Chapter 8

I worked so many hours that week that tiredness made me sleep at night when otherwise, I might have stayed awake worrying. I had Sunday off and spent the morning with Sophie, although I didn't tell her about the lengths I was going to in order to keep Arthur's apartment for him. She'd think I was crazy enough to be in Arkham with him.

Later, having the time to think didn't do me a lot of good. I went over and over the things that had happened before he cut himself and wondered if I could have done anything different. I perhaps should have realised he needed help that night he asked me on a date. Looking back, it was so obvious he wasn't himself. But I couldn't change things now. All I could do was hope he would soon be well enough to come home.

Eventually, I decided to at least call the hospital and see if they could tell me anything. I doubted it would be possible, because I wasn't related or noted as next-of-kin. I was right—the woman I spoke to wouldn't even confirm whether Arthur was a patient there, but I asked her to take a note of my name and number, should it be needed.

On Monday, I had just finished washing up after the lunch service, when I turned around to find Catherine March talking to Jason. My pulse quickened and I hurried over, worried something might have happened to Arthur.

"Audra, could I have a quick word?"

"How did you find me?" I asked, as I led her to a table in the corner.

"You said you worked here. I understand you called the hospital yesterday to check on Arthur."

"They told you? I'm sorry if I was wrong. I can't help worrying about him. Is he all right?"

"Actually, he's not doing too well."

My heart sank at Catherine's serious expression. "Has he hurt himself again?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. The patients in Arkham rarely come into contact with anything they could use to hurt themselves with. The main problem is that he won't eat. He's already terribly underweight as you obviously realise. I've talked to him most days this past week or tried to. It's not the norm for me to talk to someone who isn't next-of-kin, but given the situation, I've made an exception. Arthur fears his actions will have driven you away, and that he'll have nowhere to go if or when he leaves the hospital. I think that's making him behave the way he is, so he'll have to stay there."

I groaned. "What can I do?"

"I think a visit might help."

"You allow visitors?"

"If the patient requires it."

"When?"

"The sooner the better. I can take you there this afternoon, if you're able to get away."

"I'll speak to my colleagues." I left her at the table and went to talk to Jason.

"Who is that?" he asked before I could say anything.

"A doctor."

"Are you okay?" His brow wrinkled.

"It's not me. A friend is in hospital. They need me to visit. You think I can slip away? If I take today as a half day, I'll work half my day off on Thursday."

"Sure, we can manage. Why are you doing so many extra hours, anyway?" he asked. "You only said to fill in while we find a replacement for Tammy. You need money, or something?"

"Yeah, I have some extra bills I need to cover. I'll see you tomorrow." I collected my coat and bag from the secure room behind the counter and followed Catherine outside.

It was a ten-minute walk to Arkham from the shelter. When we arrived, I handed in my coat and bag to a security man, walked through a scanner to make sure I didn't have any metal objects on me, and signed in. Then Catherine led me down a long white corridor. Everything was white. The floors, walls, ceiling, and doors to the rooms. When we reached Arthur's room and she opened the door, everything inside was white, too, including the hospital pyjamas Arthur wore as he sat on the edge of the bed. He made no sign that he had heard us, and continued staring at the floor, hair hanging around his face. His arm was still bandaged, and he looked thinner than ever.

"Oh God," I muttered.

"I'll leave you alone," Catherine said quietly. "We'll be watching on a monitor, should anything happen."

I stepped forward, and she closed the door behind me.

"Arthur?" He didn't respond. I crossed the room quietly and sat on the bed beside him, leaving a gap of about a foot between us. "Arthur."

He raised his head and turned to look at me, eyes vacant and bloodshot in his pale face. After a moment, he blinked, and his expression changed. "Audra?"

"Yes, it's me."

"I thought I'd never see you again. Why are you here?"

"I was worried about you, and Catherine asked me to come and see you. You haven't been eating, have you?"

"There's no point." He shrugged. "What have I got to go back to?"

My heart clenched. I reached over to take his hand and squeezed it in both of mine. "You have me," I said. "I meant it when I told you I'd be waiting for you, Arthur. I'll wait as long as I have to, but you have to want to get better so you can come home."

"I won't have a home soon."

