August 2008, the end of pretence…

“You look pretty gutted,” said Nick. Amyas assumed he was referring to Hannah. “Yes, I guess. There’s also something else,” he said as they walked down Oxford Street. “I don’t really feel like a beer. Do you mind if we get a coffee instead?” Nick was fine with the idea and they headed to a café behind John Lewis opposite Cavendish Square. They sat at the window. Amyas started talking. It was not his intention to tell Nick. He assumed that he would make the same excuse for his state as he gave his colleagues. But once he started talking to his best friend he could not lie, and let the words leave his mouth. He retold what had happened in Las Vegas or at least what he could remember. It was now Nick whose eyes were wide. He straightened up and looked deadly serious. “Okay, the first thing we need to do is take you somewhere to get checked out. There must be some kind of support group…” Nick trailed away, thinking aloud. “Whatever there is I think we should go now.” 6. February 2008, we were perfect… They could not stop kissing. Amyas felt Hannah’s teeth bite into his bottom lip as she pulled it away and then kissed him again. They had discarded the drinks in front of them as they curled up together in the booth of the Covent Garden cocktail bar. Amyas hoped they were out of sight: their table was in a quieter room, around the corner away from the main bar and drinking area which even for a Friday night was heaving. He would feel her hand on his chest and he would run his through her hair. She would be gentle and delicate, and then forceful, seizing control. He liked that about her. When they had left the bar on their first date she was sweet and smiley: he himself could not stop beaming. “I’ve got a confession,” she said and out of her coat pocket she brought out a packet of cigarettes. “I keep quitting and then starting again. Absolutely terrible at willpower. One of the reasons for my up and down education. Prefect turned bad girl. Spent my whole last year smoking behind the bike sheds with the boys.” He could imagine her both as the angelic school prefect and wanton bad girl. Hannah seemed so at ease in herself. As she couldn’t find her lighter, Amyas stepped back into the closing bar to see if they had any matches. When he turned back around Hannah was waving to him, cigarette lit, smiling and talking to another couple. She was asking them about their night, talking about the bars in Soho. She definitely would have been the most popular girl at school, he thought. Inside that Covent Garden bar Hannah now withdrew from kissing. She kept her face close to his and was staring at his mouth. When he would lean in to kiss her again she pulled away. Then she would move her face close to his again, stare at his mouth and then pull away again as he tried to kiss her. Three times the same. Then when Amyas stopped and half-smiled, starting to feel self-conscious, suddenly she was kissing him again, wildly, almost uncontrollably. “I really do want to have sex with you,” she had suddenly said halfway up Carnaby Street as they had been walking back to the tube station. She had been holding her freshly lit cigarette in one hand and holding his hand with the other. They had walked away from the bar and turned back up the main street still with its decorative lights illuminating the way. She had wanted to stop outside one of the shops to look through the window. She was so cute and girlish, he thought, smiling away all wrapped up in her winter coat pointing at random items, still holding his hand and then resting her head on his shoulder. Then suddenly they were kissing again. Her arms were around his neck and at times he didn’t think he would be able to come up for air. Not that he wanted to. “But we do both have work,” she said staring at him, teasingly, seductively. “You don’t mind do you?” They didn’t have sex that night, nor the next, but it wasn’t Amyas who was doing the asking or the suggesting. Hannah talking about sex, the possibility of them having sex, was arousing and flattering. He just wanted to see her again. At Oxford Circus tube station they had one last long, prolonged kiss before Hannah disappeared down an escalator, that beaming childlike smile the last thing he saw before making his own way home. Their next date he too could only describe as perfect. Between the two dates they had bombarded each other with messages. Amyas felt under a spell. He wanted to hear from her all the time and each time he did his heart would jump. At work he could not stop grinning. “You getting lucky, buddy?” said John Stamler one day, smirking away at Amyas’s unstoppably chirpy mood. Like with the first date, they had to wait again. Night shifts, weekend working, early starts, all had to be negotiated. But they did eventually find themselves in a quiet wine bar in Lancashire Court, telling stories about each other’s week, smiling at each other, always on the point of laughter: Amyas could not recall a girl apparently so happy when he was around. It was intoxicating. And