Sure Thing Read Free Page A

nod, glad to be able to do so once more without expecting the roof of my head to shoot off. “I had more frequent attacks as a child but less severe. It’s definitely worse now. And yes, there’s some medication I can use and that prevents attacks, pretty much. But it’s only available on prescription and I’ve not managed to get registered yet with a GP here.”
    “Yes, you said. Yesterday, when the doctor asked you. Why not? Why haven’t you registered yet, you’ve been here for weeks now? Especially as you obviously need regular medication.”
    I shrug, try to pass it off. “It doesn’t matter, I just never got round to it.”
    Spotting the lie immediately, he reaches up to take my empty cup, places it behind him on the floor. Then he takes my chin in his hand, brings my face around close to his, catches my gaze, holds it.
    “Why no GP, Ashley?”
    Trapped, I know I’m going to have to explain—if I can. I close my eyes, take a deep breath.
    “I— They would have needed my medical records. I’d have had to give my real name. I just wanted to leave all that, the past, behind me. And I was worried that Kenny might find me, might somehow trace me.” Even as I hear myself trying to explain, I know it sounds silly, but those genuinely were the reasons I didn’t pursue the registration process. The receptionist at the health center in Haworth was ever so friendly, couldn’t have been more helpful. She gave me the forms, asked for suitable ID. And I just thanked her, stuffed the forms into my bag, walked out of there, and gave up. I abandoned the effort. Hence, I’ve run out of Amitriptyline and have no prospect of getting a new supply.
    Tom just continues to hold my gaze, slowly shaking his head. Then, “Right, as soon as the surgery opens up again after New Year we’re going down there, get you registered. We’ll get through the paperwork, and you’ll come out of there with a repeat prescription sorted out.”
    “But…”
    “No buts. We’ll do it. Look, even if Kenny is bright enough—and sweetheart, he really didn’t strike me as bright—do you honestly think he’d be able to access your medical records and trace you?”
    Put like that I can see how silly it seems. But I resent having my old self still hanging around, clinging to me like some unpleasant smell. No matter how hard I try to shake her off, little Sharon Spencer just hangs on in there, with her migraines and baggage and prison record, ready to pop back up first chance she gets. But he’s right, I know he’s right. I flatten my mouth in distaste, but I know when I’m beat.
    “Okay. I’ll dig out the forms.”
    A few minutes later, my coffee cup, now empty on the floor beside the bed, I remember that I was only the supporting cast in yesterday’s little drama. Mortified, I turn to Tom, grab his arm. “Rosie, is she okay do you know?” That should have been my first question, my first concern, rather than gratifying my own immediate needs for hot sex and fairly hot coffee. Feeling guilty, I’m now anxious to know how Rosie is after her ordeal out on the moors.
    Tom turns his head, smiles warmly down at me. “Yes, she’s fine. Thanks to you. Nathan texted last night. A badly sprained ankle and mild hypothermia. The hospital kept her overnight for observation but she’ll be home today. Might be there already. Shall I check?”
    “Yes, please. I’d like to know how she is.”
    Tom reaches into his jeans pocket, pulls out his phone then hits a couple of buttons. The phone to his ear, he waits for Nathan to answer before he speaks.
    “Hi. How’s Rosie? I’ve got my own walking wounded here, wanting to know.” A few seconds, then, “That’s great. Yeah, I’ll tell her that. And tell Rosie Barney’s still here with us. He’s fine.” Another brief pause, then, “Excellent. Email it over, would you?” He pauses once more, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end, then, “Best leave it till tomorrow.