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  “Put the mask back on,” the familiar growly tone caused me to flinch on the bed. Max’s green eyes were open and alert now, his scowl firmly back in place. He looked so annoyed that I decided I had better do as he asked, pulling the plastic over my mouth again, despite the claustrophobia it induced.

  God, I hated hospitals.

  They made me feel trapped. I associated them with pain and hopelessness.

  Clawing through my memories ,I tried to piece together how I’d come here. I remembered waking up in Max’s car with another coughing fit. He’d been driving too fast and had kept glancing back at me as I lay with my head on Yaz’s lap, which I thought was dangerous but didn’t seem to have the breath to tell him so. After that, things were a little fuzzy, but I did have flashes of Max carrying me into the emergency department and shouting for help. I’d been put on a trolley and there had been what seemed like hundreds of people bustling around me – sticking me with needles, asking me questions, examining me.

  I’d had a chest x-ray – that I remembered. Heath was there and had told me I had pneumonia. Pneumonia? He’d introduced me to another doctor – a short, efficient woman who told me she was a medical consultant and that I would be admitted into the hospital under her care.

  They’d wanted to know my NHS number.

  I wasn’t proud of it but I faked falling asleep to make them go away. But I must have fallen asleep for real in the end because here I was.

  “What’s … er, what … what are you doing here?” I asked, annoyed by the mask muffling my speech.

  “You’ve gone and got pneumonia,” Max told me. His voice sounded accusing, as if it was my fault I was ill.

  “Well, yes but …’

  “So, when I told you to take time off. When I told you to go to the doctor, you probably should have bloody well listened to me.” He sounded really cross now.

  I closed my eyes to block out his scowling face. I didn’t have the energy for Max right now. Max was a very exhausting person. In that moment, I didn’t seem to have the energy to cope with much more than breathing. When I tried to clear my throat, another coughing fit was set off. I sat forward with the violence of it, trying to hack up whatever seemed to be lodged in my chest. Tears streamed down my face and I felt a large hand come to rest on my back.

  “Okay, love,” he murmured in his low voice. “You’ll be right. Everything’s going to be fine.” He was rubbing circles around my back now and the sensation was oddly calming. When the coughing subsided he helped lower me back onto the pillows and then wiped the tears from my cheeks before I could reach them. His expression had gone from anger to intense concern within the space of seconds.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, still using that low, soothing voice. “I can be a right bastad when I’m worried. Brings out the worst in me.”

  There he was again – apologising for just talking sharply to me. Something he’d done out of worry. It just wasn’t what I was used to. I didn’t know what to say. I glanced up at him with a frown and then looked away quickly.

  “I … er, it’s fine. You’re fine. There’s no need to–” I broke off the doctor from yesterday came into the cubicle.

  “Mia?” she said. “I’m Dr Firth – the consultant in charge of your care.’

  “I remember,” I said from behind the mask.

  “You’ll have to stay a little while with us,” she told me. “Have you heard of sepsis?’

  “Er, I think–”

  “Sepsis is the body’s response to overwhelming infection. Your pneumonia set up that response. You’ve been very unwell. Often we can treat chest infections in the community with oral antibiotics, but you’re going to need intravenous treatment for at least the next forty-eight hours. I–” She broke off and glanced up at Max. “Are you her partner?” Something was off about the way she said it – there was an edge there, as if she was angry. But that didn’t make any sense.

  “No I–”

  “He’s my boss,” I put in.

  “I’m Max, a friend of Heath’s. I brought her in.”

  “Ah, right. Max, of course. Heath’s mentioned you before,” Dr Firth said with obvious relief. That angry tone left her voice and some of the tension around her mouth relaxed. “Okay, Mia. I need to speak to you alone. Is that okay?”

  Max’s large hand had enveloped mine since the coughing fit and for some reason I felt … safe. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I should send him away but I was just so exhausted.

  “Can Max stay?” I asked in a small voice and he squeezed my hand. Dr Firth looked surprised.

  “Well, yes but …” Dr Firth paused, glanced at Max again and then sighed. “Mia, it’s not normal for someone of your age to come down with pneumonia so severely.”

  I stiffened. Where was she going with this?

  “Unless … Mia, unless they are malnourished and underweight. That can put them at risk of pneumonias and other infections.”

  “Ah. I–”

  “Mia, do you know you’re underweight?”

  “Well–”

  “Heath told me about an incident a few weeks ago. You were hypothermic? He had concerns at the time and he has some … ongoing concerns.”

  She’d sat on the edge of the bed now and I could tell where she was going with this by the expression on her face.

  Pity.

  She knew.

  Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a good idea for Max to be here with me.

  “Your chest x-ray didn’t just show a pneumonia, but you know that. Don’t you, Mia?”

  My eyes shot to Max who was frowning in confusion at Dr Firth.

  “On second thoughts, I’d really prefer to speak to you alone, Dr Firth,” I rushed out before she could go on.

  “Of course,” she told me. “Max, would you mind?” Max looked between me and the doctor, a muscle ticking in his jaw and concern in his expression.

