Chapter Twenty-Three
Kate
Secret Lovers by Atlantic Starr
It took approximately twenty-seven seconds for Tuesday morning on the ward to burst the bubble I’ve been floating in since Sunday night.
I hadn’t even got my coat off when a crash call was made and it was all hands on deck waiting for the crash team to arrive.
According to the clocks on the wall, Fernando had been resuscitated and whisked off to ICU in less than twenty minutes but it had felt like much, much longer.
Still, I was grateful I didn’t need to spend any time sitting in my cubicle reading about safely disposing needles because there was an endless list of things to delegate and do and before I knew it I’d skipped lunch, not taken so much as a pee break since I’d started, and visiting hours were about to begin.
And visiting hours meant Sharon.
As we fell asleep Sunday night, arms around each other, it hadn’t been my plan to sneak out the following morning.
Indeed, I’d fallen asleep entertaining a fantasy of us having breakfast together, maybe going for an autumnal walk before hopefully falling back into bed together again, but when I woke in the cold light of day, everything felt different.
It wasn’t that I wanted to escape Sharon. It was quite the opposite.
When I’d lifted my head and looked at her, her face more relaxed and youthful than I’d ever seen it, I realised I could quite happily have stayed there forever, staring at her sleeping.
Thoughts of diving under the duvet and waking her up with my tongue warred with the urge to just tuck myself into her side again and rejoin her in slumber.
And then the most audacious thought of all hit me, changing my body temperature and starting an ache inside my ribcage: what if this was how I woke up every morning, in bed with Sharon?
I felt entirely too much, too quickly, and I didn’t like it.
So I pushed against the pull that wanted me to stay by Sharon’s side and I crawled out of bed. I tiptoed to her living room, got dressed and left a note.
Laundry day. See you tomorrow. Florence Nightingale.
And then I left.
The wave of regret or disappointment, or just something ugly and heavy and awkward that I felt when I closed her front door and walked down her street, hasn’t left me completely.
It keeps hitting me when I least expect it, despite how busy I’ve been.
It made me pause when dispensing medicine this morning.
It hit me squarely between the eyes as I was doing a quick stock-take when we had a moment’s peace.
It made me lose my footing as I was helping my staff load up the linen cupboard with freshly washed sheets.
I suspect it’s not going to go away completely until I see Sharon Goldblatt come and visit Danny.
Danny. I’ve barely seen him all day. His curtains have been closed. He hasn’t called for any help. And he’d already had all his medication by the time I clocked in.
After a quick glance at my uniform watch, I make my way to his cubicle and call out from my side of the closed curtain.
“Danny, are you decent?”
“As I’ll ever be,” comes a croak of a reply.
I open the curtain enough to step in and then pull it back behind me. My smile is firmly in place as I lay eyes on Danny for the first time in two days, as it always is when I greet my patients, but I’m not confident it doesn’t wobble a little when I take in Danny’s appearance.
The lesion on his nose has grown. And darkened.
It dominates his face, which is otherwise grey and sallow, the skin looking more transparent than it should.
He’s wearing pyjamas that I suspect Sharon bought for him and the top is a little askew, revealing his jutting collarbone which hints at just how much weight he’s lost.
In an ideal world, I’d have enough time, staff or resources to monitor every single thing my patients eat, or don’t eat.
But that isn’t always possible. We do our best. We check with each other that they’ve been given food, and we make a note of those who were sleeping or otherwise disposed when the meal trolley came around.
When we notice severe weight loss, we inform the doctors but we’re much more eagle-eyed about how many fluids patients are taking in.
We’re much quicker to act when someone is showing signs of dehydration.
Sadly, weight loss – harsh clavicles, drawn skin, bony limbs – have become something we simply come to expect.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t shock us, or sadden us deeply when we see it.
“That bad, huh?” Danny says when I’ve been silent a second or two too long.
“I’ve seen worse,” I shrug before moving closer to him.
He attempts a laugh at that and it soothes my shock a little.
“I believe you,” he says. “We’re hardly London’s most beautiful queens.”
I sink into the seat that Sharon usually occupies. I expect warmth and softness, just like my experience of her body two nights ago, but it’s unwelcomingly cool and hard.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I tell him.
He shifts up in bed, trying to sit straighter. “Don’t feed me that bollocks. We’re all half-dead, wasting away and can’t even show off the new devastating cheekbones and jawlines we’ve acquired on account of us looking like lepers.”
