Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [58]
Laska stood behind Liz for a few moments, wondering if she shouldn’t try some other room (the nurses could usually be found in the staff room, telling crude jokes and exchanging tabloid gossip), or even return to her room to make an apologetic ‘Yes, I know how late it is’ call to James. But before Laska could walk away Liz noticed her reflection in the glass.
Liz turned with a grey smile. ‘Hello, Caroline,’ she said brightly.
‘Hi,’ said Laska, fidgeting nervously. There was nothing else to say, other than – ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Please do,’ said Liz. She hit a button on the laptop and the screen went dark. ‘I’m not getting very far with this anyway. I thought getting away from my office might help.’
‘You should be in bed.’
‘Couldn’t sleep.’
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‘You and me both,’ said Laska, without thinking – then she tensed, wondering if Liz was likely to interrogate her further.
‘It’s OK,’ said Liz, who must have seen the look cross Laska’s face. ‘I’m not fishing for information, professional or otherwise.’ She yawned, flashing bright white teeth and patches of quicksilver filling, obviously too tired to be self-conscious. ‘You could probably tell me you’re seeing giant rabbits and I’d forget by morning.’
Laska smiled at an internalised joke. Giant rabbits she could handle. She’d always loved Jimmy Stewart in Harvey.
‘I just had a nightmare,’ she said, not entirely untruthfully. ‘Couldn’t get back to sleep.’
‘I don’t seem to have dreams any more,’ commented Liz, watching the shifting darkness through the window. ‘I used to have nightmares all the time –
especially about this weird midget who was always trying to stab me with a dagger.’
‘Could be a subconscious memory of Don’t Look Now,’ commented Laska.
‘Ever seen it? Freaked me the first time I saw it.’ But then, she had only been ten – she’d gone round to a boy’s house and he’d managed to tape it off the television. Laska had been very attracted to the lad – he was the class rebel, always strutting about in a little leather jacket and getting lippy with the teachers – but he’d blown it by trying to snog her under some mistletoe he’d brought into school one Christmas.
And, far from being a rebel, he was a posh kid who always did what his mum told him. The first of many men to disappoint Laska.
‘Hadn’t thought of that,’ said Liz. ‘Maybe you’re right. Hardly a week seemed to go by when I didn’t dream about this bloke trying to do me in.’
She glanced back at Laska for a moment. ‘Then I came here, and everything seemed to stop – even the usual boring dreams. You know, falling from a great height, coming into work in the nude. Suddenly, nothing.’
‘Perhaps you’re too busy,’ said Laska, sagely.
‘Perhaps. When I get home I just seem to off-load on my poor husband.
Everything that happened during the day, what I’ve been able to do, what I’ll have to do tomorrow – it all just comes out in a rush of stuff. It drives Joe nuts.’
Laska made sure her face remained impassive at the mention of Joe.
‘So maybe you’re right, there’s nothing left for my subconscious to file away each night,’ continued Liz, who thankfully had noticed nothing amiss. She stretched in her chair, yawning again. ‘You must excuse me, waffling on like this.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Laska. She’d noticed on other occasions tiredness affecting people a little like alcohol, knocking down social barriers and making even 101
the most introverted and taciturn person suddenly garrulous and engaging.
Liz was about to say something else when one of the nurses came into the empty dining room, arms flapping in anxiety. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ she exclaimed, for all the world an irritated parent exasperated by a game of hide-and-seek.
‘Well, here I am,’ said Liz simply.
‘It’s Mrs Hersh,’ continued the nurse. ‘She’s in a terrible state.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Laska boldly.
The nurse would not have normally replied to such a direct question from a patient but was clearly too flustered, or too tired,