Free Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) by Helen Black Page B

the world to know that her husband had chosen another woman. Particularly not a ‘fat tart from Essex’. Lilly imagined Mr Clayton tucked up in bed with a curvy blonde. Who could blame him?
    ‘I will not have that woman mentioned.’ Mrs Clayton tossed her professionally blow-dried hair. ‘I have my reputation to consider.’
    Lilly’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. How on earth could she word the divorce petition in a way that would not make any judge fall off his chair laughing?
    ‘The Respondent, despite a huge income, deliberately kept the Petitioner short of money,’ Lilly read aloud as she typed. ‘He resented her having any luxuries.’
    Alice, who was still in her car seat, began to cry.
    ‘I know it’s a pile of crap, but what can I do?’ Lilly laughed.
    Alice continued to cry. Lilly put her head in her hands. Could the day get any worse?
    ‘Hello.’
    Lilly looked up. She had forgotten to lock the door behind her and a man in his mid thirties was standing on the step outside, peering in.
    Lilly cringed. After Annabelle had made her entrance in exactly the same way, you’d think she would have learned. She pushed her chair firmly under the desk to hide as much of herself as she could, and yanked off her hat. She felt her hair spring out like a nest of coiled snakes.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We’re closed.’
    He looked at her with a puzzled frown, then at Alice, who was bawling like a mourner at an Indian funeral.
    When he took a step inside, Lilly saw that he was tall with dark skin that seemed to gleam. His shoulders were almost the width of the doorframe.
    Lilly coughed and tried not to notice how attractive he was. ‘I said we’re closed.’
    ‘Penny told me you needed help.’ His accent was African. ‘She was not wrong.’
    Penny? What did this have to do with Penny?
    ‘You’re not a Reiki master are you? Or an aromatherapist?’ she asked.
    Penny was a fan of alternative therapies and was convinced the chaos that was Lilly’s existence could be alleviated by the judicious application of essential oils.
    The man laughed, making creases around brown eyes. ‘I do administration, typing, help with paperwork.’
    ‘I thought that was a lady called Carol?’ said Lilly.
    ‘Or a man called Karol, perhaps.’
    Lilly was stunned.
    Karol gestured to Alice. ‘Do you want to go to the baby?’
    Lilly reddened. If she got up he would see the full glory of her grubby nightwear, but what could she do? She pushed back her chair and put her chin up, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be in her pyjamas. She picked up Alice and shushed her.
    ‘This is Alice,’ she said.
    Karol nodded. ‘I think you and Alice really do need my assistance.’
     
     
    Mrs Ebola wasn’t listening to the doctor.
    Jack didn’t blame her. The relief was written across her face in shocking simplicity. Right now, all she could concentrate on was the fact that her granddaughter was going to live.
    She held Malaya’s hand in her own and rocked back and forth, whispering, ‘Oh sweet Lord, oh sweet Lord.’
    Mr Stephenson stood on the other side of the bed, scribbling on Malaya’s chart with a heavy-looking fountain pen.
    ‘Malaya regained consciousness two hours ago,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t spoken yet, but we think she’s out of the woods.’
    ‘When do you think she might speak?’ Jack asked.
    Mr Stephenson frowned. ‘You won’t be able to grill her just yet, I’m afraid.’
    Jack put up his palms in surrender.
    ‘Not a grilling, Doctor, just hoping for anything that might help us catch whoever did this. Experience tells us that we have to move fast.’
    ‘And when that time is appropriate I’ll let you know,’ said Mr Stephenson. ‘Now I think we should leave the family in peace.’
    Jack nodded and got to his feet. He passed his card to the doctor who immediately pressed it into his pocket without looking at it. Jack sighed. A little chat couldn’t hurt, could it?
    He was