Page 44 of London's Calling: Part 1
Once I arrive at Guys and St Thomas’ hospital and park, I message Clayton to find out where he is. He still hasn’t replied by the time I reach reception, so I approach the woman behind the desk, her glasses resting on the end of her nose as she looks up at me.
“How can I help,” she asks.
“I’m looking for Mr Simmonds, Mr Clayton Simmonds. He was brought in this morning, I believe,” I tell her, my eyes scanning the area.
“Do you know?—”
“Veronica, what are you doing?” Clayton’s voice carries across the reception area, several people turning to look at him as he marches across the space.
“Trying to find out where you were. I sent—” My words are cut short as he reaches me, grabbing my arm and tugging me away. “Hey!” I snap through a strained smile. “Thank you,” I call to the receptionist. “Get your hands off me. I can walk by myself,” I say, trying to pull free of his grip. When we make it inside the lift, he finally releases me. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes, because you’re obviously fucking stupid. I had to come all the way down here to fetch you.”
My bicep burns from his grip, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of rubbing it in front of him. “I didn’t need you to come and fetch me, Clayton. You could have just messaged me back.”
He waves a hand, dismissing my response as the lift comes to a stop. Clayton steps forward, this time snatching my hand and squeezing firmly, letting me know not to bother trying to pull away, and steps out when the doors open.
I keep my mouth shut as we stride down the corridor to a double set of doors, leading to the ICU. He presses the buzzer, stating his name when a woman answers, then the doors buzz and we push inside. He leads me, if you can call it that, to a private room, of course, and opens the door.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t the sight that greets me.
Clayton Snr is laid out in bed hooked up to several machines, one of which is breathing for him, and an IV attached to his arm. But his face is…a fucking mess. There’s no other way to describe it. I thought he’d had a heart attack or a stroke, but he looks like someone gave him one hell of a beating.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mickey
I haven’t seen Roni since I watched her leave Monday morning, and as far as I know, she didn’t return to the apartment that night. I’m guessing she’s gone back to her father’s. It’s probably for the best because no matter how much I try to convince myself I don’t want to see her, I’m lying. But I know Priest was right about me heading for a fall. Which is why I find myself sitting in Castello’s restaurant across from Priest as he scans the menu.
“Jesus, this menu is a joke, man. Why the fuck do they have to dress it up with some pretentious name?” Priest grumbles.
“What’s up, Priest, do you need me to translate for you?”
“Fuck you, Mick,” he says, closing the menu as the waitress arrives.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Castello’s. Can I get you some drinks to start with, gentlemen?”
“Gentlemen, huh? I like—shit, man, what the?—”
I kick Priest under the table—again—like we’re five years old and he’s about to snitch on me. “I’ll take the draft lager, please, and a soft drink for the child over here,” I say, nodding in the direction of Priest, who gives me the finger.
“Make that two of the draft lagers, please,” Priest hurries to add before the waitress can leave.
“Of course,” she says, offering a fake as fuck smile.
“Jesus, I knew I should have come alone. You’re such a dick sometimes.”
“Chill the fuck out, Mickey.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll be on my best behaviour starting now.”
I shake my head, but I also can’t help smiling at him. This is why I brought him with me—his ability to make me laugh even in the most serious situations. But equally, he knows how to turn it round, be serious and be what I need.
“So, now we’ve established the rules of engagement, you going to explain what the fuck we’re doing here?”
I fill him in, pausing briefly when the waitress arrives with our drinks and takes our food order. This time, Priest is the perfect gentlemen.
“Your old man will never go for it. Especially seeing as you haven’t a clue how deep Castello is with Simmonds.”
I nod. “What do you think this little scouting trip is for, huh. Castello hears I’m here, you don’t think he’s going to?—”
