Chapter Thirty
Sharon
Love Changes (Everything) by Climie Fisher
Apparently impending doom can shapeshift.
It can be transferred from one sad situation to another.
It can morph from one form to another while still inflicting the same uncomfortable dread on someone, on me.
That’s what happened at some point between Sunday evening when Kate left my flat, and Monday morning when I arrived on the ward.
I shouldn’t be angry, not really. Our Sunday was as close to a perfect day as you can have when it’s played out under the shadow of a literal deadline that will burst the bubble you find yourself in.
I woke first with half of Kate’s body sprawled across me, making me realise she didn’t roll off me before she fell asleep.
After ten or so minutes matching my breaths to her slow inhales and sleepy exhales, I couldn’t stand it.
It was all too fucking perfect; the kind of morning I had fantasised about for years and years, not fully believing I was even entitled to such perfection. So I got up.
Half an hour later when I returned to the bedroom with a tray of French toast and tea for us both, I lied and told Kate I’d gotten up because I was hungry. She didn’t question me and tucked into breakfast after briefly kissing me on the lips with an air of domesticity that literally stung.
We ate mostly in silence. I wondered if she had been processing our conversations the night before. And then I debated whether she was reliving the orgasms I’d given her. I was too shy to admit I was doing both.
After, Kate did the washing up while I showered, and then she accosted me before I was even one foot inside the bedroom. She ripped my towel off my body, pushed me on the bed and thrust my legs open wide enough for her to climb between them.
She made me come with her mouth on my cunt.
She made me come with her fingers inside me – four of them.
She made me come by climbing on top of me, turning to face away from me, and slotting her legs between mine.
She moved her body in a way I didn’t even know was possible to brush our clits against each other, not on every stroke or every thrust but enough.
Oh God, was it enough. When we came together, I had to bite back my tears.
After more cuddles in bed, Kate panicked about her uniforms still being in the washing machine but I explained how I had already hung them out to dry, so she dragged me back into the shower where we washed each other’s bodies while using our fingers to coax even more orgasms from each other.
At one point, I’d looked down at her, water rushing over both our faces, and she’d smiled at me with an air of conquest or conspiracy. Her smile made me feel like nothing in the world could hurt us and I almost lost my balance as a realisation slammed into me, loud and clear.
How could this be wrong? How could I ever have thought this was wrong?
We spent the afternoon in my living room.
I cooked lunch and made more tea. We read Lady Phantom comics and argued over which issue was the best. I insisted on ironing her uniforms but I didn’t even finish one before she batted me out of the way because she could do it much quicker.
I didn’t admit that she was right. Then there was more tea, more cuddles on the sofa and she watched Gardeners’ World and Antiques Roadshow while I read the Sunday Times, and deliberately ignored the crossword so I could do it with Danny. Or, more likely, with Mr Fredericks.
We didn’t talk about Danny other than Kate laughing at his ‘No. 1 Daddy’ mug and rolling her eyes at his Men’s Health collection.
We didn’t talk about the impending doom that was waiting for us both at the hospital, and we definitely didn’t talk about the impending doom that was already in the room with us, like a blanket, making everything a little heavier and harder.
I wanted to talk more about what we’d discussed the night before.
About us. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to worry about me.
That I wouldn’t leave her, if that was what she was scared about.
I wanted to grab her and tell her that I had never felt this way about anyone before and I didn’t want to throw it away, ever.
I wanted her to know I was real and I was here to stay.
But that all felt like too much. It all felt like the kind of outburst that would pop the bubble we had found ourselves in.
At seven in the evening, Kate had slipped out of the room for a few minutes and returned dressed in her Lady Phantom outfit with one of my knitted jumpers over the top. It drowned her, reaching down to her knees.
“Is it okay if I borrow this?” she asked.
“Sure,” I smiled, flattered she wanted to.
“And by borrow, I mean you’re never going to see it again.”
I laughed, which shouldn’t have been possible when I knew exactly what she was going to say next.
“It’s been the best twenty-four hours,” she told me. “But I have to go now.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow though?”
I nodded again. Words were becoming harder.
“You know what I said, about Danny. I really might be wrong,” she said.
“I’ll throw another party if you are,” I said with a dry throat.
“And thank you,” she said.
“All I did was wash your—”
“No, not for that,” she interjected. “For listening to me talk about… things last night and for not making it about us.”
The impending doom seemed to creep closer but also get a bit thinner, like smoke thinning out.
“It’s okay,” is all I could say.
Kate opened her mouth but then closed it after a beat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said eventually.
And then she was gone.
I didn’t have long to wallow with nothing but impending doom for company.
It was a mere twelve hours before I was waking up after a restless sleep and getting ready to be here because I refuse to wait for visiting hours when I don’t know how much longer I have with Danny left.
It’s now approaching nine-thirty and I know instinctively upon pushing through the ward’s double door entrance that I am not going to have any time with Kate until her shift is over.
Not one of the nursing team is at the nurses’ station.
They’re all scattered across the ward, busy with patients, or moving about quickly with frowns of concentration.
I can’t even see Kate but I know enough to see anything like quality time is not going to be an option today.
Not that I think I’m entitled to quality time with her. I don’t. I just… want it.
But I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life, haven’t got them and survived. I’ll survive this too.
All that confidence shatters when I pull back the curtain and see Danny lying in bed.
It’s only been a day and a half since I saw him last but he looks so different, so unlike the king of the dance floor he was on Saturday night.
He’s sleeping, so his eyes are closed, but they still seem sunken in his skull, like they’re being swallowed by his eye sockets.
His skin hangs thin but tight across his cheekbones and his lips are slightly parted, making the sharp line of his jaw more prominent.
I’m momentarily stunned by the severe angle of his clavicle peeking out of the opening of his pyjama top, but then his eyes flicker open.
“Good morning. What are you gawping at?” Danny says in a very scratchy voice.
“You sleeping in on a Monday morning, as usual,” I say and I deserve a medal for delivering a joke when I feel like I could vomit with how queasy I feel.
To hide my face, I step inside his curtained cubicle and turn to pull the material closed behind me.
I dump my bag by the chair next to his bed and then sit down.
It’s only then that I’m very aware of the strong smell of urine.
I stand again. “Danny, are you…?”
His lost eyes open a little wider. “Oh, fuck. Did I do it again?”
Again? I resist the urge to bring a hand to my belly. Yes, the smell is violent but that’s not the reason I want to try and settle my stomach.
“We’ll have you cleaned up in no time,” I say and after offering him what I hope is my most confident and reassuring smile, I leave his cubicle.
I don’t move immediately. I can’t move. Instead, I take in a long, deep breath and hold it inside my lungs until it starts to burn.
Then I exhale, and look for Kate. I feel my relief viscerally when I spot her emerging from another closed cubicle, her hand busy writing on that notepad she keeps in the pockets of her uniform. I stride over to her.
“Kate,” I whisper-shout.
She looks up and sees me on the approach. Her face goes from confused to smiling to concerned and I know the worry and dismay must be plain to see on my face.
“What is it?” she asks briskly.
I step as close to her as I can without it seeming odd. “Danny wet the bed,” I say. “I know I could ask someone else, but could you… would you help me?”
She stares at me without saying anything or even revealing what she’s possibly thinking and then she nods. “Of course,” she says and she marches off, not waiting to see if I follow.
Of course Kate has done this one hundred, maybe one thousand times before, but still, her professionalism and efficiency is something to be applauded.
In the entrance to the linen cupboard – one of our secret places – she hands me clean sheets, disposable gloves and towels to bring, and she orders a passing nurse to bring warm soapy water to Danny’s cubicle.