Page 31 of One Step Behind
‘We’re OK,’ Sophie calls. ‘Aren’t we, Matthew?’
Matthew’s fingers dig into her back, squeezing her skin between his thumbs and index fingers. She gasps and pulls away, tears pricking at her eyes. ‘That hurt,’ she mouths.
‘You didn’t play with me.’ He scrunches his eyes shut, frozen to the spot as though trying to block out the world.
‘Please, Matthew. Please. For Mum. Let’s just go to class. I’ll play with you after school, I promise. Any game you like.’
Matthew opens one eye a fraction and stares at Sophie’s face with his dark watery gaze.
‘Please,’ she begs again.
He nods and Sophie feels the knots in her tummy unwind.
It’s only when she takes a seat for afternoon registration that she feels the throb of pain in the middle of her back from where Matthew pinched her.
On the way out from school that afternoon, Matthew slides his hand into Sophie’s. She sees Laura look their way and then turn, whispering something to Alison Browning. The pair glance again and giggle to each other. Sophie wants to pull her hand away but that would upset Matthew.
When she sees her nan waiting for them Sophie breaks into a run, pulling Matthew with her. She wants to tell her nan how much her back is still hurting from Matthew’s pinch, but she’s scared of getting into trouble for not playing with Matthew, and she doesn’t want her mum and dad to argue about it any more.
‘He needs taking in hand,’ her dad is always saying. ‘You’re too soft on the boy.’
‘How would you know? You’re always down the pub,’ her mum replies. ‘What Matthew needs is our unconditional love. He didn’t have the same start in life. We need to be patient. Even your nine-year-olddaughter understands that concept. Why can’t you?’
Sophie buries her face in her nan’s clothes and breathes in the smell of freshly baked biscuits. She promises herself she’ll try harder with Matthew and keep her mum and dad happy.
Chapter 16
Jenna
Christie is right – traffic is slow and it takes forty-five minutes to snail-crawl my way across town to the hospital. Air conditioning blasts my face, making my skin dry and shivery, but keeps the exhaustion from sweeping over me at least.
My stomach is a tight jumble of nerves that will never unravel itself as I think of Beth and Archie, and you, and everything that has happened.
The staff car park is quiet and I find a space near the entrance. It’s Saturday. All non-essentials have shut down for the weekend, as if medicine can ever be nine-to-five.
When I’m parked, I send a text to Christie asking if she minds collecting the kids for me after all. It’ll be easier to drive straight home and meet her there than battle the traffic again, and I don’t want to be late to collect Beth and Archie. Christie replies a second later with a thumbs-up and I feel instantly better knowing that she is with them.
As I make my way towards the entrance I spot Thomas running across the car park.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Jenna, hi,’ he replies with a breathless gasp, jogging over to me.
‘You look like you’ve run a marathon,’ I say, taking in the gleam of sweat on his face.
‘I feel like I have. I overslept for my shift. What are you doing here? You’re not working today.’
‘I’m visiting someone.’
‘Ah I see. I’d better run. See you Monday.’
I watch Thomas jog away. For a moment I wonder how he knows when I’m working. I shake my head and let the thought drop. I’m being paranoid. When I was in my specialist training years, I always knew which registrars and consultants were on duty with me.
Intensive care is on the fourth floor in the old part of the hospital, where the walls have cracked in places, showing the layers of paint and the years of touch-ups. I take the stairs two at a time and reach the double doors into the ward just as a man is being buzzed through.
The air is cool, one of the only floors in the old building to have air conditioning and temperature-controlled bays. I walk with purpose to the large whiteboard by the nurses’ station to find your name. The board is a mess, almost unreadable to those who aren’t familiar with it. Dark smudges cover the surface where one patient has been rubbed out in a hurry before another has been written over the top. There are rows of initials and abbreviations adding to the mess, but it doesn’t take me long to find you.
Bed 6, bay B. Matthew Doveris written in small scrawling writing.
