Who's That Girl (42 page)

'If you're still feeling a bit confused, I can run through last week's diary. It might make things clearer for you.' I glance up from the newspaper to see Beatrice pulling her laptop out of its case.

'I brought it with me so I could keep in touch with the office.'

'Thanks, that would be really helpful.' I smile appreciatively and make a mental note never to tease Beatrice about the diary again.

Balancing it on her knee, she tucks her hair behind her ears and squints at the screen. 'OK, so on Monday you had a lunch meeting at the Wolseley, followed by dinner with Miles at some new gastropub.'

That was the first day I saw myself at the traffic lights
, I think, before I can stop myself.

'Tuesday, you had the lunch meeting with Larry Goldstein.'

And later that evening I followed myself to my old house.

'Wednesday you had a doctor's appointment.'

'Because I thought I was hallucinating,' I say, suddenly galvanised. 'But I wasn't. What I saw was real.'

Beatrice looks at me doubtfully. 'Hmm, well, according to his notes, it just says you came in suffering from stress: the doctors here had access to your medical files after the accident.'

I look at her dazedly. Waking up in hospital and being told you've been in a car accident you
don't
remember happening is bewildering enough, but then being told that the stuff you
do
remember didn't happen is enough to totally freak you out.

'Don't worry,' soothes Beatrice. 'I once dreamed I went to see the doctor and he asked me to get undressed so he could examine me, and when I turned round, he'd morphed into my great-uncle Harold!' She looks at me aghast. 'Though that was probably more of a nightmare than a dream.'

Shuddering, she hastily turns back to the on-screen diary. 'Right, where was I? Oh, yes, then in the afternoon we had the spa opening.'

'And we had that conversation about time travel.'

Beatrice looks at me blankly. 'Did we? Golly, I was so drunk we could have been having a conversation with Brad Pitt and I wouldn't remember.'

I feel a beat of disappointment. Maybe she doesn't remember the conversation. Then again, it's more likely it never happened, I admit to myself reluctantly.

'Then on Thursday evening you had dinner with Larry Goldstein at his hotel'

'And went to see Shattered Genius in concert,' I say almost to myself.

'No, there's nothing in the diary about any concert. Plus I called you afterwards. You were at home, remember?' She looks at me and I realise I'm thinking aloud. 'Then Friday was your birthday dinner.'

'And afterwards I went to Lottie's party,' I murmur.

'No, sorry.' Beatrice looks at me sympathetically. 'Nothing about that either.'

Well, why would there be? I tell myself, but even as I think it, I know I'm clutching at straws. Beatrice is right: I've been mixing fact with fantasy, dreaming about last week's actual events and interspersing them with my own imaginary ones about meeting my younger self, getting everything jumbled up. Unexpectedly I feel a clunk of sadness.

'It just seemed so real,' I sigh. 'I really thought I met my twenty-one-year-old self, that I've been hanging out with her. I could have sworn—'

'Golly, you did get a bang on the head, didn't you?' The doctor walks in and throws me a smile.

'Don't worry, the effects of the drugs wear off in no time.'

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Well, honestly, what was I thinking? Of course it was just a dream.

'OK, so let's see how the patient's doing.' Walking over to me, he consults my chart and looks pleased. 'Your X-rays are great. Your vitals are great.' He nods, then looking up, glances at my face. 'Brow's healing nicely.' He smiles warmly and I realise he's probably not much older than I am. 'We'll keep you in overnight, just to make sure everything's OK, but you should be out of here tomorrow.'

'And how long before my shoulder heals?' I ask, as he slips my chart back into its holder.

'You should start physio in a couple of weeks, but I'm afraid you won't be able to drive for a while.'

'Thanks,' I say, grateful that I've not done any lasting damage.

'My pleasure.' He nods. 'OK, so I'll check on you later. Bye, Charlotte. Bye, Beatrice.' He smiles, glancing across at her.

'Thank you, Doctor,' she replies, blushing as a look passes between them. Hang on a minute - I feel something slowly registering.

'Did I just see that look, or was I dreaming that too?' I say, once the doctor's left the room. Dragging her eyes away from the doorway, she turns to me, her face flushed with delight. 'Isn't he divine?'

I look at her in amazement. 'You're going out with my doctor?'

