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He gets to his feet and then suddenly flings his meaty arms around me like a giant toddler seeking reassurance from his mother. For a moment I freeze, and then awkwardly I pat his muscular back.
We both turn at the sound of voices. A porter shows two uniformed police officers into the waiting area and points to us.
‘I imagine the police want to talk to you about what happened,’ I say. ‘I’m sure it won’t take long.’
But they’re not looking at Kyle.
They’re heading straight towards me.
chapter 42
millie
I manage to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep in the on-call room before going into a seven-hour transplant surgery. Adrenaline keeps me focused and alert while I’m operating, but by the time I get home late on Tuesday afternoon, I’ve had less than eight hours’ rest in two days, and I’m ready to sleep the clock round.
Tom wakes me at eight the next morning with a cup of coffee.
‘What’s this?’ I ask warily, sitting up in bed. I’m not a big proponent of lazing beneath the duvet with coffee and the papers, even at weekends: I prefer to get up and get going with my day.
‘I thought you could use a bit of spoiling,’ he says. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me, effectively trapping me in place. ‘Have you heard any more from the police?’ he asks.
‘You literallyjustwoke me,’ I say. ‘I haven’t even looked at my phone.’
He reaches over to my bedside table and passes it to me. ‘Could you check?’
His concern for Harper is understandable, if slightly irritating. I didn’t break the news that she was my emergency patient until I got home yesterday afternoon: I take my oath of medical confidentiality very seriously, even when it concerns a woman who shares every intimate detail of her life with two million followers. It was Kyle who asked me to let Tom know what had happened: ‘He’ll be worried,’ he said, ‘and I know Harper thinks the world of him.’ Sweet, dumb Kyle.
‘Nothing from the police,’ I say, tossing my phone onto the bedcovers.
‘D’you think they could be right?’ Tom asks. ‘Do you think the crash was deliberate?’
‘I doubt it,’ I say, leaning back against the pillows and sipping my coffee. ‘They said the CCTV wasn’t good enough to identify the car that hit Harper’s or see who was in it, but they did say there were two people in the vehicle. Felix is the only person who really has a grudge against Harper, so that’d mean he had an accomplice, which doesn’t sound very likely to me.’
‘You think it was just an accident?’
‘It was late, it was dark and raining. I think Harper was just unlucky.’
‘Why did the police want to talk to you, then?’
I shrug. ‘Sometimes happens with an RTC. They want to know the extent of a victim’s injuries, whether it could’ve been attempted suicide, if they’re likely to pull through. It’s just routine.’
Tom rubs his jaw. I like it when he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days: it gives him a slightly disreputable air. Normally he’s so clean-cut and boy-next-door. ‘Where d’you think Felix Porter is, then?’ he asks. ‘A bit weird no one’s seen him for so long.’
I’m not fooled by his casual tone. I’ve seen the question in his eyes, but he’ll never ask it, even if it’s killing him to keep silent.
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘He’s not exactly Mr Popular right now.’
‘You think he’s just lying low?’
‘Well, they haven’t found a body yet.’
‘You don’t seriously think he—’
I put down my coffee, and nudge Tom with my feet so that he moves and I can get out of bed. ‘No, I don’tseriously thinkanything, Tom,’ I say. ‘Felix isn’t the sort of man to top himself, if that’s what you mean. He’s probably still working out a way to spin this so he comes out the hero.’
‘Yeah, but like you said, a lot of people are out for his blood,’ Tom says.
‘Wanting someone dead and actually killing them are two very different things.’
