[[[the wonderful mess that we've made]]] [[[part iii]]]

38.

The car ride was long and boring, only punctured by having to stop so Lily could be sick by the side of the road. I wasn't sure if it was the painkillers or her head injury. The sooner we were home the better. She slept most of it, curled up on my lap.

'Thanks for doing this, Dick.' I said from the back seat. He didn't have to agree to drive us home. It was his job to get me and the band around. Not someone's wife. Woody had rung his mum to tell her what had happened and they had suggested she come stay with them for a while. Lily, being Lily, declined the offer and insisted she would be fine in her flat.

'What floor are you on?' I asked. I had no idea where she lived, other than it was a flat in North London.

'The seventh. But the lift sometimes works. So I'll be ok.' I gave her a disapproving look. There wasn't even any point in offering her a place to stay at mine, because I knew her well enough to gauge her response.

We got on the ferry from France without being checked, so she didn't have to hide in the boot like an illegal immigrant. We docked in Dover then it was a couple of hours back to the capital, where she and I went straight to A and E. They took one look at her and admitted her right away.

The afternoon consisted of CT scans on her head and leg to check for any brain damage and debris, being hooked up to morphine and her sleeping some more. I was just glad we were home and she was getting the medical attention she needed.