  “Max?” Dr Firth prompted when he didn’t move.

  “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “I’ll – I’ll go and get a coffee.” He squeezed my hand again before letting it go. “I’ll be back soon, love.”

  When the door closed behind him Dr Firth turned back to me and her voice softened.

  “So, the old rib fractures you have there aren’t a surprise I’m guessing?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  I looked away from her kind face and over at the tap in the corner of the room. It was dripping. Surely taps in hospital rooms shouldn’t drip like that?

  “Mia, I talked to Heath about your previous admission as well.”

  I nodded. I should have expected that.

  “We’re going to need your real name. You know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded again. I was tired of fighting all the time. Fighting to survive, fighting for my freedom, fighting to just be. I’d always hated lying, but Nate had slowly, insidiously, made my entire life a lie until it became almost second nature.

  “My name is Amelia. Amelia Banks.”

  Chapter 14

  I just hate hospitals

  Mia

  A wave of dizziness came over me as I stood underneath the steady spray of the shower. It was so strong that I had to hold onto the soap dispenser to stay upright. I nearly pulled the damn thing off the wall.

  “You alright in there, pet?” Carol called from the other side of the shower door, and I closed my eyes as I slid down the tiles to sit on the floor of the shower. Slowly the tunnel vision resolved and the nausea receded enough for me to speak.

  “I’m fine,” I called, but my voice was too weak to be heard over the shower, and before I knew it Carol had let herself into the small bathroom.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” she muttered as she pulled back the curtain to see me in a pathetic heap on the shower floor. “You should have called me.” She shut off the water and, with the efficiency of a nurse with decades of experience under her belt, wrapped me up in two hospital towels and helped me to my feet. Before I had any time to be embarrassed, she’d dried me
off, changed me into my clothes and helped me back into bed.

  “Thank you,” I said, and she smiled at me as if it was nothing. I’m sure her days were filled of these small acts of heroism, and I’m sure she never realised how important they were.

  “Your young man was here whilst you were in the shower,” she told me as she bustled off to hang the towels up in my ensuite.

  “He’s not my young man, Carol,” I said for what felt like the eleventy-billionth time. “He’s my boss.”

  “Of course he is, dear,” Carol said, giving me an indulgent smile as if I was a child denying my first crush.

  Carol was the nurse I’d spilled all my secrets to on my third day of admission. The one who had given me the number of the local domestic violence team. After not telling anyone anything for so long I ended up telling this woman everything, and not just about Nate, but all about Max and how he’d been such a grumpy bastard to work for, but then so unexpectedly kind. About how confusing I found it that he was visiting me in the hospital. Carol had let me talk. After I finished, when I thought she might phone the police, she’d hugged me instead and told me everything was going to be alright. That I didn’t have to be homeless. That there was help for people in my situation. All it took was a little trust. I had thought that my quota of trust was used up, but the prospect of more nights on the street in my current weakened state changed my mind.

  I wished I’d taken Heath’s advice and contacted the domestic violence team sooner. I was just so scared they would make me go to the police. But all they wanted to do was help me and offer me advice. Everything was about my choice. The worker that came to see me at the hospital told me that the local women’s refuge didn’t have any rooms left, but there was a small bed and breakfast nearby which I could stay at whilst I waited for one to come available. So, today I’d decided that that was where I was heading. I couldn’t stay in hospital any longer. Apart from my aversion to them (the smell and the clinical atmosphere brought back too many painful memories) I was not going to let Max pay for another night here. Somehow he’d had me moved into a private room after my stay in the high dependency unit, muttering something about employee health care. I knew that we did not have private health care included in our contracts. Max was paying for it out of his own pocket.

  “Mia, why is your bag half-packed?” Carol asked. “I didn’t know you were being discharged today.”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, pet,” she said her voice full of concern. “You’re still weak as a kitten.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” I told her, keeping half an eye on the door in case Max came back.

  “Look, I think you should wait until the ward round. Really it’s not–”

  “I have to get out of here,” I said in a fierce whisper. “Please, Carol. I can’t stay here any longer.”

  A buzzer went off in the corridor and she frowned.

  “Damn,” she snapped as she stood up from the bed. “Listen, wait a minute ok? I’ll be back in a sec and we can talk about it. Just … hold on. Don’t move.” She gave me a wary glance and pointed at me before she left. I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes in defeat. Carol was right. I needed help. Maybe …

  Making a split second decision before I could think any better of it, I picked up my mobile from the desk and dialled the number I knew by heart, but hadn’t dared to put into my new phone in case the temptation to ring it became too much.

  “Hello? Who’s this?” I closed my eyes as my sister’s voice washed over me. She sounded like home.

  “Marnie,” I whispered into the phone.

  “Mimi? Mimi, is that you? Where are you?” her voice was rising now. She sounded frantic.

