Paparazzi, Jo Fenton [books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

watched the crime dramas, and thought of you. It was something I’ve fancied doing for a long time, but having to leave home seemed a good trigger. I figured I’d look you up again, and we could get started. I changed my name after I kicked him out, so I’m now Joanna Knight. With you being Becky White, I thought we could be the White Knight Agency. What do you think?”

“I love the name. The idea sucks though.” I take a deep breath. “I left the police last year. There was… an incident. I can’t tell you about it just now, but detective work is not for me any more.”

She opens her mouth as if to ask another question, but the latch clicks loudly from the front door.

“That’ll be Matt,” I say, glad for the interruption.

Seconds later, he walks in.

“It’s disgusting out there. Why’s there an enormous suitcase—?” He stops, and colour drains from his face as he looks at Joanna. His hand clutches his chest, and he turns from pale to grey as he drops to the floor.

“Oh my God. Get an ambulance,” I shout at Joanna, who is standing there looking dumbstruck. “Matt, Matt, are you okay?” I crouch down at his side and check his pulse. It’s beating erratically. Joanna snaps out of her reverie and takes out her phone. Matt is losing consciousness rapidly, and panic grips me.

By the time the ambulance arrives, my arms are aching from performing CPR, and my heart is beating loudly enough to drown out the emergency siren. The paramedics take charge immediately, and two shocks from the defibrillator bring my much-loved but infuriating husband back to life. He regains consciousness briefly, and I catch him glancing at Joanna with terror in his eyes. I’ve no idea what caused that reaction, but now is not the time to investigate.

Joanna looks at the floor, but then glances at me tentatively. “Maybe Cheryl can help me get some things together for you and your husband. We’ll bring them to the hospital in a taxi shortly.”

The female paramedic looks across from getting Matt strapped onto a stretcher.

“We’re taking him to Fairfield Hospital. Even the Uber drivers should know where that is.” She turns to me. “You can come in the ambulance with him.”

I reluctantly hand my keys to Cheryl, who’s hovering in the doorway.

“Will Dad be okay?” She looks terrified.

I give her a hug, and as much reassurance as I can manage, before leaving her, out of necessity, in the care of a woman I’ve not seen for thirty years and who appears to have been responsible for my husband’s heart attack. If I could think of an alternative arrangement, I would, but we’ve only lived here for four months, and I don’t know the neighbours well enough to ask for help.

Matt remains stable on the brief journey to the hospital. It’s just as well it’s short; the lack of suspension combined with the shock leaves me feeling nauseous, and I’m the one requesting a sick bowl before we arrive. I hold it in, but the paramedic is looking a bit anxious by the time we reach the hospital. Matt, on the other hand, is gaining a little colour in his face, although he still looks very unwell.

Although it’s only early evening, A&E is full, and all the cubicles are occupied, except for the one at the very end. The paramedics wheel Matt in and transfer him to a trolley, and as soon as he’s settled, I hold his hand. Now that I’m out of that rickety ambulance, my nausea subsides.

The paramedics leave as a nurse pops her head into the cubicle, informing me we’ll be seen very soon. Matt’s fully awake now, but there’s fear in his eyes. I pretend not to associate this with my afternoon visitor, and instead hasten to reassure him of his safety now that he’s in hospital.

“You’re in the best place now. They can do marvellous things these days for heart attacks.”

I’m rewarded by a slight receding of the haunted look. “Sorry, Becks. I had a hard day at work. I think I’ve been pushing myself too hard, and then…”

“It’s my fault. If I could work properly, and bring in a bit more money, we’d have less stress and you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

A young nurse interrupts, coming in briskly and performing observations, and taking blood with an efficiency that belies her apparent youth. I can’t tell from her uniform what grade she is, and when a doctor follows her in a few moments later, he addresses her only as ‘Ruth’.

Matt’s had an ECG, bloods and an ultrasound scan, and is in bed on the Cardiology ward by the time Cheryl pokes her head around the door.

“Dad! Are you okay?”

“Yes. I will be anyway. They’re admitting me for some procedure or other, which may or may not be done on Monday.”

“You’re medical, Dad. You ought to know what they’re going to do to you.” Cheryl rests her hip against the edge of the trolley and holds her dad’s hand. I’ve long since retreated to the chair in the corner, unwilling to compete with nurse, doctor or daughter for my husband’s attention.

“Well, yes, I suppose. They’re going to put in a stent to open the artery they think is blocked. But I need to have other tests first so they can see what the damage is. For now, they’ve given me an injection to dissolve the clot that caused it.” His voice quietens by the end of the sentence, and I leave my seat to stand at his other side.

“You’re too exhausted to be answering all these questions, Matt. Shut your eyes and rest for a while. Cheryl, come and sit down for a bit. The porter will be here shortly to take Dad up to the ward.”

“Okay, but…” She points vaguely toward the waiting area, and I hasten to interrupt.

“I know. We’ll sort everything out when your dad’s settled.” Now is not the time to draw