then when they were comfortable, sitting close, again talking about relationships and life plans, she flicked her hair to the side, looked from his eyes to his mouth and he could not stop himself leaning forward to kiss her again. And then his heart sank. “Have you had any other dates since I last saw you?” she said. “Why not? I’m still seeing other people…” She said it playfully and flirtatiously, implying it was obvious. Oh , he thought. Dating other people had not even crossed his mind. He then supposed it was only their second date but he felt like he had known her years. Things had seemed to move so quickly, unexpectedly and spontaneously. They had strange, niche things in common from obscure John Cusack films to spending their days off visiting galleries and sitting in basement cafés by themselves reading. She was an avid reader and journal writer, carrying a bright pink diary and a thick novel with her at all times. Amyas loved books, though he thought admitting it would make him sound, well, bookish. He also liked writing poetry: well, song lyrics. He confessed to being in a very amateur band with his best friend Nick at university where he would play drums (the instrument that required the least musical ability), and write songs about unrequited love. Hannah laughed and said she loved the image of him as a tortured teen. She said it was incomprehensible to her as he seemed so confident and funny and successful. He felt himself blush. They both loved nights with friends, staying out till the early hours dancing in clubs. Hannah said she remembered seeing him dance the night they met. She said he looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself and was the reason she didn’t mind when he eventually talked to her. He thought she looked angelic and would have been far too in awe to approach her had not fate intervened. As far as Amyas was concerned whatever was happening with them, he was enjoying. He had never smiled so much in his life. He resolve not to let their apparent lack of exclusivity disappoint him. In the Covent Garden bar, their third date, as they continued to kiss in the secluded shadows, Hannah turned her head offering him her neck. He kissed her soft smooth skin and as he did he sucked, biting into her. She moaned with pleasure. He looked up to see her eyes closed and as his lips parted from her he felt her hand, placed on the back of his neck, push him back on to her. His hand was on her stomach, feeling her lift with each deep breath. She was wearing a low cut top and as she leaned back she pulled Amyas’s head down so his lips were pressed into the tops of her breasts, his mouth tasting her skin. She pulled his head further, further down and into her bra, his jaw pushing the bra back and as he kissed and let his teeth lightly press into her he felt the roundness and the firm curve about to reach something far more intimate. Hannah had boasted previously of her sexual escapades in public. On their second date, when Amyas said he liked to spend the summer wandering London’s various parks, Hannah said she much preferred to have sex in them. And she was inches from being half naked and did not seem to care. Amyas could not go any further and pulled his head off her. He was looking at her unsure if he had done the right thing, ending the moment. Hannah was breathing hard, her eyes heavy and half closed as she looked at him. As he stared at her and moved his glance to her mouth hoping just to kiss her again he felt Hannah’s hand gently stroking him, over his jeans, between his legs. He then felt her slip one of her fingers through a buttonhole, massaging him. She pressed and squeezed gently, staring at him intensely, lips pouted. He could feel himself breathing harder and was just about to close his eyes when he felt her hand remove itself. She sat forward in the booth, straightening up her top and then nonchalantly reached for her drink, sipping it. She then smirked, looking at him. He couldn’t help smiling too as he reached for his drink, knowing the moment was over and admiring her total control over it. “So what do you like?” she said, her legs now crossed and with an inquisitive stare, as if asking him an interview question. “In sex,” she continued. “What do you like in sex? What do you like doing and being done?” Hannah played her sexual dominance card again. There was a slight curve to the corners of her mouth, which made him suspicious she was just playing a game. Testing him. A contest of who would be first: her to laugh or him to blush uncontrollably. It was a contest he was never going to win. “I…” His mind was going blank. What should be say? He thought he’d verge on conservativeness. “The kissing part. Getting to know the other person. That trust you have and the excitement when you know it’s going to happen.” Hannah didn’t comment. She looked at him unmoved. “Have you been thinking about it? Us having sex?” She had that provocative smile and he wanted to give a stylish control answer, seize the power back, but was betrayed by a boyish