'His name's Hamish,' she says proudly. 'We met when you were first admitted, and then we kept bumping into each other over the last two days, by the coffee machine, in the canteen. He's been working nights, you know.'

'Now I know why you've been keeping a bedside vigil.' I smile.

She gasps in indignation. 'No, it's not! I've been worried sick.'

'It was a joke, Beatrice,' I say quickly, and her indignation immediately melts away into wistfulness.

'I think I'm in love,' she confides in a whisper. 'He doesn't mind me talking about scientific things at all. In fact yesterday we had a fascinating discussion about X-rays and radiation.'

'But what about Pablo, the salsa teacher?' I tease.

'Oh, didn't I tell you! Oh, well, no, obviously,' she catches herself quickly, then swallows hard, as if bracing herself to tell me some shocking news. 'When I was at the salsa club on Monday night, he introduced me to Julio, his boyfriend!' She looks at me, her eyes wide. 'Apparently he's gay!

Would you believe it!'

'A gay salsa teacher? No, never,' I say with irony.

Which Beatrice totally misses. 'I know. Golly, what a turn-up for the books,' she says, shaking her head. 'But I'm so pleased for them, and they danced the fandango together beautifully.'

'Oh my goodness, she's awake!'

Beatrice's reverie is suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Mum and Dad, who, on seeing me propped up in bed, look both shocked and delighted.

'David, she's awake!' repeats Mum, shoving her polystyrene coffee cup at Dad's chest as she rushes over, arms outstretched. 'Charlotte, you're awake!'

'That's right, I'm awake,' I repeat, smiling affectionately. I feel a warm surge of comfort. God, I've never been more pleased to see them.

'Oh, my little baby,' gasps Mum, appearing by my bed, her face etched with concern.

'Your parents and I have been taking it in turns to keep up the vigil,' interjects Beatrice, throwing them both a smile.

'We just popped out for a snack - your father was hungry,' Mum begins explaining apologetically, while Dad waves a half-eaten sandwich sheepishly. 'But we came as soon as we heard about the accident.'

'Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed,' smiles Dad, relieving himself of food and beverages on the chair next to the bed and rubbing my cheek affectionately like he used to do when I was little. I feel a glow of pleasure, the months I haven't seen them simply melting away.

'We've all been so worried. Thank goodness you're all right,' continues Mum.

'I'm fine, Mum, don't worry,' I reassure her. 'And about the other day, I'm sorry about not calling you back.'

'Oh, don't be silly,' she gasps, batting away my apology. 'That's not important. All that's important is that you're OK.' She squeezes my hand, and as our eyes meet, I know I don't have to say anything. I don't have to say how much I love her, or how I was going to drive up and surprise them both because I missed them - because that's the thing about parents: you never have to explain, they just know.

'Give her a few weeks and she'll be back to nagging you for grandchildren,' chuckles my dad, as Mum throws him a furious look. 'Only joking, dear.' He smiles, tossing me a wink.

'Well, I better go rally the troops,' announces Beatrice. 'Unless of course you need more time, alone.'

'Troops?'

'Your visitors!' she exclaims. 'Everyone's been so worried. They're in the waiting room. Up until now it's only been family allowed - I had to bend the doctor's arm,' she confides smiling. 'But if you're feeling up to it…'

'Oh, yes, of course.' I nod, trying to sit a bit more upright. Wow, visitors. As Beatrice disappears, I make an attempt to smooth down my hair and adjust my pyjama top, then give up. Well, I've just been in a head-on collision; I'm hardly going to look my best, am I?

'So, Sleeping Beauty's finally woken up, huh?'

I turn to see Vanessa striding into the room. I try to laugh, then stop myself. Ouch.

'That was some scare you gave us.' She throws me a huge grin. 'Julian was on the phone to you when it happened.'

'And yes, before you ask, she knows about the surprise,' says Julian, appearing next to her.

'Surprise, bloody shock more like,' she tuts, punching him affectionately on the arm. 'Still, he got one of his own when I told him my real bra size, didn't you, darling?'

He smiles sheepishly and wraps his arm round her waist, pulling her close. 'I didn't know what your measurements were, so the assistant asked me which celebrity you looked like, so she could work it out. So I said, "That's easy - Cate Blanchett."'

