Chapter 2
Alfie
‘There he is! Alfie Mack, the luckiest son of a bitch I know!’
He didn’t need to pull the curtain back to know who had come to visit him – he would never be able to forget that voice, even if he’d wanted to.
‘Not quite
so lucky when they chopped my leg off, but you win some, you lose some, right?’
‘Can’t argue with that one.’ Matty shrugged. ‘Anyway, how have you been, buddy? By the way, I can’t stay long today, got to pick the missus up and go for lunch with the in-laws.’
It was normal for everyone to make their excuses to leave before they’d even taken a seat, and Alfie was grateful to Matty for at least asking how he was first.
‘Yeah, no worries, I’ve got a fairly packed day too.’
‘Really?’
Alfie could tell he was only half listening.
‘Oh yeah, it’s relentless in here. The main challenge is trying to guess the number of times Mr Peterson will get up and go to the toilet this morning. Normally we average a good seven, but if he has a sip of that apple juice, it could be anything up to ten.’
A disgruntled voice rang out across the ward. ‘When you’re ninety-two and your bladder is about as taut as a dead duck’s arse, you’ll be pissing constantly too.’
‘It’s all right, Mr P, there’s no judgement here. Although, are you sure you weren’t a writer in another life? Your vocabulary is downright poetic.’
The old man across the way in bed fourteen broke into a smile, then very quickly shoved his middle finger up at Alfie and returned to reading his newspaper.
‘Seriously though, mate, how are you doing? How’s the physio going? Any idea yet when you’ll be out of here?’ Matty’s eyes were wide with hope.
Everyone asked the same questions with the same concern.
It was strange; on the one hand he knew that they all just wanted him home and out of the hospital, but at the same time he couldn’t help but sense their slight apprehension.
He supposed that while he was in the capable hands of St Francis’s nursing staff, it was one less thing they all had to worry about.
‘No idea, if I’m honest. The infection seems to be all under control now. Physio is going well and they’re going to measure me for a custom prosthetic soon. I just need to keep building my strength up. It’s small progress but, as the nurses say … every step is a step closer to the end!’
‘That is the worst
motivational phrase ever. It sounds like you’re walking to your bloody death.’
‘Well, isn’t that what we’re all doing, Matthew my friend?’ Alfie reached over and patted him on the arm.
‘Oh, give over. You’re still a dark-humoured bastard even with one leg, aren’t you!’ Matty slapped his hand away affectionately.
It was around now when most people usually took their cue to leave – they’d checked in on him, cracked a few jokes, asked the questions they thought they should. There was usually only so much time being surrounded by the sick and vulnerable that a person could take.
‘Right, buddy, got to dash. Mel and the kids send their love. Let me know if you need anything, otherwise I’ll see you same time same place next week?’
‘Don’t you worry, I’ll be here! Take care of yourself and give the little ones a kiss from me.’
‘Sure thing. Love you, mate.’
‘Yeah, you too, Matty.’
The declarations of love were still something Alfie was getting used to. They had only started after Matty had thought his best friend was gone for ever. The first time, Alfie could have sworn he’d misheard.
‘What did you just say?’
‘Nothing.’ Matty had shuffled uncomfortably, his gaze fixed to the floor. ‘I just …’ His eyes flickered up briefly to meet Alfie’s. ‘I just said I love you, is all.’
Alfie had burst out into laughter. ‘Oh, come on, mate! Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t need to say all that stuff.’ But Matty was defi nitely not laughing. In fact, he was looking even more uncomfortable. His head had dropped lower; his fists were tight by his side.
‘Look, it’s not ridiculous, OK?’ He was painfully forcing the words out through gritted teeth.
‘When I thought I’d lost you, I realized I’d never said it to you once.
Not in the entire fifteen years of our friendship, and so I promised myself that if you survived I’d tell you.
Thankfully here we are, so you’d better get used to it, OK? ’
It was all Alfie could do not to cry. ‘I love you too, mate.’
Since then, it had become the full stop at the end of their every goodbye. Of course it was said in a very nonchalant, testosterone-filled manner, but Alfie knew how important those few words were to both of them now.
Alfie had been a patient at St Francis’s hospital for nearly six weeks.
Since he’d moved to Hackney three years ago, he’d had the pleasure of seeing St Francis’s regularly.
Its murky pebble-dashing loomed over the trendy gentrifi ed streets as a reminder there was a shabby history that couldn’t be ignored.
‘Jesus Christ, if I ever end up in that place, Mum, promise me you’ll get me transferred?’ he’d joke, whenever they’d walk past it during one of her visits.
‘Oh, don’t be so morbid. I’ve heard very good things about that place.’
‘Really? You’re telling me you’ve heard good things about a place that looks more like a multi-storey car park than a hospital?’
‘Stop it! If you were at death’s door, trust me, you’d be begging them to take you in.’ She smiled at him in that infuriating self-righteous way. ‘Plus, what have I always taught you? Never judge a book by its cover.’
But continue to judge it he did. Right up until the very moment the unsightly building and the people within it saved his life.
As soon as he was admitted, they’d known it was bad.
Just one look at the wreckage would have told you that, but over a month in hospital? Nobody could have predicted that.