grin. “Were you disappointed we didn’t do anything last time?” Heavens no, he thought. He liked her. He didn’t think she was going to jump straight into bed with him. He may have thought about it, wanted it even, and she would exude sexual dominance in her stories, her stares, the way she kissed, but she was still a girl – a cute, sweet girl his age with an adorable smile who worked long hours, helped children in times of stress and trouble, had her own dreams and aspirations, and had gone through times of difficulty and heartbreak. “You know, we have talked a lot. About our previous relationships and our susceptibility to one-night stands. Some may consider this a bit patient for modern dating.” “Ah.” Amyas again felt the schoolboy grin. “Perhaps because I don’t want this to end up being a one-night stand. That half of me does think about sleeping with you but then I realise how much I simply enjoy this talking part. I like that we’re getting to know each other. Plus me living with my parents isn’t ideal.” “That doesn’t stop a lot of people,” she said with a small laugh. “And I have been a bit overly honest about my one-night stands.” She put her hand to her face covering her eyes. It was the first time he had seen her look bashful about something. He couldn’t help smiling. She looked cute with her pink cheeks. She then composed herself again. “So then, if the sex thing isn’t that big a deal, at this stage anyway, what do you do in between girlfriends and one-night stands then?” Now she was grinning heartily with what seemed a deliberate mischief. “Do you, you know , often?” Amyas blushed. She was on the point of laughing. “Not a lot recently,” he said. “Actually not once since we first went out.” He was telling the truth. “You’re kidding! That was ages ago! I can’t believe you haven’t done it since then . It’s perfectly normal you know, even I have a vibrator.” The thought of sex, sex with Hannah and Hannah owning a vibrator was starting to take its toll on Amyas’s heart rate. He could feel it in his chest catapulting the blood to his extremities, particularly his now permanently overheated cheeks. He picked up his beer from the table, not as cold as it was, and took a long drink so they would be able to get fresh ones. It was still dark, relaxed and intimate in that hidden away corner room of the bar. He could hear the sound of chatter and voices around the corner just above the level of music. There were four other booths around them: three along the wall of what was a narrow room and one large booth at the end, against a blacked out window which had ten people around the table. The other booths only had four or five. The fact they were in a booth, only being the two of them, was because Amyas had booked ahead. He had to put down a drinks deposit, (the booth was for six, the voice on the phone had said), but it was Friday, he knew everywhere nice would be impossibly busy and he wanted to take Hannah somewhere fun, cool, with a vibe, but while still being conscious she had worked a week on the night shift and would be exhausted. And he was happy he had done it. They had spent the first half of the night talking about work. She told him of nights at work – hoping each would be quiet so she could sneak off to an empty bed for half an hour of sleep but how she would end up running around after kids out of bed and having to call for doctors when temper tantrums went out of control. He liked listening to her. She looked both tired and as if finally at ease, happy to talk about her work and relieved she was having a night off from it. He told her of his fund. He was conscious of how ordinary his own job sounded in comparison but he made her laugh with stories about how his high earning colleague John Stamler would go pale at the sight of a bar bill, claiming he left his wallet in his other pants. He told Hannah that working so many hours in a room with them all made them family: Kamran, Stamler, Jordan, Andrea, Joao and his best buddy Donny Tabasco. Hannah said it was sweet when he told her about his and Donny’s friendship. That Donny had joined the year before, shown him around on his first day, gone to the pub with him on his first Friday and at the end of the night they were both drunk and hugging each other like they had known each other years. She said he sounded really settled and happy. She said, in fact, she found that very sexy. “So,” Hannah continued. “I wanted to run something by you. I know this is a perfect night for you to come back to mine and I really, really want you to, but it’s still relatively early isn’t it?” She frowned slightly, as if in two minds. “Do you reckon we should wait one more date?” Again, he did not know what to say. The fact that she was even thinking about having sex with him was intensely flattering. If Hannah had asked him back to hers he would have jumped to his feet and carried her out of the bar there and then. He was enthralled by her. He knew he would not be able to stop himself. But, as she said, was it too soon? “How about this,” she said. She sat