Vanessa's face breaks into a grin. 'Now I remember why I fell in love with you,' she laughs, and a look passes between them. A look that says things are going to be OK. 'So how are you feeling, honey?' she asks sympathetically, turning to me.

'Like I've got the worst hangover.' I wince, rubbing my temple, which has started to throb again. She smiles. 'Well, just as long as you're OK. When I think what could have happened…' Vanessa breaks off 'It really makes you realise what's important, doesn't it?' she says quietly, and I don't know if she's talking about me or her, or both of us.

'Now I think Charlotte should get some rest,' bosses Beatrice, interrupting, and there's a murmur of agreement and lots of promises to call.

Mum and Dad give me a goodbye kiss. 'Now before we go, do you need anything? I can pop to the shop.' Mum starts fussing, but Dad leads her out, promising to visit first thing tomorrow. And now it's just me and Beatrice.

'I should be going too,' she says after everyone's filed out of the room. 'I've got a hot date.' She pulls a face and lets out a giggle.

'Thanks, Bea. For everything,' I say gratefully.

'Don't be silly. All part of the service.' She reaches for her coat and bags. 'Oh, and by the way, I picked up your mail for you. Looks mostly like lots of get-well cards.' Popping it on my bedside table, she disappears.

And then the room's completely empty and quiet, and I'm finally alone. Feeling suddenly exhausted, I sweep my eyes around the room, noticing for the first time that it's filled with flowers. I take a deep breath, letting everything sink in.

So that's it. It didn't really happen at all. It seemed so real and yet of course it couldn't
really
happen, could it? I smile to myself. Because although a part of me is sad that it was all just make-believe and I didn't actually meet my twenty-one-year-old self, I feel as if I reconnected with her somehow. Deep down inside.

Plus, let's face it, that was the most fun dream I've ever had. It certainly makes a change from the one about my teeth falling out, I realise, stifling a giggle.

My eyes fall back on the pile of cards, and realising my fingers work OK as long as I don't move my left arm, I start opening them. There's one from Melody, with a big lipstick kiss, a few more from my clients and one from Miles:

Sorry to hear about your accident. Get well soon.

P. S. did you take out that health-and-sickness insurance policy I told you about? If so, you will be able to claim.

I smile to myself and thank him silently. Trust Miles, I muse fondly, reaching for the next card, then pause as I look at the envelope. It's covered in lots of different addresses and postmarks, as if it's been forwarded loads of times, until finally they got my correct address, I note, realising it's covered in all my old ones. Huh, how funny. I wonder what it is? I start tearing open the envelope and just then I hear a quiet knock on the door.

I glance up. It's probably the nurse, come to check on me.

My heart nearly stops.

It's Oliver.

'Hi.' He smiles bashfully and hovers at the doorway. 'I called your office and your assistant told me you'd had a bit of an accident.'

'Just a bit,' I reply, my heart hammering in my chest now. I feel absurdly nervous.

'I've heard hospital food isn't much good, so I bought you a dish from the pub.' He gestures to a tinfoil-covered plate he's holding. 'Fresh wild salmon, baby new potatoes and grilled asparagus.'

'Oh, um, thanks.' My voice wobbles a bit.

'I hope you haven't had your mercury ration for the week,' he adds, and laughs nervously. I smile then there's a pause and we both fall silent.

Which is bizarre, as there's just so much I want to say, I realise, desperately constructing elaborate sentences in my head before blurting, 'I'm sorry.'

'I'm sorry.'

We speak at the same time and then laugh with a mixture of relief and self-consciousness.

'Shall I toss a coin to see who can apologise first?' he asks, raising an eyebrow.

'Look, I didn't mean those things I said—' I begin.

'Neither did I,' he interrupts. 'How about we call a truce? Start over?'

I smile, feeling a tiny ray of hope appearing from behind the black clouds that descended when we had our row.

'So you got a lot of get-well cards, huh?' he says, gesturing to the pile in front of me.

'Oh, yeah.' I nod, looking down at the card in my hand and tugging it out of the envelope. Only it's not a card. It's a parking ticket. I smile ruefully. God, can you believe it? Those pesky bloody parking fines, they even find you in hospital, I think, looking at it. Which is when I notice it seems really old and faded. Hmm, that's odd - I glance at the details. Car/Make Model: VW Beetle

Offence: parking in a permit-controlled area