Dead in the Water

“Yes.” Paul Atkinson could think of no other reply.

“Well,” she said, “you can go and eat the rest of your lunch in peace. I’ll deal with these photographs and then I’ll bring you a coffee.” He had been dismissed, and not for the first time, by his personal assistant. But for once he didn’t really mind.

* * *

Mullen had no idea where he was. He tried opening his eyes, but shut them instantly as pain jagged through his head.

“Hello there.”

He opened his eyes a chink and glimpsed an angel in blue standing over him. She was, he realised, holding his wrist and checking her watch.

“You’ll live,” she said and laid his arm down. “Are you in pain?”

He nodded, shutting his eyes against the sunlight that was flooding into the room from behind her.

“I’ll give you something for it.”

He took the analgesics she produced, shut his eyes again and fell asleep. When he next opened them, his angel in blue — her name was Kaila according to her badge — offered him some toast. “You’ve missed supper,” she said. “But we don’t want you fading away.” She had a nice smile and an ethnicity he couldn’t place. Not that her ethnicity mattered, but he was curious nevertheless. “You missed a visitor too. I sent him away.” Mullen was grateful. He cou

ldn’t think of any ‘him’ that he would want to be visited by. Maybe it was Dorkin. He seemed to turn up everywhere.

Mullen slept through the night. “Like a baby,” he said to Raheema when she asked the next morning. Raheema had replaced Kaila. Mullen was feeling much better, with just a dull throb at the back of his head. He thought he should try and be a bit chatty. ‘Like a baby’ seemed a good way of doing so.

Raheema looked at him as if he was deranged. “I presume you’ve never had a baby?”

He shook his head.

“They don’t sleep — not more than a few hours.”

“It’s a saying.”

“It’s the stupidest saying I’ve ever heard.”

He fell silent. It was evidently a sore subject. Or was she always like this?

“Is there someone we can contact for you?” The storm had passed. “The doctor will be doing his rounds a bit later and if he is happy, we will discharge you. We would prefer it if someone drove you home. Or we can order a taxi.”

Mullen tried to think. Only two names came to mind. “Rose Wilby.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No,” he said quickly, irritated by the nurse’s prying.

“Would you like me to ring her for you?”

“Please.” Mullen leant back into his pillows. He really would have preferred to stay in hospital for another day or so. He could sleep lots and have nurses waiting on his every need. Maybe Kaila would be back on shift again later. That would be nice. Or maybe Raheema would be replaced by Raheema Mark 2. That would be less nice. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, time had passed and the figure in front of him was male. The doctor was ridiculously young and wore a stethoscope slung round his neck as if to prove his status in case anyone should mistake him for a schoolboy on work experience.

“That’s a nasty blow you got there, Mr Mullen.”

“Yeah.”

“Luckily you’ve got a very tough skull.”

Mullen said nothing. Was that the culmination of years of expensive training? God help the patients if it was. Or perhaps the man really was a schoolboy on work experience, and masquerading as a doctor.

“As far as we are concerned, you can go home.”