up straight and the arch of her back made her breasts even more prominent. “Not meaning to be a tease but I have a couple of tattoos you haven’t had a chance to see yet. One is on my shoulder and the other is on the small of my back.” She turned her body away from him and arched her back even more. It was probably an instinctive gesture on her part, but to him it was so erotic. “The reason I tell you is I was thinking about getting another. I want to get a star drawn here…” With the tip of her fingernail she made a small six-pointed outline the size of a fifty pence piece on the inside of her right wrist. “I was thinking about doing it this Sunday. We could meet at Ladbroke Grove, have a couple of drinks, you could hold my hand and watch me cry as I get it done. Then maybe we could go back to mine. I think sex after four dates is okay, isn’t it? That’s not slutty, is it?” Amyas could feel himself beaming. Since he had met her – the dates, the messages, the kisses, the holding hands, the possibility and anticipation of sex – something was definitely seeming to develop. Did sex too soon spoil a potential relationship? He did not know. But sex after really getting to know someone, after waiting till they were both ready, planning their first time together, there was definitely something incredibly sexy about that. “I think that sounds perfect,” he said, holding her hand. “Good! We can go to my brother’s bar. I can call his girlfriend, who is great, and we can make an afternoon of it. Oh, I didn’t ask, what do you think about tattoos?” Sexy on girls, on men thuggish and a desperate ploy for attention. That’s what he really thought. If he was truly honest he thought they were attention seeking on girls too. A pointless permanent addition, was his previous opinion. The human body constantly changes and evolves, even more so the human mind and heart. In eight years every cell in the human body will be replaced. It will be entirely new apart from the ink from those tattoos, stationary and images that were your thoughts eight years ago. Those were Amyas’s true opinions. But as Hannah described her tattoos, where she had got them, the reasons why they were important to her, and why she wanted permanent poignant symbols immortalised on her skin, Amyas was enchanted again and within ten minutes told her how he had been wanting to get a tattoo for as long as he could remember and could think of nothing better than having it done that Sunday with her. “Just make sure you’re sure! If you are getting one too I’ll get us some diazepam from work. Have you had it before? It’s great, it makes you feel like you’re in a bubble! They always have some kicking about.” Amyas laughed. In a way he and Hannah were from different worlds. He knew that she had experimented with party drugs in her past. She told of nights out with her ex-boyfriend and his friends getting drunk and doing a lot of Class A drugs. Amyas felt incomplete by never having even smoked anything herbal, or wanted to. She then reached into her handbag and pulled out a bright pink book. She thumbed through it and as she did Amyas could see pages upon pages of handwritten entries under days and dates. “So, all booked in for Sunday,” she said. “Unless… well, unless there’s a shift change…” She gave him an apologetic grin. He smiled back, already knowing what the apology was for. Their first date had taken three weeks to arrange. Their second another week with a cancelation on the way, and their third was immediately after Hannah had come off her week of night shifts. Hannah’s free time came at a premium, he realised. “If you’re sure,” he smiled. She took his hand. “I am definitely sure. You just have to understand this about me. I love my job but they do take the piss sometimes. You know the NHS stories, always understaffed and disorganised…” She gripped his hand tighter and curled up closer to him, lowering her voice despite it being impossible to overhear conversations from the neighbouring booths amidst the music and background buzz. “After Dad passed away I used to do a lot of shifts. Partly to take my mind off it. Partly to get me away from the rest of the family: I could just walk out when it got intense. Plus there was the guy I was seeing – the married guy, the other nurse on my ward… I won’t dwell on the details but I basically became the ward’s go-to girl. It got me promoted quicker than I should have been and it’s something I can’t just stop now things are less complicated. They rely on me…” She brought his hand to her lap and looked at him. He noticed the heaviness of her eyes, the slight dark circles he could just about see she had tried to hide with her makeup. She looked sad, imploring, vulnerable and, all together, incredibly beautiful. “I know it’s not ideal and must be frustrating but like I told you, I never go on any second dates, let alone a third, let alone make plans for a fourth!” Hannah then smiled, that radiant, intoxicating smile. “I really like you. Hopefully you can bear with it and not give up on me?” She was the popular, wild, exciting girl he had always dreamed of and now she was in his arms, kissing him. If he stopped to think he would realise he was out of his depth. But in that moment he could not imagine a place he would rather be. Not having spent the night with Hannah, Amyas took the tube to work the following morning. It was Saturday, he didn’t have to be there but it was something he liked doing. It got him out of the suburbs – six months living with his parents was by no means the end of the world but compared to spending the previous three in Clerkenwell, the heart of London, it did feel a backwards step in his independence. