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Back The Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. Acknowledgements
  66. Reading Group Questions
  67. Read More
  68. I
  69. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

The hospital had a soporific effect on Romy. It felt like a separate world: overheated air, polished corridors and pleated blue curtains, frightening equipment and people talking a language that made her feel stupid and out of control. There was nothing to do except sit and watch as different elements of the medical team zoomed in on Michael, like bees to a flower, performed whatever service they were required to provide, then melted away.

She ate too many biscuits and crisps and drank too much coffee. She had brought her book and tried to read. But in the end she just sat vacantly, unwilling to analyse her presence beside Michael’s bed or her feelings about the man lying in it.

In her mind’s eye, an old memory sprang up, an event she hadn’t thought of in years, triggered because it had taken place in a large house in one of the streets behind the hospital. It was a New Year’s Eve party they’d been to before the boys were born, given by one of Michael’s fellow trainee barristers in his parents’ home. She’d had on a gorgeous strappy dress in deep raspberry. The band was top class, Michael a great dancer – like everything else in his life, he wanted to be the best – and she just followed his lead. She remembered his dark eyes flashing with pleasure as he whirled her expertly around, skirt swirling out from her long legs, remembered the exhilaration she felt just being in his arms.

Will he ever be able to dance again? The thought brought tears to her tired eyes.

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14

Michael’s condition had gone up and down in the five days since his stroke. It was Saturday now. Romy still felt scratchy and bone-tired from worry, but also cautiously optimistic. Michael was no longer considered critical and they had moved him out of the ICU to the stroke ward on the floor below – where, to Romy’s guilty relief, visiting hours were limited to the afternoons.

He was definitely more compos mentis now, although his speech was still extremely slow and distorted and his whole left side hung uselessly from his body, making him horribly lopsided and incapable of balancing on his own when the nurses got him out of bed. But the danger of another stroke was still a real threat, according to the doctor.