‘Would I say that?’ She looks at me, all innocence. Then shecrosses her eyes comically and says, ‘Listen, could you clean the mirror andmake sure the taps are gleaming? And I’ll go and raid the stock room. We’rerunning out of tea and coffee sachets.’
‘No problem.’ I set to work with enthusiasm, making themirror sparkle, and by the time I’ve finished polishing the Victorian-styletaps, I can see my face in them. It’s hot work, though, and I don’t have anythingto drink. But I’m sure I saw a water dispenser along the corridor...
The deep pink carpet of the corridor is soft beneath my feetas I make my way towards the lifts, and I make a mental note to bring a supplyof water with me next time. Sure enough, there’s the water dispenser, and Iswig down a cup of water gratefully. I’m just starting on my second when I hearthe sound of a lift door opening right along at the other end of the corridor,and glancing along, my heart almost stops with fright.
It’s Logan. And he’s walking my way.
I freeze, not knowing what to do. He doesn’t know I’mworking here. What will I say to him? Will he believe me if I tell him I wasgoing to meet him that day but I had a horrible accident and ended up inhospital so I couldn’t get there?
My head is starting to hurt already – the drill poised at mytemple – and that awful feeling of nausea is creeping over me.
Oh, bloody hell. I can’t face him right now, feeling likethis.
So I turn and pretend to be cleaning behind the machine,which involves me bending down quite a bit and cleaning the back of it, so he can’tsee my face. Wincing at the soft creak of footsteps passing by me, I wait a fewseconds for him to walk on before straightening up and peering after him – and rightat that moment, the water dispenser lets out the most enormous glugging sound.
Logan slows down a fraction and I duck back, my heart in mymouth.
But thankfully, he doesn’t turn around. Instead, he walkson, pulls open a door on his right and vanishes from sight. And I breathe asigh of relief and stagger back against the wall, my knees feeling as weak as thewater in the dispenser. Worried he might appear again, I hurry back to thesafety of the suite and stand by the window, gazing out but seeing nothing.
‘All right, Queen?’ Katrina, rattling back with her trolley,finds me scrabbling through my pockets for my migraine medication.
‘Yes, thanks.’ I look up distractedly. ‘I know I put mytablets in my pocket, just in case, but I can’t find them.’
‘Tablets? Tablets for what?’
‘Migraine. I had an accident and bashed my head, and now Iget really bad migraines.’
She frowns. ‘That’s terrible. My sister gets migraines andshe says they make her feel like her body’s been taken over by aliens. She’s inso much pain, all she can do is lie in the dark until it passes. Can I doanything?’
‘I just need my tablets.’ I stare at her, panic rising inme, making me feel quite breathless with fear. ‘I can’t understand it. I putthem in my pocket but they’re not here now. Where the hell are they?’
‘Are you sure you put them in your overall pocket?’
I stare at her, my mind a complete blank. Then I realisewhat she’s saying. ‘No. No, of course I didn’t. What was I thinking? I put themin mycoat pocketwhen I left the house.’ I feel weak with relief. ‘Ofcourse. That’s where they’ll be. Do you mind if I just nip down and –’
But Katrina’s hand is on my shoulder and she’s guiding meover to a plush pink chair. ‘Sit down there, Queen, and just relax. I’ll go andfind your pills. As long as you don’t mind me rummaging through your coatpockets?’
‘No, of course not.’ I subside gratefully into the chair.
‘Just checking.’ She grins. ‘Some people assume a scouseaccent means you were actuallyborna thieving scally.’
‘Well, I trust you completely, Katrina,’ I tell hersolemnly. ‘But there’s a fiver in my inside pocket and I’ll be checking.’
‘You mad cow.’ She whisks out, laughing.
Taking a deep breath, I relax back and try to let my mind goblank.
But within seconds, I’m sitting up straight in the chair,hands clenched as the mind chatter runs amok.
If I can just relax and stop stressing, maybe I’ll beable to halt the migraine in its tracks. But maybe I should be eating something?It’s only eleven and I have my first snack of the day at twelve on the dot. ButI suppose the stress levels are higher today, so maybe I should just eat mybanana now? Although if I do that, I’d then have to have my next snack an hourearlier as well, wouldn’t I? Just to be sure. Trouble is, I was assuming I’d beat home by then and I haven’t got any more snacks with me. The only things hereare the chocolate biscuits we put on the welcome trays, but I can’t possiblyeat chocolate. That’s a major trigger. I just can’t risk it.
Oh, God, what do I do?
The stress of trying to decide is making the drilling in mytemple worse. If I get a migraine, I’ll be bed-bound and I’ll have to takethree days off work, and they’re not going to like that at all. It would hardlybe a great way to start my new job.
Sitting there, my aching head filled with a jumble ofterrified confusion, I feel completely overwhelmed.
‘Here you go.’ Katrina comes back in, my packet of tabletsin one hand and a glass of water in the other. ‘Take those and hopefully you’llfeel better soon.’
