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“My name isn’t Lex,” I said, or tried to say, though the words came out so slurred and indistinct that even I could hardly understand them myself. I settled for “wa’er” and tried to point to my throat.
The nurse picked up a sort of bottle with a spout and held it to my lips. The water was cool, though it tasted slightly of chemicals. But it was good and felt marvelous on my tongue and going down my throat. She wouldn’t let me have much, though.
“Not at the moment, Lex,” she said. “Just a few sips.”
“Why do you keep calling me Lex?” I asked, when I could actually make coherent words again.
“Can’t you remember your name?” she said. There was a touch of anxiety in her tone.
“Of course I can,” I said, my strength returning. “It’s… it’s—” For some obscure reason, I knew I didn’t want to give my real name. Perhaps I feared that the incendiaries, if there actually were any, would be able to trace me. “—it’s Johnny Appleseed.” Why I picked on that name, I have no idea. At the back of my mind, I had some idea that he was a guy—in America, was it?—who wandered round the country planting apple trees.
“You gave your name as Lex,” she said, “when you came into hospital. Do you remember the fire?”
Did I remember the fire? “Of course I do. Christ, I was nearly burnt to death.”
“Keep calm, er, Johnny. Are you in any pain?”
“Everything hurts.”
“We’ll give you some intravenous morphine through the drip. That should help a lot.”
She fiddled a bit with the bag, and soon I felt calmer. It was nice. My brain, though, was still working overtime. Petrol and fire? But that meant—petrol is an accelerant—and that meant? I couldn’t take it in, so I dozed.
Next time I woke, there was a policeman in uniform sitting by my bed.
“Hello, sir, I’m PC Douglas Onslow. You can call me Duggie if you like, or Constable if you don’t.”
He had a nice smile and a pleasant, rather round face, and thank God, no mustache, so I made my choice. I was feeling much better, though still sore.
“Okay, Duggie, what’s up?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m here to protect you. We believe last night an attempt was made on your life.”
I tried to look amazed, as I’d already worked that out for myself, but having no eyebrows, this was difficult.
“What we’d like to do, sir, is move you to a private hospital under a false name. There we can keep you safe, look after your burns and cuts until we can find out who did this to you.”
I nodded and waited for him to go on. There was obviously more.
“Now, sir, there is the question of your name. When you came in, you told both the paramedics and the doctor who attended you at first that your n
ame was Lex. Now you say it’s Johnny Appleseed. Could you clarify that a bit please, sir?”
“Oh, come on, Duggie. You know the Appleseed is false, but it’ll do for the time being. By the way, if I can call you Duggie, if it doesn’t infringe any police regulations, please call me Johnny.”
He waited, biro poised over notebook.
“I was obviously confused when I came in, been through a bit of trauma! The ‘Lex’ was, as you probably know Lex Warrington, who owns the flat. I wondered if he’d returned and had been caught in the blaze.”
As I said this, my stomach curled in anticipation. Please, God, let him be okay.
“There was no one else in the house according to the fire brigade guys—”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“—but what I really want to know, er, Johnny, is, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you, anyone you’ve offended, quarreled with recently?”
Oh God, that row with Lex, before he shot off in his car! But impossible! No way would my charming, loving Lex try to burn me to death. Yet was there a dark, vindictive side to him that I’d never seen? Though I had been living there for a comparatively short while, I felt I knew him so well, but the doubt lingered at the back of my mind and I couldn’t shake it free.
