I’m delighted to see him, but for some reason I immediately burst into tears, which is totally embarrassing. He tries to get up to come to me, but I wave my hands at him and sit by his side instead.
‘I’m okay,’ I mutter between sobs. ‘Ignore me, please. You’ll only make it worse if you’re nice to me. I’m all right, honest.’
‘You don’t look all right,’ he replies. ‘Is it the T-shirt? There was a limited supply in the lost-and-found box …’
I intend to laugh, but it comes out as a disgusting half snort, like a pig sneezing.
‘No, it’s lovely,’ I say. ‘Very you. How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, you know,’ he answers, gesturing at his giant foot. ‘Like I could walk on the moon. I have called in a few times, but you were resting. I … I heard about Harry. I’m sorry.’
I nod, and notice that Janey is watching us. I don’t blame her – she must be bored rigid by now. The old lady is still staring into space, Sofia is still asleep, and the other woman appears to have left.
‘Can you actually walk?’ I ask, seeing crutches leaning against the wall. ‘I could really do with some fresh air. I feel … trapped. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I do,’ he replies seriously. ‘I’ve felt like that ever since we got out, ironically. I see you have your case and unlike me have not been forced to make such outrageous fashion choices. Why don’t you get dressed and if you’re up to it, I know somewhere we can go.’
I wheel the case through to the communal bathroom, lock the door behind me. I grab fresh jeans and a top, and pause as I see my toiletries bag. The feminine hygiene products I’d brought with me, expecting to need them.
And I suppose I do. I am still bleeding, but not in the way I thought. Dr Martinez says it’s normal, after a miscarriage. Normal. Whatever that is.
I stare into the mirror and see a stranger looking back at me. My face is clean but bruised, the stitches tracing a neat five-inch line across my forehead. My hair has been brushed back and put into a ponytail, and it’s odd to think of someone I don’t know performing such intimate acts.
There are dark circles beneath my eyes, and I look pallid despite the holiday tan.
My hand goes again to my stomach, to what is probably a phantom pain cramping inside me. Part of me wishes I’d never known, never found out. So much has happened, so quickly – my whole world has been turned upside down and inside out, emotionally and physically.
I splash my face with cold water, give myself a dirty look, and go back outside. One of the nurses has left two pills – painkillers, I presume – on the bedside cabinet, but I ignore them. The pain is distracting. Distraction is good.
Alex heaves himself up, leans on his crutches, and together we walk silently out into the corridor. He guides me to the lifts, and presses a button for the top floor. We are both quiet, but it is a comfortable quiet, not one that feels as though it needs breaking.
We emerge onto yet another green-painted hallway, and I follow him to a set of double doors. All of this takes quite some time, between his broken ankle and my general inertia. He pushes the doors open, and when I walk through them I feel like I’m about to tumble off the edge of the world.
It’s a balcony, but huge, wrapping most of the way around the building. There are tables and chairs and plants, and even a bird-feeder, surrounded by tiny sparrow-sized creatures with bright yellow chests. They fly away briefly when we come out, but soon return, wings flapping, beaks prodding. They’re so pretty they threaten to make me cry again, reminding me of that hummingbird we saw, before it all began.
We settle ourselves down on two metal-legged chairs, the only people out here apart from one nurse in the far corner, who is sneaking a cigarette and checking her phone.
‘Wow,’ I say, taking in the view. It really is the only suitable word. The city is sprawled out beneath us in glorious Technicolor. Busy roads. Honking car horns. Music. Hills in the distance, suburbs fading out to emptiness. Dusk is falling, and lights are starting to pierce the haze, flickering on all across the horizon.
‘I know,’ he says, smiling at my reaction. ‘I found it yesterday and I couldn’t wait to show you. I needed to get outside, but the noise down there, in the street … it was too much. This is as peaceful as it gets. It’s so good to see you. How are you, really?’
I look away from the cityscape and into his eyes. He is probably the only person on the face of the planet who has any clue how I feel right now – and even he doesn’t know all of it.
I consider lying, faking it, claiming that all is well. Why should I drag him down with more bad news, more of my drama?
‘You can trust me,’ he says, sensing my hesitation. ‘We told each other all our deep dark secrets already. When I ask how you are, I really want to know, okay? We can pretend for other people, but not each other. Deal?’
I nod, and hold out my hand. He takes it in his and examines the mark left by the drip, kissing it gently better.
‘The doctor saw me earlier,’ I say. ‘Dr Martinez.’
‘Ah. The handsome one. Did you swoon?’
‘Almost – he is crazy handsome, isn’t he? Like he might be a part-time model when he’s not saving lives. And he’s nice. Kind. I might marry him.’
He grins, but he knows that I am stalling. Funny how well we know each other after such a short amount of time. Between us we share a variety of functioning limbs – two short of the usual amount – and one communal brain.
‘Anyway. Dr Martinez told me that I was pregnant, and that I lost the baby. Apparently being buried beneath an earthquake isn’t a good maternal habitat.’
