Chapter Twenty-Seven

KAT

I run down the wide-cobbled street of Norfolk Row to the overcrowded line of bus stops. People push, brush and knock me as they catch buses, or jump off them and rush into town. My bag, complete with Susan’s book, swings and clips my shin several times before I move it up to my chest, tucked in tight. She isn’t expecting me to bring it. Will she wonder if I’ve seen the cutting? Does she even realise it’s in there? Will any of this bring back her voice, or do we risk pushing her further out of reach? As I climb on the bus, the heat is stifling. The smell is thick with the heady scent of passengers. Is that what’s making me feel sick? There’s a free seat up at the back and I huddle into it, using the journey to plan various imaginary conversations in my head. I start with Susan, explaining why I’m the one to bring her the book, not Rhys. I’ll say he has a lot on, that he’s snowed under with work or something. That he’ll try and see her later in the week. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. I don’t think we’ll see him again. Then there’s the conversation with my boss, Gail. How do I explain what has happened? How do I make sure she knows I made each choice in good faith, with good intentions? That I realise now they might not have been the right choices, but they were the best I could make with the information I had. How do I do that without getting my probation cut short? I don’t want to lose this promotion. I want her to see she was right to take the risk with me. Will she still believe it when she knows about the events of the last few days? Maybe that’s what’s making me feel sick.I can’t lose this job. I close my eyes, taking a second to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, anything to get rid of the butterflies. Opening them again, I watch the city go by as the bus weaves through the streets. Sheffield Theatres, Ponds Forge, office blocks and the Police Station. Passengers get on and off and I move the bag from the seat beside me to my lap, making way for someone to sit down. The weight of it rests heavily on my knees. It’s a beautiful book. What does it mean to Susan? Or does she just want it because of the newspaper cutting?

The bus pulls up to my stop. I pull myself together and jump off, running up the tree-lined hill towards the main entrance.I drum my fingers against the bag and flick through a rack of flyers for distraction as I wait for the lift. I swipe my way into the ward and head straight to Susan’s bed.

As I approach her, she pushes an empty lunch plate away. ‘Good morning, Susan. Or is it afternoon?’ I look up to the clock: it’s twelve thirty. ‘How are you today? The bruising’s a lot better. Was lunch okay?’ I move her table out of the way, checking her water. ‘Your book is in here, Susan. The one you asked Rhys for?’ I hold it out for her to take, but she just looks at it with a flicker of confusion in her eyes. ‘And your house key is here too. Shall I?’ I place the book in reach, on her bed, picking up her handbag to check if she wants the key back in there. Nerves rattling, I leave them both on the side in the end.