Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [26]
‘And you’re pissed off because you know he’s right.’ The words were harsh but they disguised a genuine concern.
Laska fiddled with the controls of the Walkman, cutting dead the trebly splash of sound from the headphones. ‘I suppose.’ She stretched out full-length on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She patted the space next to her.
James took the hint, lying beside her – a tight fit on the single bed, but that was no bad thing.
He felt a momentary pang of guilt: he’d used a similar gesture to get Trix to sit next to him not half an hour previously.
‘Another busy working day comes to a close,’ said Laska in a tone of voice that was half question, half statement. ‘You thought you’d pop in to see me before going home to Mummy and Daddy and getting on with the rest of your life?’
‘I’m here for as long as you can put up with me,’ said James, propping himself on to one arm so that he could stroke her face.
Best not tell her about the badminton with Dr Thomson later.
‘I’m flattered,’ said Laska.
‘Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?’
‘No, really.’ She turned towards him. ‘I’m happy that you spend so much time with me.’
‘You make it sound like a chore.’
Laska glanced away. ‘I’m sure it was when I first came here. For you, I mean.’
James shook his head. ‘Well, you’re better now – I’m sure Thomson said as much this morning. But. . . it’s never been a chore for me, Laska. I wouldn’t be doing. . . I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t absolutely obsessed by you.’
‘Careful, that makes you sound like a stalker!’
‘I don’t care!’ exclaimed James. ‘You know how much I’m risking seeing you like this. I don’t make a habit of bonking the patients!’
‘I should hope not. Most of them are old and wrinkly.’
‘Not absolutely true, but I take the point.’
‘It’s not just bonking, though, is it? There’s more to us seeing each other than. . . just that?’
‘Of course!’ He stared at a poster for Three Colours: Blue; he’d watched it once, at Laska’s request, and had fallen asleep halfway through. ‘I mean, I admit I’ve got a bit of a one-track mind. . . ’
‘You and every other man on the planet.’
45
‘But can you blame me?’ He kissed Laska full on the lips. ‘As tracks go, it’s not a bad one. . . ’
Laska awoke with a start.
The room was dark but for the sliver of light that burned under the door to the corridor. It was dark outside, and Laska knew in a moment that James had gone. She didn’t blame him, of course – if he was seen hanging around the place when he wasn’t working people would get suspicious, but even so, she wished he didn’t have to leave that like – guiltily, like a criminal.
It was generous, but disingenuous, to give Laska sole credit for all the progress she had made in recent weeks. It was true that she felt more settled and even – at times – relaxed, but this wasn’t simply because she was taking her medication as ordered. James’s interest in her spoke of something amazing, and Laska was beginning to believe that there were people out there who could see beyond the scars, the case notes, and the diagnoses; people able to get to know – maybe even love – who she was, deep down.
Laska scrabbled about on the bedside cabinet for her medication, and found instead a sheet of paper. She switched on the light.
See you tomorrow. J.
She grinned, unscrewed the bottle of tablets, popped a couple of the pills into her hand. She stared at them for a moment, remembering earlier times, different days. How she’d resented her medication when she was younger: her GP had tried to reassure her, saying that it was ‘just the same’ as taking tablets to combat hay fever, but Laska knew, even then. It meant she was different. It meant she was weird.
But now – she hoped, she dreamed – every tablet meant a step closer to freedom. She’d swallow a bottle of the things if it made time pass more quickly.
She swigged down the tablets with some stale water from a tumbler, then walked to the door to pull on her dressing gown. The TV remote was a heavy weight in the pocket. She switched on the portable television, turned over to