Leon smiles at me and holds up a very full bag of what smells like fish and chips. I gasp in delight.

‘Proper seaside food!’

‘And . . .’ He reaches into the bag and pulls out another one, handing it to me. I look inside: red velvet cupcakes with cream-cheese icing.

‘Cake! The best kind of cake!’

‘Doctor’s orders.’ He pauses. ‘Well, Socha said, “get her some food”. The fried fish and cupcakes were a bit of artistic licence.’

His hair is nearly dry; the salt has turned it even curlier, and it keeps springing from behind his ears. He catches me watching him try and smooth it back and grins ruefully.

‘You’re not meant to see me looking like this,’ he says.

‘Oh, and this is exactly how you’re meant to see me,’ I say, gesturing in the vague direction of my enormous baggy jumper, pale face and crazy matted hair. ‘“Drowned rat” is a favourite look of mine.’

‘Mermaid-like?’ Leon suggests.

‘Funny you should mention that. I do actually have a fin under here,’ I say, patting the blanket over my legs.

Leon smiles at that, spreading out the fish and chips on the bed between us. He kicks off his shoes and sits, careful to avoid my swollen ankle.

The food is amazing. It’s just what I need, though I wouldn’t have known it until I smelled it. Leon got pretty much every add-on to fish and chips you can imagine – mushy peas, onion rings, curry sauce, pickled onions, even one of those plastic-looking sausages they always have behind the glass – and we eat our way through it all. When it comes to the cupcake, finishing the last mouthfuls requires serious mental effort.

‘Nearly dying is exhausting,’ I declare, suddenly overcome by sleepiness.

‘Nap,’ Leon tells me.

‘You’re not worried about me falling asleep and never waking up again?’ I ask, eyelids already drooping. Being warm and full is amazing. I’ll never take being warm and full for granted ever again.

‘I’ll just wake you every five minutes to check you’re not suffering from brain trauma,’ he says.

My eyes fly open. ‘Every five minutes?’

He chuckles, already gathering up his stuff and heading for the door. ‘See you in a few hours.’

‘Oh. Nurses shouldn’t make jokes,’ I call after him, but I don’t think he hears me. Maybe I only think of saying it. I’m slipping off to sleep even as I hear the door close behind him.

*

I wake with a jolt that sends a shock of pain through my ankle. Crying out, I look around me. Floral wallpaper. Am I at home? Who’s that man in the chair by the door, reading . . .

‘Twilight?’

Leon blinks at me, putting the book down in his lap. ‘You went from unconscious to judgemental very quickly there.’

‘I did think this was a weird dream for a second,’ I say. ‘But my dream version of you would have much better book taste.’

‘It’s all Babs had to offer. How’re you feeling?’

I give the question some thought. My ankle is throbbing and my throat feels horribly sore and salty, but the ache in my head has disappeared. I can feel that my stomach muscles are going to be painful from all the coughing, though.

‘Much better, actually.’

He smiles at that. He is very cute when he smiles. When he’s serious his face is a little severe – fine-boned brow, cheekbones, jaw – but when he’s smiling, it’s all soft lips and dark eyes and white teeth.

I check the time on my phone, more to break eye contact than anything – I’m suddenly very aware that I’m lying in bed, hair mussed and bare legs only half hidden under the blankets.

‘Half six?’

‘You were sleepy.’

‘What have you been doing this whole time?’ I ask him. He shows me his bookmark – he’s nearly read the whole of Twilight.

‘This Bella Swan is a very popular lady, for one who declares herself to be so unattractive,’ he tells me. ‘Seems every single man in the book who isn’t her father is in love with her.’

I nod solemnly. ‘It’s very hard being Bella.’

‘Sparkly boyfriends can’t be easy,’ Leon agrees. ‘You want to try walking on that ankle of yours?’

‘Can’t I just stay in bed for ever?’

‘Dinner and more whisky if you can get downstairs.’

I shoot him a look. He looks back, perfectly placid, and I realise what an excellent nurse he must be.

‘Fine. But you need to look away first, so I can put my trousers on.’

He doesn’t say anything about the fact that he’s already seen way too much for turning around to be necessary; he just swivels in the armchair and reopens Twilight.

42

   Leon

Definitely don’t get drunk. Am telling myself this on repeat, but still can’t stop sipping my drink. It’s a whisky on the rocks. Horrible. Or it would be if Babs hadn’t said it was on the house, which instantly made it much more appetising.

We’re at a rickety wooden table with a sea view and a teapot with a big fat candle stuck in it. Tiffy is delighted with teapot candle holder. Cue animated conversation with waiting staff about interior design (or ‘interiors’, as they call it).

Tiffy has her foot up and resting on a cushion, as per Socha’s orders. The other foot is now up too – she’s basically horizontal at the table, hair thrown back and blazing against the sunset over the sea. She’s like a Renaissance painting. Whisky has painted the colour back in her cheeks and brought a slight flush to the skin of her chest, which I can’t stop looking at whenever her attention is elsewhere.

Have barely thought about anything but her all day, even before all the drowning started. Mr Prior’s search for Johnny White has shifted into the background – last week that project was what Kay would call my ‘fixation’. Now it feels like something I want because I’ve shared it with Tiffy.

She’s telling me about her parents. Every so often she tips her head back, throws her hair further over the back of her chair, half closes her eyes.

Tiffy: Aromatherapy is the only one that’s stuck. Mum did candle-making for a while, but there’s no money in that, and after a while she just sort of snapped and declared that she was buying the ones from Poundland again and nobody was allowed to tell her they told her so. Then she went through a really weird phase where she got into seances.

That snaps me out of staring at her.