Rupert counted the drops of clear fluid as they passed through the pressure-measuring device in Jodi’s brain. That’s right, they were clear now. The blood had faded away one evening nearly two weeks ago. Rupert recalled his surge of elation like it was yesterday, remembered every minute of the twenty-four-hour vigil he’d mounted after, waiting on tenterhooks for the moment when Jodi would surely wake up. But he hadn’t woken up. Not then, and not now, a month and two days since that damn fucking speeding car had catapulted him across the streets of Tottenham. Rupert tore his gaze from the drip and focussed on Jodi. He touched his cheek with the pad of his thumb, and smoothed the scruffy beard that, despite the nurse’s diligent efforts, was now slightly longer than he’d ever seen on Jodi before. Rupert liked it. It would suit Jodi’s brown eyes, if Rupert was lucky enough to ever see them again. Lucky. Ha. Rupert clenched his teeth and turned his attention to Jodi’s shattered arm.
