Page 17 of The Girl in Room 12

I gasp, staring at Max.

‘Thankfully, it’s small, and we’re monitoring him. We might need to control his blood pressure. He also has a fractured clavicle –his collarbone – but he won’t need surgery for that. It will eventually heal on its own. It will be painful, though.’

I try to take in these words, but it’s too much – all I can do is stare at Max.

She glances outside. ‘They’ve been waiting to speak to him, but we’ve told them they can’t. Not yet. I know they’ve got a job to do but so have we – and our patients’ wellbeing comes first. But you can sit with him. Even if he doesn’t open his eyes right now, I’m sure it would help him to see you when he wakes up.’

The nurse might be sure of this but I’m not. I don’t know what’s been going through Max’s mind these last few months. Or what he’s been doing. Is it Alice he’ll want to see?

I slip into the chair beside Max’s bed and stare at him. Bodies are so fragile, so easily wrecked. Minutes tick by, but eventually his eyelids start to flutter. I look up, searching for the nurse, but she’s gone now, tending to someone else who needs her.

Unsure what to say to Max, I don’t move.

Slowly, he turns his head and looks at me, and even though it’s hard to see the expression beneath his blood-soaked, bruised skin, I can tell he’s confused. ‘Hannah?’ He winces.

Instinctively I take his hand, trying not to flinch at the feel of his rough skin. ‘If it hurts, try not to talk.’

‘What…happened to me?’ His voice is frail – he doesn’t sound like himself.

I take a deep breath. ‘You were attacked leaving work. The police don’t know who did it. They think you were mugged. Your wallet and phone were taken.’

‘I don’t remember,’ he says.

‘None of it? Do you remember leaving work?’

‘No.’ He closes his puffy eyelids again, and grips my hand. Again I fight the urge to snatch my hand away. ‘I’m supposed to be in Lisbon for the conference,’ he says. ‘I can’t be here.’

Now I am the one who’s flummoxed. ‘What conference?’

‘The annual conference. I’m meant to be there with Peter. I’ve got to get to the airport.’

And then it makes sense. ‘No, Max. That was in May. And Peter left straight after that conference. It’s November.’

Max winces again and he tries to pull himself up. ‘I have to go to Lisbon.’

I look around for the friendly Irish nurse, but she’s disappeared. ‘Stop! You’ve had a bleed on your brain. You can’t go anywhere.’ I stand up. ‘I’ll go and find someone.’

Outside in the corridor, around the corner and out of sight of the police officers, I lean against the wall and take a deep breath. I’m doing everything I should be doing as a wife, yet I can’t trust the man who lies in that bed. After a moment, I compose myself enough to look for the nurse.

She’s at the nurses’ station, filling out some forms, and she looks up as I approach. I notice her name badge. Orla. A pretty name. And she’s in a place that’s far from pretty. ‘Everything okay?’ she asks, clicking her pen closed and placing it down.

‘Um, he woke up. And he’s saying that it’s May and he has to be at a conference in Lisbon. He’s trying to get up.’

The nurse frowns. ‘Okay. I’m coming.’

‘He went to that conference and he can’t remember it,’ I tell her as we’re walking back to Max.

She nods. ‘Retrograde amnesia is quite common after a severe head injury. The police will love that, won’t they? I’ll let the doctors know. Try not to worry.’ She checks her watch. ‘I need to do his blood pressure and pulse check now.’

I watch from the hallway as the nurse talks to Max, trying to calm him down and persuade him that he’s not in a state to go anywhere.

And meanwhile, all I can think is that I wish Max’s injuries and amnesia were the only things to be concerned about.

My throat is dry and I need to get some water, so I walk away, heading to the nearest vending machine.

And then I keep walking, ambling down corridors, navigating this maze of a hospital, getting further away from the ICU.

I don’t know how long I walk for, but eventually I make my way back to Max, and stand by his bedside.

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