Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Positives?!” My scoff is an outburst in itself. “Where exactly are all these positives?”
“His sense of humour. His cognitive functions are strong. He’s also not in much pain or discomfort.”
I shake my head. “That sounds an awful lot like crumbs to me.”
“Sometimes crumbs are all we have. Doesn’t mean they don’t taste good.”
“If you’re trying to be profound,” I hold her gaze, “I’m not sure it’s working.”
“I’m not. I’m just trying to get through this shift without one of my patients and his visitor having a scuffle.”
I sigh and that helps dislodge some of the tightness in my chest. Not all of it. Some of it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just don’t feel like I’m doing anything right. You don’t honestly think sneaking him out of here is a good idea?”
Kate shrugs again. “He wouldn’t be the first or the last. For some patients, being at home brings a great deal of comfort. I will never deny any of my patients that.”
“And by being at home, you mean dying at home?”
“Sharon.” She squeezes my arm before releasing me completely. “We’ve talked about this. I can’t predict the future. For Danny, for you, for me, for anyone.”
“So what should I do?” I keep my tone level but I suspect my eyes reveal how much I’m imploring her to give me the answers.
Smart as always, Kate has her own translation of my question.
“Right now, I think you should go give out whatever treats you have made for everyone. Go sit with Mr Fredericks and fill in some of your crossword clues. Read to Jonathan. Say welcome back to Deepak who can’t talk much because he was intubated for so long, but he likes to listen to people read Hello!
magazine gossip to him. When visiting hours are over, pop in and say goodbye to Danny and I’m pretty sure you’ll both be feeling a bit better.
” She steps closer, eyes darkening. “But if not, come and find me and I’ll make you forget everything for a few minutes. ”
It feels like I have a knot between my legs and somebody is pulling it tight.
“And could I try… could I try to make you…”
I don’t say the words. Kate knows what I’m asking because I’ve asked it every single day this week.
“When we have more time.” She checks her watch. “I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. But later?”
“Yes, later.” She smiles at me, the kind of smile I’ve started to audaciously think may just be for me. “Come and find me.”
“I will,” I say, and then she’s gone.
*****
Strangely enough, I follow Kate’s advice almost to the letter.
I sit next to Mr Fredericks for almost an hour and he helps me complete a handful of crossword clues while we both eat the kichel biscuits I made.
He then tells me he’s too tired to keep his eyes open, but with them closed he tells me all about his childhood living in what is now Botswana, where he would play under the baobab tree, help his father herd cattle and count down the days of the week until he would eat Magwinya on Sundays, a doughnut-like dessert he described to me in vivid detail.
I think about him growing up there sixty years ago, and I wonder if the little boy he was had any idea where he would eventually end up.
After Mr Fredericks eventually falls asleep, I tiptoe out of his cubicle and head to Jonathan, but he too is sleeping.
After closing his curtain completely, I make my way to Deepak, who I also suspect will be asleep, but his eyes spring open as I approach.
He smiles at me and it magically adds some colour to his sallow complexion.
“Welcome back,” I tell him. “Would you like a biscuit?”
I hold the tin up so he can see it. He tries to say something but it comes out as a thin rasp. When he repeats the noise, I manage to detect what he’s trying to say. I can’t even imagine how he managed to shout out his return last night. Or maybe that’s what cost him his voice.
“Later?”
He nods.
I leave two on a napkin by his bed.
He smiles again and I gesture to the chair, asking if I can sit down. He gives me another nod and another smile.
I pick up a nearby Hello! magazine. “Stop me when you want me to read on,” I tell him and then I work my way through the byline of each article.
Much to my surprise, Deepak is only interested in news about the various royal families across Europe.
He then gets me to read a few paragraphs from the society pages and nods sagely like he knows all the London aristocracy mentioned personally.
Occasionally he grunts for me to stop when he wants my assistance taking long sips from the straw in a cup that’s placed by his bed.
He winces with every suck and every swallow.
When I’m finished with the newspaper, I explain I want to see Danny before visiting hours are over and he gives me another winning smile.
I could be lying to myself, but I feel like his brown skin is warmer and brighter following my visit, even if the grey puddles under his eyes aren’t going anywhere.
“Say hi from me,” he rasps out. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at this. The fact he’s clearly a bit taken by Danny fills my heart with joy, only for it to fade away when I think about how he can’t even make the fifteen-yard journey to go and sit by Danny’s side.