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way – Mum and Dad were lovely. In fact he felt having their grown-up son living back at home stifled their independence. It was to be their last month in London before the big move, Cornwall and retirement. Dad had even sat him down for the chat . “You going to be okay, mate?” he asked, clasping his shoulder. Dad had taken to call him ‘mate’ ever since Amyas graduated from university. Amyas thought it was his way of letting him know he was proud of him, that he no longer saw him as a child – more an equal. Dad also started calling him Master and Commander, on account of his Master’s degree, whenever they had company, which Amyas found less flattering. “Always a room for you down south. And if anything ever goes amiss on the job front, me and the old dear always tucked a bit away in case of a rainy day.” People had always said he took after his dad, with both of them being tall and relatively skinny, and Amyas hoped he would be able to keep his hair like his dad had his – not a bald patch in sight, though now not a non-grey hair either. But now Amyas hoped he could take after him in being a man and make his own way in the world. There was also always something to catch up on in the office, without the chaos of global capital markets interrupting. He could take his time, read something over, think about what he would do if he was in his boss’s position. Plus, he was never alone. John Stamler was incapable of working anything less than a seven-day week. “Welcome to The Breakfast Club ,” John said as Amyas pulled up the chair next to him. He then gestured to the desks belonging to the equity analysts. Joao was taking off his head phones and smiled, nodding to Amyas. Amyas could see a large financial model he was building on his monitor. “Hey, buddy, Stamler got you to come in so he looks less of a workaholic?” grinned Jordan, emerging from the kitchen with a freshly made cappuccino and his girlfriend alongside him, beaming too. “Don’t listen to the slacker,” said John. “The only time we ever see him is when Hugo Boss has got a sale on wide-assed pants.” That was the other bonus. Having Bond Street and Oxford Street on his doorstep was another great incentive to draw Amyas into work on his weekend. He was back in the centre of the best city in the world. “Psssshh,” replied Jordan “Stamler, you should just sublet your flat on weekends, you’re always here. Save some De Neros. Then you might be able to put your hand in your pocket and buy one of us a beer without getting cold sweats.” Jordan’s girlfriend was showing Amyas what was in their Selfridges bags, smirking as the other two bantered. Joao and the other equity analysts who had come in either to work or, like Jordan, to use their premium-blend coffee machine after department store shopping, were standing grinning at the exchange. “I will crush you, Mr All-Talk,” said Stamler, like he always did. “I will crush you.” Through the afternoon, casually clicking spreadsheets whilst finding YouTube videos for songs he had not heard in years, Amyas sustained the smile on his face by reading messages Hannah was sending. She was already back at work on the day shift, despite having finished her week on nights only the previous morning, and said she would be there well into the evening. But she seemed in no way fazed by it. She said she was having a good day, that she and the nurses were about to skive off for a coffee run and someone had suggested ordering Thai to the breakroom for when their shift ended. Amyas hoped all would go smoothly and according to plan and she would get to have her day off. That they would be able to go get tattoos and… well, he tried not to think about the sex part in case it did not happen. He didn’t want to get his hopes up in case she had to cancel. He would understand. Her life was so full and colourful. In turn he seemed to be seeing and noticing all the beauty in his own life too. The main thing for their next date was just getting the chance to see her again and watch her smile and laugh. On the other hand he would have to get a tattoo. He starting Googling potentials. Oh, they all looked thuggish and attention seeking. And he would have to have something relatively prominent. If he was doing something he knew there couldn’t be any half measures, like a cross on his shoulder blade or a single word on his ankle. Perhaps a mysterious Japanese message