Читать книгу The Doctor Meets Her Match - Annie Claydon, Annie Claydon - Страница 9

EUSTON station was crowded, rush-hour commuters streaming from trains and making their way in a concentrated mass to the Underground escalators. Abby stood in the most open spot she could, studying the departure boards. The train for Windermere was an estimated twelve minutes late, which meant there was over half an hour to wait.

No one was here yet. No Nick at the platform entrance, where they’d said they’d meet, and the swarms of people on the station concourse were making her head swim.

Standing on her toes, Abby could see a coffee shop in one corner of the station. There was a queue of people waiting for their early morning shot, but at least she’d have somewhere to stand where her case wasn’t constantly being bumped by passers-by.

She fixed her eyes on her destination and began to march determinedly towards it. She hated crowds. Rush-hour commuting was an art, and she’d got used to it, but she’d never managed to completely lose the feeling of unease at being confronted with a faceless, potentially antagonistic mass of people. And her nerves at the thought of seeing Nick again, despite the fact that they’d been in almost daily contact by email, weren’t helping particularly.

There was a wait for the coffee, but as soon as she had the warm cardboard beaker in her hand she began to feel better. Now all she had to do was find a quiet corner to drink it in. She waited while another stream of people walked briskly past. Her stomach was still churning and she needed to sit down, sip her drink and get herself together.

‘Oh!’ Someone had collided with her case, kicked it to one side and kept walking. The plastic top flew off the beaker of coffee as Abby’s fingers tightened instinctively around it, and hot liquid spilled onto her fleece jacket and dribbled onto the floor.

Nothing like looking where you’re going! The words shot through her head, but she was suddenly too breathless to mutter them after the man. Her hands were full, coffee in one hand, case in the other, the straps of her handbag beginning to slip from her shoulder. As another wave of anonymous faces headed straight for her, Abby scurried towards the only form of cover she could reach, an information board at the edge of the concourse, and leaned against it for support.

‘Not now. Not now!’ She muttered the instruction to herself under her breath, so softly that even she couldn’t hear the words. Her lungs were straining for air and her heart thumped in her chest as if it had decided that it wanted out and the most direct route was straight through her ribcage.

‘Breathe. One… two…’ Her words were louder and touched with desperation this time, but that didn’t seem to make much difference. She was gulping in air too fast and a feeling of nameless, shapeless dread was beginning to engulf her.

‘Everything’s okay. Just slow down.’ Abby tried again to convince her own body to respond, closing her eyes in concentration and then snapping them back open again as the world swam and she almost toppled over.

‘Abby?’ Someone was there. Someone who smelled like Nick. Soft leather and sandalwood, gasped into her heaving lungs and then breathed out again far too quickly.

‘Give her some space.’ His voice rang out. Commanding enough to divert the flow of people away from them. An arm around her shoulders pulled her into the protection of his body and she clung to him, letting him prise the half-empty beaker of coffee from the convulsive grip of her fingers.

‘Slowly, Abby. Breathe slowly. On my count… One… two… three.’

For a moment, her heaving lungs listened and complied with his instructions, where they had ignored her own. But then the noise in her ears and the banging of her heart, craving more oxygen than was strictly good for it, took over again. She was dimly aware of someone stopping, and that Nick had spoken to them, but right now all she could think of was that she had to get out of there.

‘Okay, Abby. Everything’s okay. Come with me.’ He tried to move her, and she clutched instinctively for the handle of her case. ‘It’s all right. Someone’s bringing your bag. We’re just going outside to sit down.’

Sit down. Yes. She’d like to sit down. She’d be okay in a minute if she could just sit down. She felt the slightly uneven sway of Nick’s body against hers as he led her through the automatic doors and out into the fresh air.

‘Would you mind? Thank you. No, she just needs to sit for a moment. Thanks.’ Nick had cleared a space for her on a nearby bench and Abby sank down onto it gratefully. Someone moved up and he sat down next to her, his arm around her shoulder.

Her chest was still heaving frantically. ‘Anyone got a paper bag? Yeah, large one.’ His voice again. ‘Thanks.’ Nick shook the bag out and put it into her trembling fingers. ‘You know what to do, Abby. That’s right.’

He helped her put the bag up to her lips and she took a breath. Then another. And another. That was better. There were a few crumbs left on the inside of the bag and she smelled the rich smell of almond paste. Must be the remains of an almond croissant.

‘Better?’ Nick was holding her, not tightly but close enough to let her know that he was there. That someone was there.

‘Yes… thanks. Sorry.’

‘Don’t you worry about it.’ A smartly dressed woman was bending down in front of her, and she brushed Abby’s knee with well-manicured fingers. ‘I get panic attacks, too. You’ll be okay in a minute.’

A single tear of mortification prickled at the side of Abby’s eye and she brushed it away before Nick got a chance to see it. ‘Sorry to make such a fuss.’

‘Hey, there. You don’t need to apologise.’ Nick gently slipped the straps of her handbag from her shoulder, and she realised that she had been hugging it tightly to her side. ‘Let go. That’s right.’

‘She’s all wet.’ The manicured fingers brushed at her fleece, ineffectually.

‘Yeah, let’s get this off you, Abby.’ Nick pulled at the zipper and had her out of it in a second. Obviously the result of practice. ‘Your T-shirt doesn’t look too bad. Just a few drops.’

She drew her arms across her body, shivering despite the warmth of the morning breeze. Nick wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and she snuggled into it, wondering if she could somehow contrive to disappear.

At least he took the task off her shoulders of thanking the concerned passers-by and sending them on their way. Finally they were alone, his arm still protectively draped across the back of the bench behind her.