I scowl light-heartedly. ‘I was planning on seeing my dad.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’
‘No, please, there’s no need to be sorry. I’ll go this morning and maybe we could do something this afternoon? You see, I had this big deal on at work which was taking up my weekends but that ended yesterday so I guess I have some time on my hands.’
‘I wonder if your client could find you any more work to do.’
‘He’d better not.’ Certainly not of the same fucked-up kind as the last deal.
‘What if I came to the hospital with you?’ he asks sheepishly.
‘Oh, Gregory, it’s not that I wouldn’t like you to meet my dad but I, well, I don’t think he would want you to meet him like this. He’s not, well, he’s not—’ Suddenly, the image of my weak, dying dad is in my mind and I can feel the black feeling of guilt creeping from my fingertips and toes, riding up my limbs. While he was at the hospital last night, I was?—
Gregory’s warm hand on my leg stops the black poison and when I look up at his face, it starts to retract.
‘Actually, I was planning on going to the hospital sometime soon anyway. I visit the children’s ward every now and then, a few times a year. Don’t look at me like that. It’s a self-satisfying deed; it actually makes me feel good to play computer games and Mr Potato Head. Anyway, I haven’t been for a while, so maybe I could go there while you visit your dad and then we can do something together?’
Words have escaped me. If I was the type of woman to have a checklist, I think I could by now have mentally ticked each and every box and handed Gregory a piece of paper marked with an A+ and a smiley face.
I move my plate to the sink. ‘I’m going to need some clothes.’
‘I quite like what you’re wearing.’
‘Hmm, that’s a shame. I was just about to take it off.’ I bite my lower lip as I make my way to the stairs. Gregory runs towards me before I can blink. I yelp as he throws me into a fireman’s lift over his shoulder and runs me back upstairs to the bedroom.
19
How quickly delirious happiness can fade into complete, utter helpless sadness.
I reluctantly let go of Gregory’s hand at the overhead blue-and-white sign pointing west to Paediatrics. He kisses my cheek then I continue alone to visit my dad.
I whisper, ‘How’s he doing today?’ as if I might wake him from a light sleep.
Sandy shrugs and offers with no conviction, ‘I think he has a little more colour in his cheeks.’
With a nod, I take a seat in the chair beside her.
‘Well?’ she asks, nudging me with her elbow.
‘Well, what?’
‘Well, how was your night?’
There’s no hiding my bright-red cheeks and beaming smile so I confess, ‘It was perfect.’
She chuckles, no doubt reading the details of last night, and maybe this morning, from the look on my face.
‘Your dress looks pretty,’ I say, acknowledging the effort she’s made in her lilac, wrap-over dress and small-heeled, nude shoes.
‘Pfft,’ she replies, rolling her eyes and wafting a hand in the air.
She offers me a chocolate from a packet in her bag and for a while, we eat the caramel-filled chocolate in silence, listening to the sound of my dad’s beeping machines. The stench of reheated food that makes visitors feel hollow.
On reflection, my intentions for last night got a little, or a lot, lost. I don’t know when closure turned to going to bed with my billionaire client but now the last thing I want is for that door to close. Nor did I ask him about Jack Jones. I think my questions about Jack fled my mind the second I saw Gregory standing outside the theatre. Or maybe when he sucked strawberry from my fingers, or when his tongue turned my clit to a quivering mess.
‘Did Jackson drop you off at the hospital?’ Sandy enquires in her best impression of nonchalant, breaking my mouthwatering daydream.
‘No, actually, Gregory drove. Why do you ask?’
