“My name is Doctor Patricia Jones. I understand a friend of
mine was involved in a car crash and is here. The Police have asked me to come.
There seems to be some confusion and misunderstanding. I have the same surname
and somehow the police had been given the wrong information. They seem to think
that the hospital thought we were married. But we are not. I’m not his wife.”
The receptionist stared back at Pat as though she might have
just told her that she was her long-lost sister from South America or that she was
a bubonic plague carrier or that the earth was flat.
The silence seems to hang over them for an age but it was
probably only micro seconds. The receptionist pulled herself together and politely
asked, “And what is the first name of your … friend?”
“Patrick.”
Tip tap on the keys. An initial frown gave way a look of
sympathy. “Please just take a seat. I’ll phone down and get the hospital liaison
to come across and take you down.” She waved towards some well worn chairs. As
they walked away, Pat heard another ‘Sorry for your loss’ drifting through the
air and settling, unwantedly, on her shoulders.
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