Samantha Harvey, girl missing from hospital, high-risk. Is my face on the news yet, in the papers, on posters in doctors surgeries, lampposts, on the side of milk cartons (which I particularly like the idea of, although I think that only happens in the US of A)?

The madame has a form in front of her, which she reads from in a monotone voice, barely looking at me. ‘First period? Any terminations? Any diseases?’

I hadn’t even thought of that last one, and think of Brian.

‘I’d like to take some swabs, check out your general health, make sure you’re not pregnant, ok?’

She’s going to stick things inside me? Now?

‘Right, perhaps you could lie on this table?’ (First time I’ve noticed it, it’s there all right, tucked discreetly away in the darkest corner of the room.) ‘I have medical training,’ she says.

A doctor madame?

‘I’m a nurse,’ she says. That all seems suspiciously convenient, and creepy.

‘Probably not a good idea right now,’ I say.

She looks at me, but not really. What’s she imagining? HIV, syphilis, chlamydia …

‘I had an accident,’ I say. ‘Fell on a spike climbing over a wall and hurt myself down below.’

She almost barks, ‘Is that the truth?’

I think she’s pressing me for some kind of a rape story, but I’m not going back into that one. ‘Seriously, I know it sounds mad but I was knacker-drinking the other night in the grounds of a convent and had to climb over these tricky spikes, and I fell. I’ve been to the hospital and I’m all sewed up.’

She gives me a look over her glasses, like, Are you fecking with me?

I’m not, missus. Glad you’re qualified to take the stitches out.

‘Are you on penicillin?’ she asks. ‘Did they give you a tetanus?’

I think they did. They certainly gave me a few jabs. I don’t tell her about my wodka fiasco and the stomach pumping. Figure that might just put her off the new merchandise.

‘Any time it gets too much, you can get up and leave’. Isn’t that what Brian said? Only problem is that by the time I felt that, it was too late and the worst had already happened.

21. Nico

21

Nico

Having collected our luggage from the moving belt, Igor notices the grey-haired woman taking out her phone and pointing it in our direction.