Page 39 of A Face in the Crowd
As I finally get in front of the driver, I reach into my purse, but my pass isn’t there. My stomach sinks once more as I thumb through the other compartments searching for it. It’s then that I look up and realise the driver has disappeared. Confused, I turn to see where he’s gone, but there are only empty rows of unused seats. I try to breathe, but the air is stuck and, when I look down, I realise my feet are bare. I’ve forgotten my shoes. Not only that, I’m wearing nothing at all. I cover myself with my arms and it’s then that everything begins to buzz. My entire body is shaking involuntarily as the entire world rumbles.
My eyes open suddenly into the gloom of my room. My phone is vibrating across the desk, the light flashing on and off. Through the confusion of sleep, I see the number being displayed on the front and press the screen to answer.
It’s a woman’s voice: ‘Hello? Is that Lucy Denman?’
‘Who is this?’ I croak.
‘My name’s Alison and I’m a nurse at the casualty unit,’ the voice says. ‘We’ve had a patient admitted and he’s given us your name and number.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Wednesday
It’s hard not to wince as I peer closer at the gash across the back of the patient’s head. The medical staff have done a great job to clean and stitch it, but underneath the bandages, it is still a horror story. They’ve had to cut away some of the hair and the slash stretches from one ear across the back of the cranium almost to the other.
‘The police think it was a pole or bat,’ Harry says, with an unerring cheerfulness.
He leans forward again and pulls the hair apart to give me an even better look. The darkened reddy-black of the blood has blended with the purply-yellow of the welt to create something that looks like it should have an eighteen certificate attached.
‘What does it look like?’ he asks.
‘What do youthinkit looks like?’
He presses the dressing back onto his head and leans onto the pillows that are propping him up.
‘I think it’s going to give me a rugged handsomeness.’
‘It’s on the back of your head.’
He manages a laugh and then pouts a lip as he draws a circle in the air, indicating his face. ‘I’ve already got it going on here, now I’ve got it going on back there, too.’
I laugh as well, though it’s hard to see the humour. I’m chilled simply by looking at it. There are more grazes on the side of his face from where he presumably hit the pavement.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘I was walking home and there were these six burly blokes,’ Harry says. ‘They said, “Give me your volcano cake recipe,” and I said, “No, I’m taking it to the grave.” Then they said—’
‘Can you not joke about this…?’
The smile slips from his face and I wonder if I should have let him continue. Humour might be his way of dealing with it.
‘Sorry,’ I add.
He shakes his head a fraction but then winces. ‘I shouldn’t have asked the nurse to call you,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t think of who else to call. My family live nowhere near and, if I’m honest, I don’t have a lot of friends in town. I didn’t realise how late it was. Everything was a blur.’
I take his hand and squeeze. ‘I’m glad you called,’ I say.
He bites his bottom lip and glances past me before taking a breath. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ he says more quietly. ‘I was most of the way home and the next thing I know, I’m in an ambulance. I’ve got a massive headache and the paramedic says it looks like someone attacked me.’
I shiver at the thought and he definitely sees it: ‘What?’ he asks, eyes widening.
There’s a moment in which I almost tell him the truth about the similarity of it all. How many coincidences can stack together until it’s clear there’s no chance involved?
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘It’s just hard to imagine someone doing this…’
I wonder if he’ll see through the explanation, but he moves on. ‘The police think it’s random,’ he says. ‘They asked if I’d made any enemies and all that, but there wasn’t a lot I could tell them. They said something about it being a CCTV blind spot where I was, though they’re going to go door to door to see if anyone heard or saw something.’
‘Were you robbed?’ I ask.
