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taking a mile. ‘What if I say no?’
    Carla shrugged. ‘Then it doesn’t happen. We call the BBC and tell them we can’t do it.’
    Sam thought it over. It was a foolish man who went against the wishes of the Chief Executive, even a fair one. Carla had been highly supportive of the cardiothoracic centre, giving the go-ahead for the expansion of the team and acquisition of several expensive bits of equipment, and they needed to keep that support. And then there was the important fact that she would be on his interview panel. ‘Fifteen minutes? And then that’s it?’
    ‘A quote for the press release and a fifteen minute interview,’ she said, the hope rising in her voice. ‘Then that’s it.’
    ‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘But on one condition. I do this one interview and then that’s it; no more interviews, no more comments. Nothing.’
    Carla held out her hand and smiled. ‘You have my word, Sam.’
     
     
     
     
    6
     
     
     
    ‘You’re doing what?’
    ‘I didn’t feel I had a choice,’ Sam admitted, as Louisa shook her head. They were in a quiet part of the hospital cafeteria, out of earshot from the other staff and patients. ‘I know it sounds terrible, but in two weeks I’m going to be facing Carla Conway across an interview table, and I don’t want to make an enemy.’
    ‘So you do whatever she says,’ Louisa replied. Her face was flushed with anger. Louisa didn’t often get angry, or at least hid it well, and the strength of her reaction took Sam by surprise.
    ‘I’ve got more than just me to think about, Lou,’ Sam explained. ‘If everything goes to plan I’ll have a family to support in just under nine months. And it’s just fifteen minutes.’
    Louisa shook her head again, unconvinced.
    ‘They have helped me today, dealing with the media enquiries. And Carla’s right. If I don’t go along with this, the press will come right to my door. At least this way there’s some control.’
    ‘I’m just worried about you, Sam,’ Louisa said, softening.
    They paused for a second as someone approached them. The white-haired late to middle aged man was wearing a distinctive neon yellow puffer style coat, like something you’d expect to see on a roadside worker. He fixed his sights on Louisa.
    ‘Miss Owen, I, I, I’d like to speak, to, to...’
    ‘Richard, now isn’t a good time,’ Louisa interrupted with uncharacteristic abruptness. ‘We’re seeing each other on Friday. Remember what we agreed?’
    The man’s face pursed as if in heavy contemplation. ‘Of c, c, course,’ he said, his eyes drifting to the floor. ‘Sorry, to, to, bother you, Miss, Miss Owen.’
    He turned, his head lowered, and moved off, quicker than Sam had expected, obviously agitated. They both followed his journey, weaving around the tables and chairs, until he disappeared out of sight, through the main exit doors.
    ‘He’s a patient?’ Sam asked.
    Louisa nodded. ‘Richard Friedman. I’m having a few problems with him. I really hate being like that with people, but sometimes you have to be quite firm.’
    ‘Want to talk?’
    ‘It’s okay,’ Louisa dismissed. ‘The guy is struggling to come to terms with a bereavement. He’s just a little clingy. I can handle it. Anyway, you’re not changing the subject on me, Sam,’ she said, ‘we’re talking about you and this silly radio appearance.’
    ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
    ‘I am worried about you, Sam. ‘I just don’t think that this is a very good idea when you’re still coming to terms with what happened. Yesterday was a massively traumatic event, even for someone like you who deals with death every day.’
    Louisa was right, of course. ‘I’ll be okay.’
    ‘But will you? You were nearly killed yesterday – yesterday for goodness sake. And today, instead of speaking to a counsellor about things, or speaking to your friend, who just so happens to be a clinical psychologist, you’ll be talking to a DJ on national radio.’
    ‘I know, I