I Know What I Saw

He smiles a little and rubs his hair. The blond is gold in this light.

‘How did it happen?’

‘I told you. I fell,’ I say, feeling my temper rising.

He swallows and looks at me again, pen poised.

‘How though?’ he says. ‘What made you fall?’

‘I don’t know. It was wet. I fell.’

‘What did you fall on?’

‘The ground.’ I narrow my eyes at his persistence. ‘Does it matter?’

‘On the grass?’ he continues.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Look. I’m feeling better now, Officer. I think I want to go,’ I say and make to get to my feet. I catch the eye of a young woman as she passes. She is no more than curious – probably on her way home after a party – but still I feel the connection she is creating with her passing glance.

‘Hold up, there’s the paramedics now,’ he says, and waves at the ambulance flashing towards us. He helps me back to the ground and continues with the questions as the vehicle draws to a halt. ‘I don’t get it,’ he says then, sniffing the air.

My heart misses a beat. ‘What? Get what?’

‘How did you cut yourself by falling on grass?’

I close my eyes. ‘I fell on the grass but I hit myself on the corner of a bench on the way down,’ I say. And as I say that, the image flashes into my mind of the woman falling, her knees collapsing beneath her weight. Her head smashing into the corner of the table. He notes down my answer before going over to introduce himself to the paramedic team. They are a man and a woman, their demeanour curiously casual. They seem too upbeat for ambulance people.

‘Hello, Xander, is it?’ the woman says brightly, coming next to me. Her eyes join her smile so that I am drawn to them a little – green flecks in brown irises. ‘Just going to ask you a few questions. Do you know your name?’

I sigh. ‘Why do I need to know my name when you know it already?’

‘I’ll put you down as conscious responsive,’ she says brightly and starts to check my pulse with a plastic clip she attaches to my index finger.

‘Well, we’re just going to run you up the road for a quick once-over at the hospital. With head injuries it’s always better to be safe.’

I pull my finger from the clip and get to my feet. All this commotion, the flashing lights, the noise, it is all making me queasy, dizzy.

‘Do you need my consent?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘But the sensible thing for you would be to—’

‘Great,’ I say, wrapping my coat around me. ‘Then I’m not going.’

7 Wednesday

I sit perched on the edge of a hospital bed as a nurse swabs around my head. She disappears and then returns with a small surgical-looking pack. Her eyes are so blue. If I had managed a few more steps before my legs gave way again, I wouldn’t be here.

‘Just going to pop some stitches in that for you,’ she says. Her tone is chirpy, chirrupy even; designed to neutralise fear.

‘Hopefully, it won’t scar too much, my love. Just hold still. There.’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t necessary really.’

‘Actually, that was a bleeder, that one there. You’d have got it all over your clothes,’ she says. By the time her thoughts have caught up with her voice, it’s too late. She pretends that my clothes would have been worse for a bit of bloodstaining.

My jeans were in decent condition when I pulled them out of a recycle bin at the supermarket. Clothes seem to be turned out nearly new these days – rejected just to make cupboard space. This large red-checked shirt wasn’t missing a button when I found it. And this grey jumper, ridiculously, is cashmere, from my life before. I keep it because it’s warm – there’s no room for sentiment. My greatcoat is from a charity shop. It was a bitter winter, colder than this one when I went in with a little begged money, looking for socks. I came out with this coat, heavy, woollen. The staff took pity on me and I was too cold to be proud.

‘So have you got far to be getting home to?’ she says as she works away.

She stops suddenly and closes her eyes slowly.

‘Well, the world’s my mattress,’ I say, as brightly as I can. I wince and the paper on this gurney tears as I shift on it.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘Is there nowhere you can go, for a night even?’ she adds as she finishes up.

I slip off the bed and rub my hands. I want to shake hers but there is so much dirt on my skin that I daren’t. I see a tiny basin in the corner and go over to wash my hands, turning the levered taps with my elbows. Brown water streams on to the white porcelain.

‘Thank you for this,’ I say, pointing to my head. ‘I’ll be fine now. I’ve got a friend I can stay with who lives nearby.’ I did once have a friend nearby.

He is smiling – Seb. We were throwing a frisbee across an ancient, serious courtyard. His arms were brown from a summer at the family villa. When he threw the disc, it floated high and then coasted past me, sliding to a stop at two pairs of feet. Nina and Grace. It seems too long ago to reach.

I close my eyes.

‘You might feel a touch groggy for a day or two but there’s unlikely to be any lasting damage,’ the nurse says and then I’m back here. In a hospital bed.