Unconsciously she had been expecting the phone call. She had left, not without regrets, but without looking back. She had wanted a fresh start, a clean slate, had decided to leave her old life behind.
And yet, when the phone call came, she was not surprised.
The slight delay between comment and reply common to overseas phone calls. A familiar voice with an unfamiliar hesitancy, exchanging stilted greetings in an effort to make the conversation seem somehow more normal. News delivered haltingly, finishing with a "We thought you might like to know.". The last spoken in a flat, emotionless tone that contrasted vividly with the tinge of concern that had coloured the foregoing conversation, telling its own tale of ruthlessly suppressed anger.
She made the right noises in reply, took the necessary details down, and hung up before the roaring in her ears drowned out the voice. Staring at the instrument in her hand, as if it would somehow recant.
By the end of the day she was on a flight back to the cold damp streets she had walked away from. Stopping only long enough to freshen up at the airport, she journeyed onwards and within a ridiculously short amount of time (and a lifetime too long) she was striding into the foyer of a hospital half a world away.
Too much caffeine had merely heightened her anxiety while only barely blunting the fog of fatigue that threatened to drown her. It had done no good at all to her control over her temper. Fortunately for the nurse on duty a gentle hand on her arm had distracted her from launching into a tirade at the unhelpful attitude. She swung around, ready to take aim at an alternate target, to be faced with a dark haired woman. Her grey eyes were cool and appraising, but her voice was calm. The weight has settled on her chest now. Is it guilt or is this woman really judging her and finding her wanting as a friend?
"Carol Jordan." It was more of a statement than a question, but Carol nodded anyway. The woman turned to the nurse, "She is OK to visit. I'll take her through now." Leading Carol down the corridor towards the private rooms, she introduced herself, "Alex Fielding. Paula said she had spoken to you, you made better time than I thought you would be able to."
Caffeine and fatigue don't do much for her conversational skills either.
"How is he?"
The grey eyes watching her softened suddenly.
"The doctors aren't saying much yet. He was badly injured, and he hasn't regained consciousness yet. Only when he does will they be able to check if there is any neurological damage."
Carol felt the blood drain from her face, and the roaring threatened to drown out everything else again. She finally had no choice but to lean up against the wall for a moment to compose herself.
'He might have brain damage.' It didn't seem possible, it certainly didn't feel fair. How would Tony ever be able to cope with brain damage. So much of his life was tied up in his work. And she knew, without having to think about it, that he would feel he had no place in the world if the one thing he considered himself good at was taken away from him.