on the inside of his forearm. He could then make up whatever it meant depending on his mood. As the sun went down and chilly early February night set in, Amyas stood outside his office waiting for his best friend, Nick Barnes. Leaning against the cellar bar of the Pontefract Castle pub they held their pints, catching up like they would do every week, and waxing lyrical on any subject that came to mind. “I didn’t realise how I was having my cake and eating it in the old flat,” Nick said, describing living with Kate. “I had our flat, Kate was living just down the road, I was essentially living that John O’Farrell novel, the one with the goldfish on the cover.” “ The Best a Man Can Get ?” “Exactly, on both fronts.” “I don’t think it works out that well for him in the long run though.” “I haven’t actually read it. Kate has a copy. But I do feel I had it too good, with the freedom to do what I wanted and both of us having our own space. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Kate more than anything, but the flat seems so small and little things get annoying.” “Oh, like what?” “Well for dinner in the week Kate made soup.” Amyas looked at Nick, waiting. “You can’t just have soup for dinner. I’d have soup for a starter and then go on to the proper meal but you can’t just have soup as a main. You know I love my cooking but when I already do the lion’s share and the one night it’s her turn, I’d hoped for a little bit more than soup.” Amyas was finding it difficult to suppress laughter at Nick’s predicament. He also felt vaguely flattered that Nick’s teething problems with domestic life with Kate showed how much he had enjoyed his time in their previous flat. “I tell you, Amyas, you may think butter won’t melt but women are incredibly lazy creatures. We’ve got a cleaner on Kate’s insistence that we’re both too busy and on Saturdays she barely moves from the television watching old episodes of Columbo .” Amyas finally laughed aloud. “I’m sure you’re being a bit harsh there, Barnes.” “You’re probably right, but Amyas, it’s true what they say – women, you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. But that’s enough of my petty dilemmas, are things still going well with you and Hannah?” Amyas smiled as his phone bleeped. “It’s her,” he smiled, looking down. Then he felt his face fall. “We were meant to be meeting tomorrow but now she has to work. But she wants to meet up next week instead.” No sex or romantic afternoon, but he had been warned. But also no tattoo, which also strangely felt disappointing. She had told him that her other tattoos reminded her of specific times in her life and were for moments she held dear and wanted to signify. Amyas suddenly wanted to get a tattoo just so he could share the experience with her, be something they had done together. Probably something more romantic and intimate than even sex. Something he would never forget. Amyas assumed Nick would be less likely to see the romantic side of suddenly wanting to get tattoos with a girl he had been seeing less than a month so did not reveal the entire message; ‘ Hey hun, you’re off the hook. They want me to work tomorrow so have to put on hold our tattoo date. How bout we do something one night this week? How is spending time with your best friend? ’ “Never mind, but it sounds like all is going well, I’m really pleased for you, dude. Oh by the way, do you have plans tonight? Kate asks if you want to go to a house party?” 7. August 2008, the end of normal… “There’s the drop-in clinic in Soho,” said Nick as they left the café. Amyas had never seen him so focussed. “We can find that. They might be best equipped to deal with this.” From Oxford Circus it was a short walk into Soho. Nick did not know the exact location of the clinic so consulted an information map. He could not see what looked like a clinic but did see a drop-in centre for the Samaritans. Nick was strong, concentrated, exactly what Amyas needed. He said that the Samaritans would be the next best thing. They could go in and tell someone what had happened and be told what to do. They were immediately invited to see someone. Nick asked if Amyas wanted him to go in with him. Amyas said he was okay to go in alone. A woman in her fifties sat across from him in a small cream coloured room. He began to retell his story as he had told Nick in the same passive, emotionally detached way. He asked the woman what he should do. She was greatly sympathetic. She referred him to two hospitals, St Thomas’s and University College London. For the first time Amyas almost buckled, a great lump went to his throat and he wanted to cry. The woman asked if he was alright and if he had anyone he could call to help him. He told her that his friend was outside with him and they would go to a hospital straight away. As Amyas was about to leave she asked him to come back and see her the next week to talk through what had happened. She then said; “You poor, poor boy.” In that second he was almost overcome. “We would like to speak to someone about a private matter,” Nick