get out. ‘Oh.’ She blinked. ‘I . . . I don’t know what happened.’ She’d been staring at the wall, and it was an effort to raise her eyes to her rescuer.
It was him, of course. Misery Guts. Who else? They seemed to be on some kind of collision course, the two of them, destined to keep crashing into one another. ‘Come and sit down for a minute,’ he said, his hands still on hers. She felt embarrassment sinking through her as he led her along to a nearby waiting area and guided her to a chair.
‘Thanks,’ she said. Her chest was starting to loosen, her breathing less short and painful now, thank goodness. She took her hands away from her mouth and leaned against the chair back feeling exhausted, as if she’d just run for a cab, heart-rate subsiding, legs weak and jelly-like. ‘I saw – someone I used to know. That was what—’ She stopped short, before she said any more. If Michelle Jones – Finchley, rather – worked here, chances were she and this bloke would know each other. They might even be best mates, lovers. Knowing Michelle, the latter was more than likely. She hadn’t exactly been backwards about coming forwards at school. Especially when other people’s boyfriends were at stake.
‘It’s all right, you don’t need to explain. Do you want me to get you some water, or anything else?’
She shook her head. She wanted to go home now, let the train rattle her back down to the safety of the capital, where she was Georgia Knight, Somebody, not Georgie Knightmare, Victim. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Sorry about this, I—’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to apologize for. Panic attacks can be terrifying to experience.’
‘I couldn’t breathe,’ she said, looking down at her fingers, limp in her lap. ‘I thought . . . I thought I was dying.’ Why had she just confessed to that? She didn’t dare glance up at him for his response, he’d think she was a right hypochondriac. Not that she cared what he thought, of course.
He was nodding. ‘People do say that,’ he said. ‘It’s like your body exaggerates its response to danger – or stress – and the adrenalin sends you a bit haywire.’
Georgia managed a smile despite her light-headedness. ‘That’s the medical term, is it?’
He grinned. ‘Not exactly.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Listen, I’d better go, I’m meant to be doing observations in Cardiology now, but . . . well, I don’t want to leave you here on your own. Can I walk you somewhere? Are you with Mrs Hatherley’s family?’
Georgia hated being fussed over. Hated the thought of being walked anywhere, as if she were a dog, or an imbecile. But she was still feeling so weird, so trippy, she didn’t dare say no. Besides, what if she bumped into Michelle out there in the corridor? She wouldn’t get away with not being spotted twice. She could already imagine the light of triumph in Michelle’s eyes. ‘Well, well, well, look who it is,’ she’d say, rubbing her hands together. And then it would all begin again.
She couldn’t let that happen. She could not become a victim again. Would not, rather. It had been what she’d vowed all those years ago, when she’d run from Stockport at the first chance she’d got.
‘Yes,’ she said to the man now. ‘Would you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘Not at all. I’m Owen McIntosh, by the way. I’m part of the team looking after Mrs Hatherley.’
‘Georgia,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She was surprised to realize that she actually meant it.
Chapter Six
Another Crack In My Heart
Monday, 16 June 2008
‘So I thought we could make some house pictures, all right?’ said the earnest-looking mum, coming over to the sticking table with a sheaf of papers and spreading them out. ‘I’ve cut out shapes for windows here, and these rectangles could be doors . . . There are some flower pictures I’ve snipped out of magazines, and we can use
It was him, of course. Misery Guts. Who else? They seemed to be on some kind of collision course, the two of them, destined to keep crashing into one another. ‘Come and sit down for a minute,’ he said, his hands still on hers. She felt embarrassment sinking through her as he led her along to a nearby waiting area and guided her to a chair.
‘Thanks,’ she said. Her chest was starting to loosen, her breathing less short and painful now, thank goodness. She took her hands away from her mouth and leaned against the chair back feeling exhausted, as if she’d just run for a cab, heart-rate subsiding, legs weak and jelly-like. ‘I saw – someone I used to know. That was what—’ She stopped short, before she said any more. If Michelle Jones – Finchley, rather – worked here, chances were she and this bloke would know each other. They might even be best mates, lovers. Knowing Michelle, the latter was more than likely. She hadn’t exactly been backwards about coming forwards at school. Especially when other people’s boyfriends were at stake.
‘It’s all right, you don’t need to explain. Do you want me to get you some water, or anything else?’
She shook her head. She wanted to go home now, let the train rattle her back down to the safety of the capital, where she was Georgia Knight, Somebody, not Georgie Knightmare, Victim. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Sorry about this, I—’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to apologize for. Panic attacks can be terrifying to experience.’
‘I couldn’t breathe,’ she said, looking down at her fingers, limp in her lap. ‘I thought . . . I thought I was dying.’ Why had she just confessed to that? She didn’t dare glance up at him for his response, he’d think she was a right hypochondriac. Not that she cared what he thought, of course.
He was nodding. ‘People do say that,’ he said. ‘It’s like your body exaggerates its response to danger – or stress – and the adrenalin sends you a bit haywire.’
Georgia managed a smile despite her light-headedness. ‘That’s the medical term, is it?’
He grinned. ‘Not exactly.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Listen, I’d better go, I’m meant to be doing observations in Cardiology now, but . . . well, I don’t want to leave you here on your own. Can I walk you somewhere? Are you with Mrs Hatherley’s family?’
Georgia hated being fussed over. Hated the thought of being walked anywhere, as if she were a dog, or an imbecile. But she was still feeling so weird, so trippy, she didn’t dare say no. Besides, what if she bumped into Michelle out there in the corridor? She wouldn’t get away with not being spotted twice. She could already imagine the light of triumph in Michelle’s eyes. ‘Well, well, well, look who it is,’ she’d say, rubbing her hands together. And then it would all begin again.
She couldn’t let that happen. She could not become a victim again. Would not, rather. It had been what she’d vowed all those years ago, when she’d run from Stockport at the first chance she’d got.
‘Yes,’ she said to the man now. ‘Would you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘Not at all. I’m Owen McIntosh, by the way. I’m part of the team looking after Mrs Hatherley.’
‘Georgia,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She was surprised to realize that she actually meant it.
Chapter Six
Another Crack In My Heart
Monday, 16 June 2008
‘So I thought we could make some house pictures, all right?’ said the earnest-looking mum, coming over to the sticking table with a sheaf of papers and spreading them out. ‘I’ve cut out shapes for windows here, and these rectangles could be doors . . . There are some flower pictures I’ve snipped out of magazines, and we can use
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