And then I leave, relieved.

I wake up, alone.

When I open my eyes, at first I think I’m in my dad’s hospital room.

That terrible TCP smell, along with something sour. Sterile lights above me on the ceiling. Ugly hospital curtains.

But then my brain un-fuzzes a bit and I realize that would be impossible.

My left leg is sore, so I look down and see that it’s in a cast.

I check my hands, and they’re not broken.

I check the rest of me, and I am sore all over, but most of the soreness is in my leg, so I think I am generally okay.

And then I remember that image I saw before I blacked out on the road – the smiling cartoon cow with a glass of milk in its hoof.

One of life’s sick jokes.

My phone is on the bedside table. The screen is even more cracked, but it still works.

And I didn’t have my camera on me, so it’s still at the hotel – talk about good luck. (Good luck may be a stretch when you’ve just been run over, but I am alive and I think I have just dodged me a massive bullet.)

New message to Mia:

Actually got hit by a milk lorry, no joke. Am OK but I’ve broken my left leg. In hospital now.

An instant message back:

Do you ever take anything seriously?

I think about this for a second.

I’m pretty sure you told me I took things too seriously.

And then I add:

You sound a bit confused, if you ask me.

And I feel her tossing her phone and walking away, 6,000 miles to my left.

T

WENTY

-O

NE

Wow, you look awful, says Akemi, sitting next to my bed.

Really awful.

And I say, I feel pretty awful. I feel like I have been hit really hard by a milk lorry.

She says, Actually, it was just a van.

She tells me the doctor told her I was very lucky not to have sustained further injuries, that if the van driver had been going just a couple miles faster I could easily have ended up with two broken legs, or broken ribs, or broken arms, or a broken neck, or punctured lungs, or head trauma leading to loss of speech and memory and the ability to eat, or I could have tetraplegia, or quadriplegia, or I could be in a deep coma right now and never wake up ever – or all of the above.

She tells me the van driver was reading a message on his phone, and didn’t see me until he’d felt something like a cow hit his van. She tells me he’d already been involved in another road accident a few months ago – where the guy he hit did end up in a coma, woke up FUBAR and had to kiss his wife and two kids bye bye – and that it was outrageous that this piece of trash was still allowed to be on the road behind the wheel, that if she was in charge she’d have stripped away his driver’s licence, banned him from driving for life and put him in prison for a long, long time.

The more I hear, the more I feel like some sort of miracle has happened.

I think back to the bowling alley and when Charles Hu asked me if I believed in fate – if I was destined to meet him in the doughnut shop.

If I was destined to survive getting squished by a milk van pretty much intact.

If I was, in fact, destined to be dumped by Mia.

I say to Akemi, When can I get out of here?

And she says, They just need to keep you for another night, and then you can be discharged.

She says, You’ll need someone to be with you for a while, until your leg’s healed up properly. I’ve got to work, but I talked to my dad and he said you could stay at his place.

He’s a bit intense, she says, but he’s got a nice place at least.

I spent the last of my money on the flight back home, and I rinsed my scrawny savings coming out here, so I am, essentially, flat broke. That means no more hotel, and I don’t want to ask Charles, because, well, that’s obvious.

So I’m thinking how staying with Akemi’s dad might be a good idea. It would give me some time to get my head straight before I talk to Mia properly, too.

I say, that’s really kind, thanks.

And then I say, Peeing feels weird when you’re in bed and you don’t have to take your trousers off and you’ve got a tube stuck up your thing.

And then my bladder empties, and empties, and empties, and it’s the only thing in my body that feels good right now.

T

WENTY

-T

WO

The next morning, and even though I’ve only been in hospital for a day and two nights, I feel like I’ve been here for infinity.

Breakfast was on a par with aeroplane food (I hate aeroplane food), and I am desperate, gagging, to get out of here, because I also hate hospitals.