What could she say? Polly was dying—that cancer card was real. The least Annie could do was put on a stupid dress. “Fine. Why don’t you come over to mine and we can, I don’t know, do our nails or something.”
“Amazing. I’ll bring brownies.”
“We’re not nine,” Annie grumbled. “It’s not like a sleepover where... Oh.”
“Annie?” Polly turned back to where she’d stopped. “You’ve gone white. Are you okay?”
Move. Hide. Quick. Quick! But Annie’s legs weren’t moving. She was frozen, staring straight ahead, at the man sitting in the snack bar. She couldn’t see what he was drinking, but she knew what it would be. Latte, one sugar. Half if he was trying to lose weight. He wore jeans and a green polo shirt, and his arms looked tanned and strong.
His voice shouting in from the corridor. “Annie, call an ambulance!” Fumbling in the bedsheets for her phone, struggling to dial the number as panic coursed through her...
Polly waved a hand in front of her face. “Annie? Are you okay? Hey, that’s a song.” Her voice was clear and piercing. Annie came back to herself and scuttled on by, until she was past the snack bar. Polly came swaggering after, in her impractical shoes, pausing to wave at a junior doctor. “Oh, hey, Kieran, working nights today? Don’t forget to try those supplements I mentioned. Great for boosting melatonin.”
Annie sank onto a seat—green plastic, the stuffing leaking out. The noises of the hospital washed over her, squeaking wheels and beeping monitors and hurrying feet. Lives being lost. Lives just starting.
“What’s the matter?” said Polly.
“I... It was just...someone I hadn’t seen for a while.”
“Who? Your long-lost dad? Your one true love? Something’s really upset you.”
“No. No, I’m fine. I just—I didn’t have any dinner. I better go home, I think.”
She walked to the door very fast, head down, face half-covered by her scarf. Though she didn’t think he would see her even if they passed; she was pretty sure he never thought about her at all.
DAY 20
Try an adrenaline sport
“Is this the place?” said Annie nervously. They were in Dr. Max’s car, which like its owner was somewhat dented, and had mud and what Annie suspected was Toffee Crisp ground into the upholstery. They’d pulled up outside a salvage yard in Deptford, and no one was around. Piles of smashed masonry sat between burned-out cars, and from a small Portakabin a Rihanna song was leaking.
“This is where Polly said she got him.” Dr. Max made a growling sound in his throat. “Can’t believe she came down here on her own. Sometimes I think the lassie must be touched, brain tumor or no brain tumor.”
“Should I go in?” Annie had Buster at her feet, emitting small squeaks as he chewed on the car mat.
“Let’s both go. Not sure how safe it is here.” They’d joked about getting into a fistfight, but Annie felt nervous as she climbed out of the car, Buster bundled in her coat. It was so quiet, except for the radio and the creak of rusting metal in the breeze. “Hello?” she called. Nothing.
Dr. Max strode over to the cabin. The back of his shirt was flapping out of his trousers. “Hello, hello, anyone there?”
The door creaked slightly and a sinister-looking man came out, wiping his hands on a rag. He wore a very tight black vest, showing off arms roughly the width of tree trunks. “What d’you want?” His voice sheered the corners off the sentence.
“Um, hello,” Annie said nervously. “My friend bought this puppy from you yesterday but the thing is, she can’t keep him—she’s got cancer, you see.”
“S’my problem?”
“He’s far too young to be away from his mother,” stormed Dr. Max. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Sold ’er.”
“For God’s sake. Do you even have a breeding license? You should be ashamed of yourself, pal.”
The man shifted slightly on his feet, making his arms ripple. Annie began to back away, cradling Buster to herself. She could feel his heart whirring through her jumper, and her own matched it. “Dr. Max, maybe we should—”
“I’m not going to be intimidated. They’re breaking the law here.”
The man whistled, as if calling a dog, and two other men stepped silently out into the yard. Annie froze. “Er, Dr. Max...”
“A disgrace is what it is. I’ll be reporting you the RSPCA and I demand a full refund for my patient and—”
“Dr. Max!” She was already backing away to the car. “I think we should get out of here.”
But Dr. Max was squaring up to them. He was stocky, but no match for the three hulking men now closing in on him. Annie had a horrified vision of him lying on the ground, his face beaten to red pulp. And it was a nice face, too. “Please!” she shouted, addressing the lead man this time. “He’s just annoyed because my friend has cancer. He’s her doctor, you see.” Scary Man said nothing, but cocked his head at her, listening. She went on. “He’s a good doctor. Helps lots of people. Don’t hit him. He’s a surgeon—he needs to look after his hands.”
“S’doctor?”
“Yes. Honestly, he works so hard.”
“I am here, Annie, you know.”
She shot him a look. “Shh! So, why don’t we just go and take the dog, and we’ll say no more about it?”
“Sod that, I’m not running away. I—”
“Shut up, Dr. Max.”
One of the men was approaching. He was even larger, like the biggest in a series of Russian dolls. He had his hands on his metal belt buckle, and Annie didn’t know what was happening—was he going to hit Dr. Max with it?—and then he dropped his jeans. “See this? What’s tha’?”
Dr. Max blinked. He was being shown a mole on the man’s hairy bottom. “Er, it’s a mole.”
“S’bad one?”
“I can’t really tell.” Dr. Max squinted. “It looks okay to me, if it hasn’t recently changed.”
“S’old.”
“Right. Well, you’d have to get it checked out by a dermatologist, but I don’t see any obvious cause for concern, no.”
He buckled himself up again, and an eloquent look went between the three men. The lead one went into the Portakabin, then emerged with a handful of greasy cash. “S’half,” he growled. “Can’t take the dog back. Nowhere to put ’im.”
“We’ll take him,” Annie said eagerly. “He can stay with me for a while. It’s fine, honest.” Though how she’d keep a puppy in a tenth-floor flat she had no idea. All she knew was they had to get out of here or she’d be scraping Dr. Max off the yard. “Please,” she hissed to him. “Your patients need you. Polly needs you.”
“I could take these guys.”
“I know. I know you could. But should we just...leave it?”
His fists still clenched, he nodded reluctantly. “Can you really look after the pup? I would but I’m never home. It wouldn’t be fair on the wee scrap.”
“Of course I can. Please, can we just go?”
Finally, he turned, and Annie was back in the car so fast she could easily have won the hundred-meter sprint at school, rather than coming last as she always had in real life. Buster was still pressed against her, oblivious, his pink tongue hanging out. “Looks like you got yourself a dog,” said Dr. Max, starting the engine. “Come on. We better find a pet store.”
DAY 21
Have a makeover