  “Marnie, I’m in trouble.” I darted a look towards the door of the room I was in. There was only one other patient in the unit, but Dorothy had such severe dementia that the only real communication she ever embarked on with me was popping her head in and asking for her mother or a cup of tea (the tea was doable … her mother, seeing as Dorothy herself had just celebrated her own ninetieth birthday, not so much). So, even though there was little chance of being overheard, I knew I didn’t have much time. “I … I think I need your help.”

  “Anything, Mimi,” Marnie said. “You know that. Please, just tell me where you are.” She was crying now and I closed my eyes as the familiar guilt washed over me. Marnie was only two years older than me but, even with a small age gap, she’d always been very protective. Always wanting to fight my battles for me. Nobody messed with Marnie’s little sister … until Nate that is.

  “Please don’t cry, Marne.” My voice was tortured. Why didn’t I listen to my family six years ago? Why didn’t I let Marnie be the big sister she’d always wanted to be?

  “I knew something was off when that evil fucker came sniffing around,” she spat. Anger had replaced the tears now. I froze on the bed and my eyes shot open wide.

  “Nate came to see you?”

  “Asking if you’d been in contact. Said you had a ‘little tiff’ and that you’d ‘flounced off’.”

  Images flashed through my mind – me crawling away from him with only one arm working, hearing his footsteps and then feeling the tearing pain in my scalp as he dragged me back across the floor by my hair into the kitchen; my head flying to the side as he backhanded me, then my eyes fixing on the knife lying next to the chopping board …

  Then it was me running from the house, clutching my backpack and hurtling straight into Nate’s head of security (I’d always got on with Brian, we’d shared the odd cup of tea at the house. He reminded me of my dad); registering the shock in his faded blue eyes as he took in my beaten face and blood-splattered shirt; my stomach turning over as he ushered me outside to his car and asked me whether the blood on my hands was mine.

  “No,” I’d replied, my voice hoarse from shouting. “Not mine.”

  He’d smiled then. A wide, deeply satisfied, slightly scary smile.

  “Good,” he’d said in a fierce tone, his eyes locking with mine, full of fire. “Good, Amelia.”

  He knew who’s blood it was and he was glad. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen me sporting an injury. He bundled me into his car and took off. Each bump in the road had jarred my shoulder. I’d tried to hold in my small winces of pain but he noticed and his lips had tightened.

  “I hope he burns in hell,” he’d muttered under her breath and my blood had run cold. What if Nate was dead? They’d been so much blood. What if I’d killed him? That was when I made Brian call the ambulance to the house we’d left behind. I couldn’t have Nate’s life on my conscience.

  We’d deliberately driven for over two hours to the coast, to a hospital far from my home. Before he took me in he grabbed both my hands, ignoring the copious amounts of blood now dried onto my skin, and he looked into my eyes, that fierce look back in his own.

  “You go in there, young lady,” he said. “You get fixed up and then you run. Don’t ever look back. Run away and keep running. Do you understand me?” He’d given me all the money he had in his wallet and ushered me through to the triage desk.

  So, little tiff and flounced off weren’t altogether accurate terms. And Nate wasn’t burning in hell – but he was looking for me.

  “Mimi? You there, hun? Talk to me, please.”

  That was when I realised that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go to my sister now.

  I swallowed. “I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know I’m ok.”

  “Mimi! Tell me where you are. We can sort everything out from there. Just tell me wh-”

  “I’ve got to go,” I whispered as Max’s large frame filled the entrance to the bay. “I promise I’ll call you soon.’

  “Mimi, don–” I took the phone away from my ear. My hand shook as I pressed the screen to end the call. I could still hear my sister shouting on the line before I cut her off. Max came to a stop by the side of my bed, shoved his hands in his pockets and frown
ed down at me.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Hey,” I replied, managing a small closed-lipped smile as I started to grab the meagre amount of stuff I had left in my side cabinet. I’d already filched one of the hospital towels – it was shoved down into the depths of my backpack. When I had some more cash I’d donate something to the hospital to replace it. Still – I was a thief and it wasn’t the first time. There was probably a special place in hell for people who stole from the NHS, but for now I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  Max looked down at the half packed bag on the bed and then up at my face.

  “You going somewhere?” he asked.

  “I’m being discharged today,” I lied as I zipped my backpack shut.

  I had been on the high dependency unit having intravenous antibiotics for the first two days until my chest improved. I’d been out on the general ward for three days now. I was definitely on the mend. Sort of.

  “Hmm,” he muttered. “Just a minute – I’ve, um … got to make a call. Business stuff.” He strode out of the room, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. I continued to gather together my meagre possessions, which took longer than it should with my breathing still so laboured. When I’d finally finished I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath. Max chose that moment to appear at the doorway again and it had the unfortunate effect of triggering another of my coughing fits. They were less frequent now, but I was aware I still sounded like a seventy-year-old man with emphysema. As my body convulsed with the force of the coughs and tears ran down my cheeks, I felt Max’s huge hand rest across the back of my chest, splaying to almost its entire width. The feel of his warmth grounded me, just as it had all the other times he’d done it over the last five days. I felt calm despite the coughing and after a few more hacking sounds the fit subsided.