said assertively through the glass screen of A&E reception. The receptionists and nurses had asked each person in line before them the nature of their emergency. Amyas felt exposed and fragile as he undressed and put on the hospital gown. He had told his story to a nurse and then to a young male doctor. The young doctor returned to the small private room where Amyas waited and gave him an initial examination. “When did it happen?” the doctor asked. “It was between midnight and the early hours of Monday morning Las Vegas time so probably between seven and eleven in the morning our time.” “Okay, that’s about sixty hours ago. That’s fine. You don’t know if this person was HIV positive?” “No,” Amyas said firmly, if a little tetchy. Had he not been listening to anything Amyas had been saying? Of course he wouldn’t know. “In that case I recommend we put you on an anti-retroviral treatment that we use for anyone who comes in contact with the virus or is at risk. You are in the time window to take the treatment but I must warn you the side effects are extreme. They’re similar to those of chemotherapy and many people are not able to complete the course. It’s for one month and will pretty much drain you. With that said, I do recommend it. Would you like me to prescribe it?” Amyas could have cried with relief. On the plane back to London at times he could not close his eyes for fear of believing himself to have contracted HIV. He said wholeheartedly yes and when the doctor brought him a small packet of drugs to last him the first few days he could not swallow the first pill quick enough. However, there was also some less good news. “Unfortunately as it is sixty hours since the incident any drug screening would now be ineffective. The lack of memory or blackout you describe is consistent with GHB, but it tends to leave the system within twenty-four hours, if not sooner. You may not know if that was the cause.” Amyas was to go to a sexual health clinic attached to the hospital on the Monday, where the rest of his prescription could be collected and a series of blood tests and other examinations could be done. The doctor left him and he began getting dressed again. He had gained relief and focus from the tablets. It was in his own hands not to contract the virus and the doctor informed him the statistical probabilities of contraction were low anyway. As he got himself ready he saw he had two messages on his phone. One was from Nick, who was buying chewing gum. The second was from Hannah. “ Thank you so much for your text, it means so much to me. ” She went on to say that things were getting better and she would love to meet up soon. Amyas could think of nothing more bittersweet. He wanted Hannah with him, maybe with her he could get through this, he thought. But did he want her to see him like this? He was too exhausted by the evening’s events to think further and left the room to wait for Nick. As they walked along the Pentonville Road, Amyas divulged his relief at the treatment and retold what was to happen next. “Now, mate,” Nick said as they reached the entrance to the tube station. “Will you be alright getting home?” Amyas said it was fine and that Nick had done more than enough. “I think you should go to the GP tomorrow. You’ve had a lot thrown at you tonight and it would do you good for someone to run through what they will be doing on Monday and you can ask questions about counselling and the like. Also if you don’t want me to tell Kate…” Nick began but Amyas stopped him. “No, it’s fine, I think you should. It’s been a rough night for you too, mate. You could do with letting it out.” Nick hugged Amyas, squeezing the life and breath out of him. Amyas walked down the steps of the tube station and went back to north London. In his flat it was past midnight again. He could not face another night with less than six hours’ sleep, or work the next day, so he sent John Stamler a text message to say that he had spent the evening in the hospital, he did not want to say why, but he would not be at work the next morning. He asked John to pass the message on to Kamran. John replied saying it was no problem and hoped he was alright. Amyas stood in the silence of his living room looking around him. He thought of what would happen if he lost his job. Of what would happen to his flat on the large, geared mortgage he had taken out. He could not afford to remain mysterious with work especially if the pills had the side effects he was told about. What happened in Las Vegas, he knew could not stay in Las Vegas. He took a shower, needing the water to wash over him and flood away all that had passed. He glided the shower gel over his chest and onto his arms. He ran it over and around his neck and onto his shoulder blades. He then winced in pain as something stung viciously. He felt his shoulder. He felt a deep cut. He thought back to waking up in Vegas and his blood-stained shirt. He still remembered little else. He stood with his eyes closed, the water rushing over him and began to cry, unable to stop himself.