A Trick of the Mind by Penny Hancock Read Free Book Online Page A

into leaf. The sky was blue, it was a beautiful day. I could see my car, the culprit, down below. I wanted to be in it, to get away as fast
as I could.
    I looked back at Patrick. There was a drip set up. His legs were hidden under the tent of hospital sheeting.
    I shut my eyes, then opened them. Forced myself to look at his face.
    I was shocked. Patrick McIntyre was about my age. Late twenties, I guessed. What had I imagined? In spite of the nurse’s assumption I was his girlfriend, I had been thinking of perhaps a
teenager, a youth, someone a bit wayward. Not a fully grown man. Short dark hair protruded from the dressing on his head. A bronzed face, and his forearms, that were folded across his chest, strong
and golden and smooth with that ridge of muscle; the thought came to me unbidden that this was a man who should never have ended up like this.
What a waste,
was the thought that slid in. I
forced it out again. It would be a waste, of course, whoever it was. But somehow, seeing all this health and vitality cut down like this seemed unfair, unbelievable. I thought of Guy, out there on
the beach with my friends. Of my brother Ben, with his glossy golden girlfriend. Bright successful good-looking types.
    Patrick looked like one of them.
    ‘He might be able to hear, it’s worth talking to him. He’ll be pleased to know you’re here. And it’ll help bring him round.’
    I glanced up at the nurse, checking to see if he was testing me out. I could be anyone, couldn’t I? I wanted to ask again, is he going to be ok? But the words stuck in my throat. My hands
felt light, as if they didn’t belong to me.
    ‘Got anything with you that might jog his memory when he comes round? Photos. Anything like that?’
    Why? Why would he need his memory jogging?
    ‘Just in case there’s a little bit of amnesia,’ the nurse went on. ‘He had a blow to the head, the way he landed. Though it’ll be impossible to know until
he’s fully conscious. He’s still under the anaesthetic. But familiarity as soon as possible is always helpful.’
    I forced myself to behave as I imagined his girlfriend might in this situation. Efficient. Sensible.
    ‘I’ve got my phone.’
    What was I doing, playing along like this? I rummaged through my bag, my hands were slippery, sweaty with nerves. I pulled things out – trying to control my movements as I did so. My
diary, an appointment card for a haircut, my purse, dumping them on the bedside table until I found my phone that had slipped to the bottom.
    I clicked it on. Smiled up at the nurse.
    He wasn’t even looking. He was studying a chart at the end of Patrick’s bed, filling it in. After a while he left, closing the door gently behind him.
    There was not much in the room apart from the beeping monitor and the drip. A trolley, out of reach of the bed, with a plastic jug of water on it. A couple of laminated signs
Blu-tacked to the walls advertising patient liaison services. No flowers, no cards. It was probably too soon. Or maybe this man was far from home, and family and friends.
    I ran my eye up and down Patrick’s body.
    ‘Please don’t die,’ I whispered. ‘Please don’t let me have killed you.’
    His chest rose and fell, his breath just audible, his closed lids a delicate pale lilac.
    I wondered what colour his eyes might be when they were open. Brown, I guessed, dark, intriguing brown.
    His full lips were pale and dry. On his chin a neatly clipped, black beard. This part of him, at least, had been spared, I thought. His face was intact.
    I tried to visualise the moment of impact on my car. I recalled the journey for the millionth time. The light fading behind me, darkness up in front. My music up loud and Pepper distracting me
for a second – or was it longer?
    A shock ran down my body into my legs. The jolt was quite hard. The car had wobbled, swerved, I’d righted it and driven on, fighting my need to check.
    I
could
have hit Patrick as I looked at Pepper, caught him,