Soupçons naissants (Blooming Detectives #1)

To be honest, the rest of the day was all a bit of a blur involving a very loud postman, a broken window, a somewhat invasive hospital visit, endless questions from various medical professionals, and a pretty confident diagnosis of retrograde amnesia. Brought on by a fall down some stairs. Or an electric shock. Or a bit of both. No one seemed entirely sure and I certainly couldn’t throw any light on the subject, despite some impressive and demanding facial expressions from a woman with platinum blonde hair, more pairs of glasses on her head than eyes, and a face that said either hard living or hard booze. When she’d first arrived, moments before the rapid response unit from the hospital, she’d introduced herself as Doctor Thomas, the local witch doctor. A joke, I assumed, and chalked the terrible sense of humour up to stress brought on by severe memory loss, although I’m not sure if the fault was hers or mine. I hadn’t noticed at the house, but under the stark hospital lights, her tweed and knitwear were a clash of brown and the most obnoxious shade of orange, topped off with lime green running shoes.

She didn’t look a day under seventy, but the bright red lipstick might have skewed the guesstimate. Impressed by the lack of creaky knees as she bent down to pick up a pair of glasses she’d tried to shove onto her head only for the three already up there to object, I guessed she was a very good doctor to keep herself in such tiptop condition. Or a lot younger than she looked. Maybe she really was a witch. Or a vampire. Were vampiric doctors a thing? At least as a medical professional, she’d have access to fresh blood without the need for death and mayhem.

“How’re you feeling, Essie?” Doctor Thomas asked, welsh accent lilting and hands patting pockets, presumably for one of the pairs of glasses remaining on her head.

“Like I fell down some stairs,” I replied, ably demonstrating that, unlike my posterior, there was nothing wrong with my funny bone.

She smiled. “You look like it too.”

I tried to smile back but was surprised to find myself sniffling, eyes welling with tears, and emotions running rampant. It seemed the shock had finally caught up with me. As I struggled to stop shaking, Doctor Thomas backed away, rapidly, like I was a volatile explosive ready to detonate at any moment. To be fair, that’s an accurate description of how I was feeling. I needed a hug. Desperately. Instead, the possibly undead doctor stood, back pressed firmly to the wall, and fiddled with her glasses while I fought to pull myself together. Once she was sure I wasn’t going to get my feelings all over her, she shoved a clipboard under my nose, told me to sign it, and then power-walked out of the room without a backward glance. I guessed that meant I was free to go.