He looks down at his gifts now, arrayed on his blankets, and he smiles a knowing smile to Rhoda.Thanks,his eyes say. Her gifts promise that today they will get to the bottom of this, together.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rhoda says, laying the books out so that the patient can see the titles and covers. “I know you can’t remember your real name just yet, but how do you feel about a temporary one? Just for now?” Her fingertips absentmindedly touch the scar by her hairline. “I know it’s not ideal but it would be nice to call you something, what do you say?”
He looks down at her pile of books, eyes flitting from one to the next, then back up to her. He nods.
18
DR. EMMA LEWIS
DAY 8—PUBLIC SPEAKING
Nick leads me up to the hospital canteen on the top floor. I follow, my mind whirring.
He chatters on as we take the stairs up two at a time. “Sorry for the stairs, the elevators take forever and I told everyone to be ready up there at half past.” He glances at his watch and then back over his shoulder at me. Catching my expression, he smiles. “Listen, seriously, there’s no big speech required, don’t worry about that. Nothing too stressful, just a quick mission statement so everyone knows who they’re working with and who to speak to if they have questions. Okay?”
It’s hard to tell how pale my face has got but I suddenly feel intensely light-headed. I pause on the stairs for a second, pretending to be out of breath. A speech in front of most of the hospital staff. I feel sick. This isnotkeeping a low profile. I suddenly wonder: How much has Peter actually told Nick about me and my history? I’m guessing nothing, otherwise Nick would appreciate the implications of me “getting my face out there.” But what can I do?
Just pray that no one I was at school with went into medicine and works here, I suppose.
Nick pauses. “Sorry! I’m rushing you, aren’t I? Sorry, take your time. They can wait a few more minutes. It’s just all a little fraught at the moment, morale up and down—things like this help. Makes sure everyone feels like they’re part of the team, in it together.”
“Of course, it’s fine. I just—I haven’t had much exercise over the Christmas break, ha,” I lie.
It’s fine, I tell myself; even if someone does recognize me, they aren’t going to blurt it out in the middle of a speech, are they? People don’t do things like that in real life. They’d come and talk to me after. Right?Right?
Stop it! No one here is going to remember you. You have a different name. And you look completely different. So stop it.
I smile up at Nick.
At the top of the stairwell, he turns to me again.
“So, it’s just through here. Shouldn’t be more than forty, fifty people. I’ll do a quick intro and then you can introduce yourself, a bit about your background and maybe a basic outline of the diagnostic plan. I’ll open up a quick Q&A and then we’re done.”
I take a fortifying breath in and nod. “Great.”
Nick’s hand goes to the door and I suddenly realize I have no idea what we are calling the patient. “Wait, Nick. What are we calling him? The patient?”
“Oh, bloody hell, sorry, Emma. We’re using Matthew for now. I know—but he seems to like it and we can’t call him Mr. Nobody, obviously. So we’re stuck with it for now. I should have mentioned before.” He suddenly looks as vulnerable as I feel, which, thankfully, takes my focus off of myself for a second.
“No, it’s fine,” I reassure him. “Let’s get through this bit and then you can take me to meet Matthew.”
He nods happily, back on safe ground, and with that he pulls open the doors.
My hands are slick with sweat, my chest fluttering. I take in the faces as we enter the canteen. Nurses, junior doctors, paramedics, porters, canteen staff, groundskeepers. I try to scan each face for any sign of recognition. The crowd has hushed with our entrance and all eyes are on us as we make our way to the front.
Nick clears his throat and starts to speak. I notice a woman, standing by the hatch of the kitchen, turn toward us and I realize with sudden dread I know her. I rack my mind for who she might be, how I know her. She’s looking back toward the doors now, frowning. She’s waiting for someone. I struggle to focus on Nick’s words.
“—enormously lucky to have her with us. So, if you could all give a big hand to Dr. Emma Lewis, I’ll turn this over to her.”
I find myself stepping forward to join Nick, my eyes still locked on the woman. Then her eyes find mine, she gives me a tight smile before her gaze is pulled away by a younger woman sidling up beside her and I suddenly realize how I know her. It’s the receptionist from the lobby downstairs. Jesus. That’s how I know her.
I need to calm down. I need to stop being paranoid. Everything is fine. The relief I feel is overwhelming and I can’t hold back a smile. I let my body relax ever so slightly, take in my expectant audience, and begin.
19
THE MAN
DAYS 3–6—PATIENT