"Yes, you will." I lifted one hand to touch his face and make him look at me again when he turned his head away. "I went to see Hoyt. He said your job will still be there for you when you're ready to go back. You're popular, he said. And your apartment is still there the way you left it, and it will be when you're ready for it."

"How?" His brows drew together.

"Don't worry about that. I sorted it out."

"But how?" he repeated.

"If I tell you, promise not to get upset." I knew he would get upset; he was bound to. But maybe it would give him an incentive to try to get better. "I have enough money to pay the next month's rent for you. I'm sorry for prying into your personal business, but I found a bank statement, so I have the account details to pay the money into."

"No!" A look of horror crept over Arthur's face.

"I'm sorry, but—"

"No, you can't do that. You can't give me your money. I don't deserve that." He burst into loud laughter and pulled his hand free of mine.

"It's fine. I can cover it until you're better."

"Oh God," he gasped in between laughs. "Why? Why are you so nice to me?" The laughter continued until he ran out of breath and choked.

I reached over to rub his back. "I care about you, Arthur. Everybody needs someone to be nice to them. I need you to do something for me, too, okay?"

"What is it?"

"I need you to start eating. You're starving yourself. Catherine told me they've tried everything to get you to eat and it's not working. That's why I'm here. They thought I might be able to help."

"I don't feel like eating."

"I know you don't. But try, for me. It'll make me happy, and you will feel better when you're healthier. When we were walking here, Catherine told me they can't regulate your meds properly because you need food in your body, too."

Arthur nodded slowly. He looked up at me again. "You said the next time you saw me you would kiss me again."

"I did."

"But you haven't."

"I want to. Do you want me to?" I doubted Catherine and the other staff would think it was a good idea, but maybe it would help him if he thought he had that to look forward to.

Arthur nodded again. I leaned in and brushed my lips lightly across his, drew back, then did it again. His lips twitched at one corner.

"Will you have something to eat now, if I eat with you?" I asked.

"Okay," he said after a pause.

I glanced up at the camera in the corner, wondering if they had a speaker, too. My silent question was answered a second later, when a disembodied voice spoke. "Audra, would you like to come to the dining room with Arthur? Turn right out of the room and it's at the end of the corridor."

I got up. "Come on, Arthur."

"How long are you staying?"

"A while, until I know you're going to be okay and that you'll start getting better."

We walked slowly down the corridor, Arthur dragging his feet and pausing halfway to lean on the wall. "I feel dizzy."

I slid my arm around him. "That's probably from not eating. You'll be weak."

He leaned on me as we completed the short walk into the dining room and sat down at a table. Catherine appeared a few minutes later, with another member of staff carrying a tray. It held two bowls of soup, some buttered bread, and two slices of cake.

Arthur ate without any enthusiasm, but he did finish the soup, eat one piece of bread, and a couple of bites of cake. I kept pace with him, happy to eat the food as I hadn't had the chance to get anything at work before Catherine showed up.

"I'm full." Arthur pushed his plate away.

"It won't take much to fill you up at the moment." I covered his hand with mine where it lay on the table. "Promise me you'll eat from now on. If you don't try to get better, they won't let you leave. I know you think there's nothing to come back to, but there is. You still have your home and your job, and you have me. I'll be waiting."

"I feel bad all the time," he murmured.

"Things might get better when you can have the proper medication."

"I suppose. All right. I'll do my best, if it makes you happy." He didn't smile, but he squeezed my hand in return.

We walked slowly back to Arthur's room and he sat on the edge of the bed where I'd found him. I stood close and rested my hands on his shoulders. "Do you want me to stay longer, or shall I go?"

"I want to go to sleep now. I sleep a lot. Then I don't think."

"You have something good to think about now," I reminded him. "I'm going to make sure they have my phone number here, and a note of the times I'm home. If you're allowed to have phone calls, maybe you can call me sometimes. I'll see if they'll let me visit when I have my day off, too."

Finally, the faintest smile touched his lips. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do." I pressed a kiss onto his forehead. "Remember what's gonna make me happy."

"Eat. I know. I will." Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tight against him. I slid my arms around his neck in return, and we hugged for several minutes before he let me go.

"I'll see you soon, Arthur. I promise." I left him, and by the time I was stepping through the door, he had already curled up on the bed and closed his eyes.

