Chapter Eleven
Sharon
I shouldn’t be here. I should have left hours ago.
Visiting hours are long over and it’s only because the staff have been dealing with an upset patient at the other end of the ward that I think I’ve gotten away with it.
I don’t plan on spending the whole night here, with Danny, but I don’t want to leave him just yet. I don’t want him to be alone.
And honestly, I don’t want to be alone either.
When I made him promise me he’d go back to hospital if he started to feel unwell, in the back of my mind I thought we had weeks, maybe even months.
Despite the lesions looking so angry and new ones appearing almost daily, I thought we had time.
He was still working. He was still going to the pub after work.
He even went on that date with that girl, although he didn’t say a word about it.
In fact, it was the morning after that date that I heard him vomiting and he asked me to call in sick for him at his work.
That evening, when I returned from work and saw he’d barely moved from his bed, hadn’t touched the plate of biscuits I’d left for him, I told him that he needed to get admitted, but he asked for the night to start feeling better.
But that only brought him more trips to the bathroom and even less food and water passing his lips.
He fell asleep eventually in the early hours and I let him rest, but Friday morning, I called in sick for work and was ready to put my foot down as soon as he did wake.
As it happened, he didn’t even fight me. Just asked me to help him shower and pack a bag.
Danny’s been asleep for the last few hours and I’m starting to think he won’t wake before night falls.
Even despite the racket of some poor man somewhere on the ward constantly moaning and groaning, asking for his wallet and telling people not to touch him.
I tell myself this is a good thing. That Danny isn’t awake to hear the distress that curdles my insides.
That he needs to sleep. What he said was true, about not sleeping much the last few weeks, but I know he’s done little else but sleep the last two days.
It’s almost like something happened during his date on Wednesday that knocked the wind out of him, the wind that was keeping him going.
I want to ask him. I want to know. But I also don’t want to have him waste his energy, especially if it’s not a happy story. And something about the way my stomach churns tells me it’s not a happy story.
Lighting up my Casio, I see it’s gone seven o’clock in the evening.
The food that was brought to him just before visiting hours ended is still on its tray on the table next to his bed, the potatoes looking more congealed than mashed, and the skin on the leg of chicken wrinkled and dry-looking, but I don’t want to put it outside or try and get rid of it.
I don’t want to alert anyone to my presence.
That’s why I’m sitting with my feet up on the bed, so nobody can see my shoes on the floor should they look under the curtains.
I’m sitting here reading the edition of Lady Phantom that Kate gave me for the umpteenth time, knowing I’m going to have to hand it back to her once I’m finally discovered.
As if thinking summons her, I’m aware of Kate’s voice as it comes a little closer.
“Noel,” she says loudly and firmly, and for the first time in possibly over an hour, the groaning quietens. “I’ve got your wallet.”
“Oh! Oh!” The man’s tone changes completely, from distressed to delighted. “My wallet! My wallet!”
“Yes, here you go.”
There’s some rustling and I find myself straining to listen.
“Oh, thank you, thank you. Was it in the kitchen like I told you, Clara?” he asks.
“Yes, Noel,” Kate says, all calm and level. “That’s where I found it.”
“Oh no, oh no,” he mumbles and the upset creeps back in. “All my money is gone.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, look. All my money is gone.” He starts to whimper again and I brace myself for more sobbing, more agony.
“Oh, but that’s because you spent it,” Kate replies.
“Did I?”
“Yes, you bought me dinner, do you remember?”
“Dinner?”
“Last night,” Kate says. “It was delicious. We ate pizza and drank red wine.”
“Red wine? What kind?”
“An Italian one. You know I don’t know the names very well.”
“I bet it was a Valpolicella. That’s the best Italian red wine there is.”
“You know, I think it was.”
I can almost hear a smile in Kate’s voice and I find myself imagining it all too clearly. She may have only cracked a real smile in my presence once or twice – always when talking to Danny, not me – but my mind is only too quick to recall it.
“Pizza… what kind of pizza?”
“I had vegetarian, and you had… salami.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you said it was very good, but not as good as the pizza you ate in Naples a few years ago. With Marco.”
“Marco.” The way Noel says that name sounds so utterly different from the man who was calling out in pain and sadness just minutes ago that a tear comes to my eye. “Mi amor, Marco.”
It’s not just one tear that slips out but several. I wipe each one away like they’re traitors.
“Yes, Marco. You were telling me all about him last night.”
“Mi amor, Marco,” he says again. He sounds tired.
“Would you like to sleep now, Noel?” Kate asks, her voice even softer and I don’t know why but I imagine her stroking hair off his face even though I don’t know what he looks like, if he even has any hair. “Would you like Clara to help you sleep?”
“Mummy,” he says out of nowhere, his voice high-pitched and childlike. I bring a hand to my mouth to stop an unexpected sob from leaving me. “Mummy.”