“You know, I once had a patient with leprosy. You are much prettier than they were.”
“You really know how to flatter a girl.” He bats his eyelashes and I smile freely and easily this time.
“So, I suppose I should do my job,” I say. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like a clown with the plague.” He wriggles his nose.
I stand and lean in closer. “Yes, that’s a bad one. Does it hurt?” He shakes his head. “Hmm. And how are the sarcomas in your mouth?”
Danny swallows uncomfortably. “It feels like I gave the Devil a blow job.”
“Yes, those ones always seem to cause the most discomfort.”
“Lucky me.”
I sit back down and suddenly feel at a loss for what to say. So I say the first thing that pops into my mind.
“Sharon will be here soon.”
“Ah, is that why you’re here?” Danny’s thick moustache twitches as he smiles at me. It’s growing long. I will see if one of the girls has time to trim it later. “You’re waiting for her.”
A cold rush of panic freezes me and I drop eye contact. “What… no. I just thought you’d be happy to see her.”
“I see her every single day. I can’t escape the woman, which I say with love. A whole lot of love. But you… and her. That’s much newer. Much more exciting.”
When I look back up at him, his eyes have a sparkle I realise I haven’t seen for a while.
“She told you?” My mouth hangs open waiting for his answer.
“No.” He laces his fingers together across his belly in a satisfied gesture. “But you just did.”
My eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of my head. “You… you just… I didn’t… wait. Fuck,” I whisper-shout at him. The last thing I need is patients and my staff overhearing this conversation.
Danny starts to laugh and if I wasn’t feeling so flustered, so caught out, I’d enjoy every melodic note of the sound.
But then the curtain is pulled open and he promptly quietens. Sharon stands there, her gaze ping-ponging between us.
“What’s going on here?” Sharon asks as her lips kick up in a small smile.
In one hand she’s carrying her bag, full to the brim as always, and in the other is a plastic bag that’s also bursting at the sides.
At the top of the bag, I recognise a transparent plastic tub full of the Jewish pastries she gave me when I asked for a cup of tea.
“Kate was just about to tell me all about your secret love affair.” Danny grins smugly at his friend while I fight the urge to curl up into a ball and roll away.
“What?” Sharon’s shoulders fall.
“I didn’t, I swear… he…” I turn to Danny with a pointed finger. “He tricked me!”
“I did,” Danny says proudly. “And it worked perfectly.”
“But I didn’t tell him anything,” I pivot back to Sharon. “Not what happened on Sunday. No details, no—”
“Sunday, eh?” Danny interrupts. “I thought it had happened after the comic book thing.”
I open my mouth to tell him it did, but quickly close it again. I’ve gotten myself in enough trouble.
“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me yourself,” Danny says to Sharon. “You know I’d be happy for you.”
Sharon’s cheeks turn a ferocious shade of red. “Nothing happened.”
I snort. “That’s not true at all.”
“Nothing that I want to talk about, anyway. Nothing important.” Sharon doesn’t meet my eye.
My stomach doesn’t sink, it freefalls.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I say, brushing off my uniform and checking my watch again. I don’t have time for this.
“No, it’s not,” Sharon starts but then defeat seems to crash into her and she comes to a stop with a deep sigh. She drops the bags she was carrying. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Don’t mind me,” Danny says, holding his hands up. “In fact, pretend I’m not here. Talk away. Just a shame I don’t have any popcorn.”
“You wouldn’t eat it even if you did,” Sharon tsks at him. “Just to spite me.”
“Don’t be jealous of my lack of appetite,” he scolds her in a way that is somehow loving. “I am dying, remember.”
“Not quick enough,” she bites back with just as much affection.
For a moment, they share smiles that I sense contain secrets. Or just years of friendship. Or maybe more than that. Maybe something like family.
“I need to continue my rounds,” I say, stepping back.
“She’s running away,” Danny says to Sharon. “Because you basically dismissed your passionate fling as meaning nothing to you when we all know that’s not true.”
Sharon’s jaw hardens. “Danny.”
“I am not running away,” I state. “I have a job to do.”
“I wasn’t dismissing what happened.” Sharon steps in front of me as I try to navigate past her. Her voice is low, as if she doesn’t want Danny to hear, but I suspect it’s pointless.
“It’s fine,” I grit out, still not meeting her eye. “I have work to do.”
As soon as she’s out of my way, I rush past her and draw the curtain closed behind me with a firm tug.