"That seemed to go well," Catherine said as she walked me out. I'd already left details of the hours I worked and my phone number. Arthur would have use of the phone every day if he wanted to speak to me, and I could visit each week. "How did you get him to eat?"

"I told him it would make me happy."

"You're very fond of him," she observed.

"I love him," I blurted. My face heated. "I haven't told him that. We haven't really known each other that long, but I do. Even if we can only really be friends, I won't let him down. I just have to get him to believe that."

As I travelled home on the train, sadness descended on me. I should have been happy I could see Arthur, but I was only hurt that he thought so little of himself and felt so alone. I would just have to hope that he would make an effort to get better now, and that his stay in Arkham wouldn't be too long.

I saw Arthur again on Thursday, my official day off. I worked until after the lunchtime rush, then made my way to Arkham. One of the staff showed me to Arthur's room after I checked in, and I immediately saw the difference in him. It had only been four days, but he looked bright and had more colour in his face. The bandages were off his arm, revealing well-healed pink scars. Then I spotted a calendar hanging on the wall—the kind with big squares for each day so that you could write reminders in them. Today's date had "Audra" scrawled in it in untidy lettering.

"Hey, Arthur."

He quickly got to his feet and pulled me into a hug. "You came."

"I promised I would." I kissed his cheek. "You have a calendar."

"They thought it would help if I had something to look forward to."

"You look better. You've been eating?"

"Yes." He backed away and nodded to emphasise it. "Three times a day."

"Do you have something to write with?"

He laughed, not a wild laugh, but an amused chuckle. "Just this." He picked up a thick black crayon from the shelf above the bed. "We're not allowed pens in case we stab ourselves, or somebody else."

I realised my name had been written in crayon. I took it from him and wrote "Audra" in the square for the following Monday. "This is my next day off."

"Can you come for lunch?"

"Of course, if they don't mind." We sat on the bed together. "Have they sorted out your medication?"

"Yes, but I only have to take three different ones. I used to have seven before the care funding was cut. Some of them were the wrong ones. The new ones are supposed to calm me down, but also lift my spirits. I don't know if they do or not. I feel a bit different, but Catherine said it would take a couple of weeks to notice any significant change. She said then new ones won't make me numb like the old ones did."

"Numb?"

"I couldn't feel much. I mean, in here." He put his hand over his heart. "She says that's probably why I went crazy when I was off them, because it was a huge change." He bit his lip and flushed. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you that day? I told her I did before I came here."

"You didn't, I promise." I gave his hand a squeeze. "We were just two people who'd been out on a date, doing what comes next. Everything we did, I wanted to do."

"Okay." He nodded. "I wanted to make sure, now I can think better. Would you ever want to do that again?" Colour suffused his face and he stared down at our joined hands. I found it endearing.

"Absolutely, yes. When you're ready to." My pulse quickened as I immediately imagined us kissing, touching, falling into bed together. My own face burned, and I pushed the thought aside.

Arthur laughed, another genuine laugh. "Your face is red."

"Because you're making me think about things I shouldn't be thinking about right now."

"But I thought you were a woman of the world," he teased.

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You've had a boyfriend before, though."

"Yes. A real idiot. I told you about him once."

"He gambled." Arthur frowned. "Was he, um, the only one?"

"No. Does that matter?"

"No. I just think I'm lucky that you seem to like me now. Nobody ever has before. I mean, a woman. You probably realised that." It was his turn to flush again.

"Yes, I realised. It doesn't matter. You know, this is a pretty deep conversation for right now."

"I know, but I wanted to have it. I was thinking about it."

We spent the rest of the time talking about things we'd done. Arthur spent a lot of time in his room when he wasn't having his therapy sessions, or in the dining room. But he did talk to another man sometimes, who had also attempted suicide. They sat together for some meals, or would read books together, in silence, but at least with company.

I felt better when I left him. My visit on Sunday had obviously made a big difference to his outlook, and I didn't worry so much about him. Instead, I kept thinking about him coming home, however long it would be before that happened. As much as I tried not to, I repeatedly daydreamed about us having another date—one that would end in sweet kisses and maybe more, but without the disaster of the last one.