There’s a beat. I wonder what Kate is seeing, thinking, feeling.
“Mummy’s here, Noel. Mummy’s here.”
Noel mumbles something incoherent and I’m almost grateful I can’t hear it. I look at Danny, at how boy-like he looks with his eyelashes curled on the tops of his cheeks and his lips slightly parted. I wipe more tears away.
And then there’s silence.
Or as close to silence as you can get on a London hospital ward.
*****
I must have drifted off to sleep at some point because when I hear the sharp whoosh of the curtain being pulled back, it jolts me awake and lifts my head off my hand which had been holding it, along with a small puddle of drool.
Startled, half-asleep, and immediately guilty, I stare at Kate who doesn’t seem surprised in the least to see me.
“What time is it?” I ask instead of apologising or explaining, which I feel is what she expects as she stares at me.
“Long past visiting hours,” she says without checking her watch. She clasps her hands in front of her like she often does. It makes her look annoyingly composed.
The weight of her expectations – for that apology or explanation – seems to grow and fill the room. I straighten up and ignore it.
“I heard you with the other patient,” I say. “Noel.”
Her hands stay clasped but her face loses some of its composure.
“AIDS-related dementia again. It really is one of the cruellest illnesses they can get.” Her voice is level but it still cracks on the last word. I don’t blame her.
I nod. “I can imagine.”
“They don’t all get it,” she tells me with her eyes on Danny who is still fast asleep, although he has changed positions, curled up on his side away from me.
“Who is Clara to him?”
“His sister.” Kate moves to the other side of the bed and crouches down to check Danny. When she straightens up, she reaches for his wrist and takes his pulse. “She came to visit him once. But never returned.”
“Shit.”
“Yes, but it’s not unusual. People come after they’re told their loved one is here, but they come to say goodbye. Then it’s done. As far as they’re concerned, their brother, their son, their friend, their partner or boyfriend, they’re already gone.”
I’m swamped with the physical urge to climb up on Danny’s bed and wrap my arms around him.
“And Marco?”
“His boyfriend. From Florence. He died last year. AIDS.”
A single hot tear slips out of my right eye. I let it fall.
“We’re losing so many of them,” I say in a whisper, but I know Kate hears when she looks up at me. We stare at each other in silence for what feels like a minute, maybe more.
“I don’t mind you staying here late,” she says as she suddenly drops our eye contact, looking at Danny again. “But I would rather know about it. And maybe…”
She stops talking, as if she’s realising what she’s about to say is ridiculous.
“What?” I prompt her.
“Maybe you could sit with the other men. On the ward. Some of them would appreciate the company. If Danny’s asleep, I mean.”
I feel my back elongate and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Yes, I could do that.”
“Good. But you will need to go soon. We’ll be turning the lights off in twenty minutes and trying to get some quiet on the ward.”
Nodding, I start to gather my things. All the animosity I felt for Kate when she opened that curtain a moment ago has completely evaporated. I pick up the Lady Phantom comic and hand it to her.
“Here,” I say. “I’m glad I could give it back to you.”
“Oh, thank you.” She takes it and then immediately rolls it up, the cover on the inside. I wonder if she’s embarrassed by the idea of her colleagues knowing she reads comics.
“And I’m starting to think you were right,” I say, standing up and looping my bag over my shoulder.
Kate blinks at me, then looks confused.
“About Lady Phantom and the Director,” I explain. “I think there is something there.”
Her face crinkles, that’s the only way I can describe it. Little lines bunching up in the corners of her eyes, her nose wrinkling and her lips pouting. “Of course I’m right.”
I can’t help but laugh. This woman’s obstinacy knows no bounds.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say and take a step forward. “In visiting hours.”
“Actually, no, you won’t. I have a day off tomorrow, which I sorely need.”
I fight the sudden and unwanted feeling of disappointment I feel at this development.
“Okay, well, Sunday then.” I lean over and squeeze Danny’s leg as gently as I can.
My hand is on the curtain when Kate’s voice comes and it’s not saying goodbye.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks.
I turn and look at her, hands clasped in front of her skirt again, but her face isn’t quite as calm as it was earlier. Her eyes study me eagerly.
“I was planning on trying to hide in here after visiting hours again.”
Her lips twitch into the briefest smile. “Would you like to come to a comic book event in the West End? AJ Ripley is doing a—”
“Meet and greet,” I finish for her, my eyes going wide. “Yes, I know. You have tickets?”
“Yes, I have two. And one is spare.”
“I’ll go with you,” I rush to answer. I don’t even have to think about it.
Which is probably a mistake, because fifteen minutes later, when I’m sitting at the bus stop, staring into the night, the excitement starts to fade and a very real panic sets in.
What the fuck did I just agree to?