LITMIR.BIZ

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…’ I had another spoonful of cereal while he came and sat down. ‘She’s still in the kids’ ward, and … I don’t know, I just wanted to brighten her day.’ Which was the only way I could express it, really. I’d been thinking about her a lot of late; and buying this had suddenly felt right.

      ‘Fair enough.’ He made a show of leaning forward, face set, as though intimidating a suspect. The bear remained unfazed. ‘Got a name, has he?’

      I shrugged, grinning.

      ‘Utilising his right to remain silent, eh? I know his type …’ He snorted; then reached across to take my free hand, and squeeze it. ‘That was a really nice idea, Raitch. I hope she loves it.’

      ‘Me too. She’s a nice kid.’

      He gave me a half-suspicious look. ‘Not getting broody, are we?’

      ‘No, we are not.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Any more questions?’

      ‘Are you wearing anything at all under that shirt?’ he asked conversationally.

      ‘Nick. I’m having breakfast.’

      ‘So. We can improvise.’

      ‘Sod off.’

      He met my smile with a look of injured innocence; then sighed dramatically, and spread his hands.

      ‘Well, then: can I interest you in some toast?’

      At least his hope for the afternoon was realised; and mine as well. Sandra liked her present lots.

      I sat back in the bedside chair and watched her hug it – pressing it up against her cheek. It looked about to smother her.

      ‘Oh, Rachel … he’s lovely. Thanks ever so much.’

      ‘Thought you’d like him,’ I murmured, feeling almost as delighted as she looked: enjoying the glow of warmth that grew inside me. Nothing to do with broodiness, despite Nick’s suspicions; just the simple, heady buzz of making somebody’s day. Someone I’d seen at death’s door, and helped nurse back to health. She was still a little pale, but her fine brown hair had its sheen back now – and her eyes their sparkle. She looked like an eight-year-old girl was supposed to look: carefree, and full of fresh life.

      And I’d been her age once, of course – but I couldn’t imagine it. Not any more. Couldn’t dream of seeing the world with such unclouded eyes.

      I felt my smile becoming wistful, and glanced away: around the bed-bay. The colour scheme was insistently cheerful – bright paint backing up an agreeably scrappy wallpapering of kids’ drawings. Toys and televisions vied for attention. All trying – against the odds – to make the place a little bit less scary; a little more like home.

      It still smelled like a hospital, though. And no child’s bedroom was ever this clinically clean.

      ‘Has your mum been in to see you today?’ I asked, looking back at her. And Sandra shook her head, still cuddling her present.

      ‘Not yet – she’s coming tonight.’ She said it quite matter-of-factly; but I saw her squeeze the bear a little tighter as she spoke, as if seeking reassurance.

      I knew what the problem was, of course. Her dad had walked out years ago, leaving her mum to manage on her own with three small kids. So the poor woman had to work her guts out to make ends meet. I’d learned as much when Sandra was in with us – her mother almost frantic with worry, yet unable to spare the time she wanted to: time that was money her family needed. It had taken me a lot of quiet talking to convince her she was leaving her daughter in safe and loving hands; and a whole lot more to persuade her that she needn’t feel so guilty.

      Now that Sandra was back on the ward, I’d taken to visiting her regularly: trying as best I could to fill the gaps when her mum couldn’t make it. It would take more than giant teddy bears to manage that, of course; but she was always glad to see me, and the feeling was mutual.

      ‘Did you see the snow?’ I asked her, looking over towards the window. It was tall, and much in need of cleaning; the rooftops I could see through it were more grungey grey than white.

      ‘Oh yes. We can’t see much from up here, but Nurse Janet told me all about it. She promised to let me throw a snowball at her … if it’s still here when I go.’ Her small face fell. ‘But I bet it won’t be.’

      Someone had appeared at the end of the bed: a sandy-haired young man with a serious, bespectacled smile. He acknowledged me with a nod, then turned his attention to the patient, and leaned forward to examine the bear. ‘Hello, Sandra. Is this your new friend, then?’

      She stared up at him, eyes narrowed in childish suspicion. ‘Yes, he is. Are you a doctor?’

      His smile widened. ‘I certainly am. Look …’ He unslung the red stethoscope from round his neck. ‘And this is my badge, see …’ It was pinned to his check shirt. ‘My name’s Dr Miller.’

      She didn’t appear convinced. ‘You’re not a proper doctor, though. You haven’t got a white coat.’

      Dr Miller glanced at me again. I just rolled my eyes.

      ‘When mum takes me to see Dr Hughes,’ Sandra went on firmly, ‘he usually wears a suit, but sometimes he’s got his white coat on. So I know he’s a proper doctor.’

      So much for the medics on the kids’ ward not wearing white coats in an effort to make the place seem homelier. I grinned, and got to my feet.

      ‘I’m sure he’s a proper doctor really, Sandra: he looks like one to me. So I’ll leave the two of you to have a chat …’ Dr Miller winked gratefully; he’d already unhooked the clipboard of charts from the bed-end. I leaned down and ruffled Sandra’s hair.

      ‘Listen, I’ll try and drop in tomorrow, okay? Take care. Say hello to your mum from me.’

      She nodded brightly, and gave me a wave. As I left, I could hear her proudly introducing Dr Miller to her very newest friend.

      I was still smiling as I left the children’s unit: off the ward, past reception and out through the double doors. They swung closed again behind me – and I heard the automatic locks click into place. There was a keypad next to them for staff, but otherwise it was admission via intercom only. You can’t be too careful these days.

      Well, that’s your good deed done for the day, Rachel Young. And now there was the shopping to be thinking of – and getting home before the rush-hour started. I paused in the corridor to plot my course: idly scuffing at the lino with the toe of my boot while I thought the options through. After the brightness of the ward, it seemed very dim out here: no natural light for a dozen yards. The corridor’s whole length would be well enough lit come nightfall, of course; but it was daytime now, and electricity could still be saved. Energy policy and all that. I’d seen a memo somewhere …

      So: Safeway or Sainsbury’s? I turned pensively towards the distant lifts. There was a cleaner mopping the floor half-way along the corridor, working in a pool of wintry sunlight from the nearest window. I’d taken the first step in her direction when I realized someone was behind me.

      There’d been no sound; not even a shifting of air. Just that sixth-sense tingle you sometimes get, when some prankster tries tip-toeing up.

      I turned round quickly.

      The corridor was empty.

      I stood quite still for a moment: puzzled. I’d been mistaken … and yet the nape of my neck was still cool and itchy.

      The gloom was deeper in this direction: the corridor leading to an unlit stairwell. The paint on the walls – already cheerless – had been sullied by shadow, like a coating of dirt. Even the air seemed grainy and begrimed.

      But no one was there. I could see that much, at least.

      Even as I stared, I felt unease creep up, and slip its arms around me. Despite myself, I almost squirmed –

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