Out of the Dark by Natasha Cooper Page B

of the amazing house on the edge of Holland Park, the people they knew, and the astonishing food and wine they provided. Now the idea of going there made her wince.
    Tempted to force her way into Nick Gurles’s office in the City and demand an explanation, Trish knew she had to resist. Anything she said to Gurles – or anyone else – might cause more trouble.
    There was a whole empty day ahead of her. She’d cleared her diary for this, and now there was nothing more she could do until next week. Crawling to Dave would almost certainly produce some poxy little brief that no one else in chambers wanted, but she was far too old and experienced for that. And anyway, she wanted to keep out of sight.
    At least it meant that she could do something useful for the other David. She dropped her laptop and briefcase back
at the flat, changed, and walked along the south side of the river to Dowting’s Hospital.
    He looked exactly as he had last time, with his eyes closed and his broken leg strung up with weights. All round him in the colourful children’s ward were patients playing with the nurses or visitors, and charging about, some tugging their drips after them. Only David was lying still; and absolutely alone. Trish felt her guts clench, sending bitter fluid into her throat.
    His eyelids twitched, as though he had sensed her presence. But when he looked at her, there was no pleasure or even relief in his expression.
    ‘David, I’m sorry I didn’t come yesterday. I was held up until it was too late. How are you?’
    ‘OK,’ he whispered. Then he shook his head. He blinked fast, but he couldn’t stop the tears.
    ‘I know it’s hard, David, and I want to help, but it would be so much easier if you could tell me what your surname is.’
    ‘She said I mustn’t.’
    ‘Even though she sent you to me?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘If I said her name, very quietly, could you nod if I’ve got it right or shake your head if I haven’t?’
    He thought for a moment then nodded. Trish leaned down and breathed into his ear, ‘Jeannie Nest?’ When she straightened up, she knew she’d wasted yet more time and effort. His face was absolutely blank. It was a nuisance, but there were some consolations, of course. Trish recalled Sylvia Bantell’s perceptive comment about the difficulty of acknowledging a prostitute’s child as one’s half-brother.
    ‘No,’ David said, in case she’d been too thick to grasp what he meant. ‘Who’s she? I’ve never heard of her. What’s happened to her ?’
    ‘I don’t think anything has. She was just somebody I heard about who had a boy your age, and there was a
reason why she might have wanted me to know him. Or I thought there was.’ It was an effort to make herself smile, but Trish managed it.
    She hoped she’d get back her usual brains and judgment soon. Otherwise she was going to be washing about in a sea of unnecessary emotion, causing trouble wherever she went. ‘But I’ve obviously been very silly. Look, I’ve brought you some more apple juice. Would you like it?’
    He nodded, so she inserted the straw. While he was drinking, she tried out her father’s name and Sylvia Bantell’s, too, just in case David reacted to either of them. But he shook his head at both, looking so relieved – and so tired – when Trish stopped whispering questions that she left him alone.
    A male nurse outside the bay gave her a relatively reassuring account of David’s physical condition. He was still in pain, the nurse said, and it would take weeks before he could walk again, but there was no longer any need to fear internal bleeding or any permanent damage.
    ‘And how far have the police got in identifying him?’
    ‘Nowhere,’ said the nurse, surprised. ‘All we know is that he had your name and address with him. The police have checked all the agencies that deal with runaways and he doesn’t fit any of their records, but then he’s a bit young to run away. I heard someone say you thought he