Free A Lovely Way to Burn by Louise Welsh Page B

The other woman looked at her for the first time since they had left the ward and Stevie saw again the tiredness blighting her eyes.
    ‘Were you really going out with Dr Sharkey?’
    ‘Yes.’
    The lift rumbled down the shaft towards them.
    ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ The nurse’s voice was flat and free of emotion, as if she had learnt the condoling phrase by rote. ‘It must have been a shock.’
    Stevie saw again Simon’s face in the mirror, the awkward angle of his head, the line of spittle trailing from his mouth.
    ‘Yes, it was a shock.’
    The lift doors opened, and they were met with the stares of the people cramped inside, whey-faced and packed together as if in an upright tomb. Nurse Webb put an arm on Stevie’s elbow and stepped smartly forward, taking Stevie with her. The lift’s inhabitants squeezed impossibly closer to make room for them. They travelled downwards in a fug of sweat and recycled breath. The lift shed occupants at each floor, like a metaphor for the randomness of death, until Stevie was left alone with Nurse Webb, but it wasn’t until they stepped out into the cool of a deserted basement corridor that the nurse spoke again.
    ‘Dr Sharkey was a good surgeon. He saved a lot of children’s lives.’
    It sounded like an accusation and Stevie wondered if the nurse thought Simon might still be alive if he had found a girlfriend who had known how to take proper care of him. She said, ‘Simon spoke about the hospital a lot, but it was generally funny stories, the human things that happened.’ She smiled at the irony of it. ‘It’s only now that I realise I was never really clear what Simon did. I knew he was a surgeon, I knew he worked with sick kids, but he never talked about the details.’
    ‘You didn’t know about his cerebral palsy work?’ The hint of accusation was back in the nurse’s voice.
    ‘No.’
    Nurse Webb’s small chin jutted out. She reminded Stevie of the war memorial in her home town: a female Victory, her triumph tempered by the death of so many gallant youths.
    ‘Dr Sharkey was modest about it, but he was part of a major breakthrough in treating the condition.’
    Simon had liked chic restaurants and loud nightclubs that made her ears ring the next morning. He had liked her to bite his shoulders when they made love, and to leave marks so that he could remember it later. He was a member of a carpool with access to a series of sports cars that drew pedestrians’ stares. Simon’s being a surgeon had seemed part of his glamour. He had encouraged her to see him that way, Stevie realised, and she wondered if that was the reason he had kept her separate from his family and friends.
    They had been walking along the corridor all this while and had now reached a set of double doors. Stevie followed Nurse Webb through them, into a room that reminded her of the television studio just before a programme went live, every member of the crew focused on their task, working against the seconds, with a determination that left no room for panic.
    Nurse Webb seemed to lose her poise for a moment. She hesitated, as if unsure of who to talk to, but then a woman in a white coat looked up from her task and asked, ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’ve brought Miss Flint down to have her blood tested.’ Nurse Webb produced a form Stevie didn’t remember anyone filling out. ‘Dr Ahumibe phoned ahead to let you know we were on our way.’
    The woman’s hair was neatly tied back in a ponytail but she touched a hand to her forehead as if expecting to push away some stray strands.
    ‘Who did he speak to?’
    ‘I’m not sure.’
    ‘In that case, I suggest you find out.’
    ‘Miss Flint thinks she’s survived the virus. Dr Ahumibe thought it might be worth taking some samples from her.’
    ‘That’s a lot of speculation.’ The woman’s voice had a Liverpudlian lilt. Her skin was pale gold beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Her hand went to her temple again, smoothing her already smooth hair.