Free Fractured by Dani Atkins Page B

venetians for me to make out the vague shapes of four people around my bed: the doctor, a white-coated young man standing beside him, the nurse and, on the other side of the bed, my dad.
    ‘I can see shapes,’ I declared, my voice a strange mixture of joy and disbelief. ‘It’s cloudy but—’
    ‘Give it a moment. Nurse, a little more light now, I believe.’
    She obliged by a further twist on the corded blinds. Suddenly things began to clear and I saw the white-haired senior doctor, the young bespectacled intern, the middle-aged nurse. I began to smile broadly, a reaction they all mirrored.
    I turned to my dad, my grin wide, and then froze, the look on my face unreadable.
    ‘Rachel, what’s wrong? Doctor! Doctor what’s the matter?’
    The consultant was beside me in an instant, flashing a small torch in my eyes, checking my reactions, but I fought against him to look again at my dad.
    ‘Rachel, can you tell me what’s wrong?’ urged the doctor. ‘Are you in pain, is your vision disturbed in any way?’
    Disturbed? Well yes, I should say. But not in any way that he meant.
    ‘No, I can see all right. Everything’s clear now.’
    ‘Then what’s wrong?’
    ‘It’s my dad.’
    ‘Me?’ My father sounded totally confused. Well, join the club. I forced myself to look at him slowly and with greater concentration then. But what I saw made no sense. The doctor’s voice had adopted a tone I guessed he usually reserved for those with mental illnesses.
    ‘What about your father?’
    I couldn’t find my voice.
    ‘Rachel honey, you’re scaring me. Can’t you just tell us what’s the matter?’
    ‘Is there something wrong with your father, Rachel?’
    I turned to the doctor to reply to his question and then back at my only parent. My newly empowered eyesight took in his plump cheeks, his bright eyes – albeit clouded now in concern – the small paunch he was always planning on joining a gym to lose. There was no sign of the haggard, prematurely aged, cancer-raddled man I had last seen three weeks ago.
    ‘No! That’s what’s the matter. There’s nothing wrong with him at all!’

4
    December 2013
    Also Five Years Later…
    The man must have been watching me for a considerable period of time before I first became aware of him. Of course he could have been right beside me on the crowded underground platform and I’d never have known it, packed as we were like cattle during the usual Friday evening exodus from London. Moving along the twisting tiled passages while changing underground lines, I wasn’t really aware of anything except the annoyance of having to drag my small suitcase behind me through the rush hour. I stopped apologising after I’d run over about the fifth set of feet. It had been a huge mistake to leave it so late to begin my journey: it would have made far more sense to have driven down with Matt that morning as he had suggested, but I had an immovable deadline for an article I’d been working on that just couldn’t be ignored.
    ‘Shall I wait for you, and we’ll drive down together when you’re done?’
    I’d considered that for a moment but then dismissed the idea.
    ‘No, there’s no sense in both of us being late. You go on ahead, I’ll finish at work and then catch the fast train down.’
    It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and now… well, not so good at all. Between my attempts at weaving through the crowds with the suitcase in tow (which was how the five sets of toes got mangled), I kept glancing frantically at my watch, knowing time was fast running out if I was going to make the mainline train out of London for Great Bishopsford. At this rate I would be lucky to get to the restaurant before the desserts were being served. Guilt at letting Sarah down added impetus to my stride and I cannoned between two suited businessmen earning a very ungentlemanly comment from one of them.
    ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, not even glancing back to see if my apology had been