She ran up the stairs up to Polly’s room on the second floor, ran along the corridor and knocked, and waited. What if Polly was unconscious or…? Polly wasn’t unconscious or dead. But she was obviously unwell. She opened the door for Emily and then lay on the bed looking paler than ever, with bluish lips and sweat on her upper lip. She had been sick—there was the sharp, unmistakable smell of it coming from the bathroom. “I think there’s something wrong with the chocolates,” Polly said. “I took a bite of one and…” She shuddered and lay back on the bed, eyes closed. A small trickle of drool appeared at the corner of her mouth, which she wiped with her fingers. “I’ve called a doctor.” Emily handed her a tissue. “Maybe we should get it tested for, I don’t know, can you get salmonella in chocolates? We should get it tested to see if there was something wrong with it.” “Good idea,” said Polly. “But I flushed that one.” She lay quietly for a few moments, and then she said, “There was a weird taste in it.