I squeeze his forearm before I leave. He grips my hand, stopping me from taking it away.
“Thank you,” he grunts and while the words fill me with a warmth I want to treasure, I wish he hadn’t hurt himself so much to say it.
“I’ll be back again tomorrow,” I tell him.
He nods and releases me.
I open Danny’s curtain slowly, cautious that he too could have fallen asleep, but when my eyes land on him he’s sat up in bed with headphones on. I follow their wire and see it lead to the portable radio I brought in for him a while ago.
“It’s Top 40 time,” he says, lifting the headphones away from one ear.
“So it is,” I say.
“Want to listen with me?” He pats the bed next to him. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to fit on there comfortably. But there’s also no way I’m going to say no to this olive branch.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll stay until Florence Nightingale kicks me out.”
He unplugs the headphones and the tinny but recognisable sound of Whitney Houston’s powerful vocals reaches my ears. It’s her song, I’m Your Baby Tonight, and it’s exactly the kind of music Danny would love to dance to while trying to get me to dance with him.
“She’s not going to kick you out,” he says, shifting over slightly to give me more room. “Not until she’s had her wicked way with you. Again.”
I blush so furiously it’s a great relief I’m facing away from him as I move to sit on the bed.
He’s been teasing me about Kate all week. And all week I haven’t confirmed or denied if what he suspects is true.
I know I should. I owe him that much. Maybe Kate’s right. Maybe he could even be happy for me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble before settling back on the bed. I wasn’t wrong. It’s an almost uncomfortable squeeze sitting side by side on this single hospital bed. But it’s also the only place in the world I want to be.
I find Danny’s hand in mine and close my eyes, listening to the song play out.
“Juliet kissed me,” he says out of nowhere.
“Juliet?”
“The woman I went on a date with before I came back here. We had dinner. Empanadas and red wine. Was delicious. Then we went dancing together at Turnmills, this club in Clerkenwell. Super trendy. She kissed me on the dance floor and I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope. A little seed that could maybe grow into a beautiful flower.
But then this concealer I’d been using on a lesion on my neck rubbed off – it was hot and sweaty in the club – and she knew exactly what it was. She knew exactly what I was.”
“Oh, Danny, you’re—” I begin. I’m ashamed to admit I’m prompted to speak as much because I want him to stop talking, to stop chipping away at my heart.
“No, Sharon.” He taps our hands against my leg. “I know what I am. I should have told her. I should have told her earlier. That was my mistake.”
“You didn’t put her in danger. Kissing is fine. You can do that!” I protest.
“I lied to her. And I lied to myself, for a long, long time. And now look at the mess I’m in.”
“You’re not in a mess,” I say. I can’t give him an alternative word for what’s happening so I just repeat the statement, with a slight variation. “You’re not a mess.”
“She slapped me, you know,” he says with a rough laugh. “Left a rosy-red handprint on my cheek. I’ve never been slapped before like that. And on the dance floor of a straight club, of all places!”
I can hear how much he’s trying. Trying to spin the story so it has humour in it.
“I’m sorry that happened,” I say simply, unable to find any of it amusing.
“I quite enjoyed it,” he says, still trying. “The slap, I mean. I didn’t like what she called me quite as much.”
“What a bitch,” I hiss.
“No, she’s not,” Danny says, his tone gentler once more. “She was just scared. Like we all are.”
I nuzzle against his shoulder, reminding him I’m here. I’m scared, but I’m still here.
“Can you imagine if that’s my last performance on a dance floor?” he asks, the effort to make it funny back again. “Getting slapped by a woman. How tragic is that?”
“You’ll dance again,” I say, wondering if I can make it true just by saying it over and over again. “You’ll dance again, Danny. I just know it.”
“Maybe,” he says, and there’s nothing but exhaustion in that word.
I close my eyes as he rests his head on mine and I wait for him to fall asleep.
“Adventure,” Danny says a minute or two later as Mark Goodier introduces the next song.
“What?”
“Your crossword clue. Five down.”
I reach for the paper and check the crossword. It fits. “You’re absolutely right, you clever fucker.”
Danny doesn’t say anything as I tuck my head back under his. I close my eyes again and yet, somehow, I know he’s smiling. I feel it. And that makes me smile too.