The Cure

Chapter 43

The buzzing white of the hospital lights shocked her almost into sobriety as she stumbled over the strange, ridged doormat, small spheres of drizzle sucking onto the strands of her hair as she looked wildly about, her line of sight following milliseconds after she moved her head.

'Melissa!'

Melissa's flustered figure was flashing past reception in pink scrubs, her afro hair awry; she wheeled about, hastily scanning the entrance hall for the source of the solicitation, smiling her glittering smile when she found Lola's drawn face.

Lola approached tentatively, and Melissa darted forward to tip a breathless kiss to Lola's cheek.

'What are you doing here?'

'My mum's—' Lola could barely squeeze the words out, and Melissa's eyebrows tipped upwards sympathetically.

'Ah, shit. What happened?'

'I don't know – Nate just said I should come across as soon as–'

'An accident?'

'Nah.' Lola hesitated. 'She's sick.' She had never said it out loud before.

'Here, come over,' Melissa's face was full of gentle compassion as she wrapped a palm was about the damp wrist of Lola's red duffle coat, leading her towards the reception, 'come see with Gina, what's her name—'

'Jacqueline Nicks.'

'—Jacqueline Nicks—' Melissa repeated, still breathless, to the large receptionist, '—I'm sorry, Lola, I got to go, I've got a code red in Paeds—'

'No, no, go—'

'—you going to be OK?' Melissa was already retreating, with a small, sympathetic smile.

'—yeah, no, don't be silly—' she held a hand up in a shaky wave as Melissa turned to run down the corridor.

Lola looked apprehensively towards the receptionist, who seemed to scroll through her computer impossibly slowly, a bored look on her face.

'You are?'

'Lola Nicks.'

The woman nodded expectantly, raising her eyebrows in a sarcastic display of patience.

'Her daughter.'

'Right,' the woman was scrolling again, and Lola shifted from foot to foot. Eventually, she pulled a visitor's pass with a worn blue lanyard from a tangle in an old paper box, her large chest quivering. 'Take this corridor, first left, then first right.'

Lola's still-damp shoes squeaked along the linoleum as she passed slumped drunks spilling vomit down their shoulders, and wailing babies, smelling the sharp tang of blood as she passed someone with an open fracture.

First left, then first right.

She turned down the corridor, trying to make sense of the coloured indication lines taped to the floors – which ward was green? – and a nurse jostled her as she scurried past, giving a hiss of irritation.

Another one tapped her back lightly to move her to one side, with a hastily muttered apology.

Her eyes, her blood vibrated as she arrived in the green waiting room, and there were beeps, and a metallic voice over the tannoy, and the receptionist was on the phone, speaking quickly, and now and again, dark blue and light blue and white scrubs moved through the corridors, darting as methodically about one another as a flurry of bats, slipping neatly by on silent sonar, a life-saving streamlined success.

One of the blue passers-by grabbed her forearms.

'Nate!'

She felt a whoosh of relief to find his expression calm – comparatively, at least – if not preoccupied; he swept a quick hand over her damp hair, a quick thumb to her cool cheek.

She had forgotten about his bruised jaw. It looked worse in the cool hospital lighting.

'I've been trying you for ages. Are you OK?'

Lola's voice was hoarse, her mouth dry. 'Shit, my phone's at work.' She had abandoned everything in a panicked rush at the foot of her barstool, pushing through the clamouring throng of partygoers, her panic muting Mr. Hargreaves' irritating muttering as she left. 'Where is she? What happened?'

'It's OK, she's stable.' He was biting the inside of his cheek as he looked down at her, hesitating, an internal battle evidently raging behind his unreadable eyes. 'Come with me—'

'Doctor Wells—' the receptionist called, holding a clipboard up, the phone still balanced on her ear.

'I'll be right back, two seconds,' he held up a forefinger up, pressing his other hand to Lola's lower back, steering her towards one of the doors directly off the waiting room, with its small window and its white plastic blinds.

She took a deep breath as he pushed it aside.