chipped. There was no ring on her finger. The restaurant uniform was a utilitarian grey, lasciviously tight across her breasts. The trousers flowed down from a narrow, but not thin, waist. Her shoes were square-toed and of plain black leather. She was very pretty.
Milton let her rest.
Chapter Five
SHE AWOKE a full two hours later. At first her pretty face maintained the serenity of sleep, but that did not last for very long; confusion clouded across it and then, suddenly, came a terrible look of panic. She struggled upright and swung her feet off the bed and onto the floor.
“It’s all right,” Milton said. “You’re in hospital. You’ve been asleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Six.”
“Jesus,” she said. “I’m so late. My boy—I need to be home.” She looked around, panicked. “Where are we?”
“Hospital.”
“No,” she said, pushing herself onto her feet. “I have to be home. My boy will be there. He won’t know where I am; he won’t have had his tea. No one’s looking after him.”
“The doctor’s been. He wanted to speak to you. He’s coming back when you’re awake.”
“I can’t. And I’m fine, besides. I know it was a stupid thing to do. I’m not about to do it again. I don’t want to die. I can’t. He needs me.” She looked into his face. Her expression was earnest and honest. “They can’t keep me in here, can they?”
“I don’t think so.”
She collected her bag from the chair and started for the door.
“How are you going to get home?” Milton asked her.
“I don’t know. Where is this?”
“The Royal Free.”
“Hampstead? I’ll get the train.”
“Let me drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I live in Dalston. That must be miles out of your way.”
“No, that’s fine. I live just round the corner—Islington.” It was a lie. “It’s not a problem.”
The medical staff were uncomfortable about their patient discharging herself, but there was nothing that they could do to stop her. She was not injured, she appeared to be rational, and she was not alone. Milton answered their reflexive concern with a tone of quiet authority that was difficult to oppose. She signed her discharge papers, politely thanked the staff for their care, and followed Milton outside.
Milton had parked in the nearby NCP building. He swept the detritus from the passenger seat, opened the door, waited until she was comfortable, and then set off, cutting onto the Embankment. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye; she was staring fixedly out of the window, watching the river. It didn’t look as if she wanted to talk. Fair enough. He switched on the CD player and skipped through the discs until he found the one he wanted to listen to, a Bob Dylan compilation. Dylan’s reedy voice filled the car as Milton accelerated away from a set of traffic lights.
“Thanks for this,” Sharon said suddenly. “I’m very grateful.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“My boy should be home. He’ll be wanting his tea.”
“What’s his name?”
“Elijah.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“His father liked it. He was into his Bible.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifteen. What about you? Do you have any kids?”
“No,” Milton said. “It’s just me.”
He pulled out and overtook a slow-moving lorry, and she was silent for a moment.
“It’s because of him,” she said suddenly. “This morning—all that. I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. I still don’t, not really. I’m at the end of my tether.”
“What’s happened?”
She didn’t seem to hear that. “I don’t have anyone else. If I lose him, there’s no point in carrying on.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
She looked out of the window, biting her lip.
“How have you lost him?”
She clenched her jaw. Milton shrugged and reached for the radio.
She spoke hurriedly. “There’s a gang on the Estate where we live, these young lads. Local boys. They terrify
Milton let her rest.
Chapter Five
SHE AWOKE a full two hours later. At first her pretty face maintained the serenity of sleep, but that did not last for very long; confusion clouded across it and then, suddenly, came a terrible look of panic. She struggled upright and swung her feet off the bed and onto the floor.
“It’s all right,” Milton said. “You’re in hospital. You’ve been asleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Six.”
“Jesus,” she said. “I’m so late. My boy—I need to be home.” She looked around, panicked. “Where are we?”
“Hospital.”
“No,” she said, pushing herself onto her feet. “I have to be home. My boy will be there. He won’t know where I am; he won’t have had his tea. No one’s looking after him.”
“The doctor’s been. He wanted to speak to you. He’s coming back when you’re awake.”
“I can’t. And I’m fine, besides. I know it was a stupid thing to do. I’m not about to do it again. I don’t want to die. I can’t. He needs me.” She looked into his face. Her expression was earnest and honest. “They can’t keep me in here, can they?”
“I don’t think so.”
She collected her bag from the chair and started for the door.
“How are you going to get home?” Milton asked her.
“I don’t know. Where is this?”
“The Royal Free.”
“Hampstead? I’ll get the train.”
“Let me drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I live in Dalston. That must be miles out of your way.”
“No, that’s fine. I live just round the corner—Islington.” It was a lie. “It’s not a problem.”
The medical staff were uncomfortable about their patient discharging herself, but there was nothing that they could do to stop her. She was not injured, she appeared to be rational, and she was not alone. Milton answered their reflexive concern with a tone of quiet authority that was difficult to oppose. She signed her discharge papers, politely thanked the staff for their care, and followed Milton outside.
Milton had parked in the nearby NCP building. He swept the detritus from the passenger seat, opened the door, waited until she was comfortable, and then set off, cutting onto the Embankment. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye; she was staring fixedly out of the window, watching the river. It didn’t look as if she wanted to talk. Fair enough. He switched on the CD player and skipped through the discs until he found the one he wanted to listen to, a Bob Dylan compilation. Dylan’s reedy voice filled the car as Milton accelerated away from a set of traffic lights.
“Thanks for this,” Sharon said suddenly. “I’m very grateful.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“My boy should be home. He’ll be wanting his tea.”
“What’s his name?”
“Elijah.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“His father liked it. He was into his Bible.”
“How old is he?”
“Fifteen. What about you? Do you have any kids?”
“No,” Milton said. “It’s just me.”
He pulled out and overtook a slow-moving lorry, and she was silent for a moment.
“It’s because of him,” she said suddenly. “This morning—all that. I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. I still don’t, not really. I’m at the end of my tether.”
“What’s happened?”
She didn’t seem to hear that. “I don’t have anyone else. If I lose him, there’s no point in carrying on.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
She looked out of the window, biting her lip.
“How have you lost him?”
She clenched her jaw. Milton shrugged and reached for the radio.
She spoke hurriedly. “There’s a gang on the Estate where we live, these young lads. Local boys. They terrify
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