“She’ll get it,” El says firmly. “No question.”
The doctor makes a quick note and gets up to leave.
“Can I see her?” El asks.
We’re shown through to a curtained-off cubicle just past the nurses’ station. All at once El comes undone. He drops into a seat next to his sleeping aunt and covers his face with his hands. A fresh bandage has been taped around her head, her face has been washed, and for the first time I can see the resemblance between aunt and nephew. She looks kind, even in sleep. I give El a moment, then fumble in my pocket and place a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, sees what I’m holding, and laughs through his tears.
“Starburst! You’re a mind-reader, Frecks.”
We spend the next few hours keeping watch. I pop out every so often for drinks and snacks. When a porter arrives to take Julia to a proper ward, El insists on going with her. That’s when the young doctor pokes his head into the cubicle.
“You boys still here? Look, nothing is going to happen to your aunt tonight, and if it does, we have your number. Go home. Get some rest. You’ll need it if you’re going to support her in the coming weeks.”
“Why don’t you stay at mine?” I say. “My family’s away for the night, and I heat up a mean frozen pizza.” He starts to shake his head but I put my foot down. “You owe me, remember? So I’m going to trade the cash for your company.” He immediately objects, digging in his pocket for the car-repair money. I take his wrist and draw him into a handshake. “You, Ellis Maximillian Bell, do hereby swear you will endure the close proximity of Dylan ‘Frecks’ McKee for one evening, in full and final payment for any and all outstanding debts. Plus, you will not request anything green to go with your pizza because, just no.”
El shakes. “If you’re sure? Okay then, deal.”
We’re heading back through A&E when he loops an arm around me. And it seems impossible, but sitting in the exact same spot are the old couple in their big coats. I don’t know, maybe they make an all-day outing of their hospital visits. Anyway, they see us and start radiating the stink-eye, and before I know it, I’m stink-eyeing them right back. Then I wrap my arm tight around him and, with my free hand, I flip them a glorious middle finger.
“Sorry,” I say, as we stand shivering in the hall, “heating’s gone off for some reason. Just be a minute.”
I leg it upstairs to the boiler cupboard and click a switch. Something roars somewhere, and I guess that means heat sometime soon. Skipping back into the hall, I find El looking for a place to hang his jacket. I take it from him and drape it over this weird alien sculpture my mum made in one of her night classes.
“You know, my mum’s an artist too.” I grin.
“I see that.”
“Yep… So, she sucks, doesn’t she?”
“There is potential,” he says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “But, yeah, sorry, mostly it’s suckage.”
The temperature is almost bearable by the time I take mypièce de résistanceout of the oven. El looks from me to the pizza and back again.
“And we’re supposed to do what with this, exactly?”
“Dude. Do not dis the kebab-meat deep pan.”
“Is that what this curly grey stuff is on the top? I thought a dog might have sneaked in and rubbed his flaky balls all over the base.”
I shrug. “More for me.” I grab a greasy slice from the plate and stuff the whole thing in my mouth. “Ah, man, heavenly.”
“McKee D, you are all kinds of revolting.” El shakes his head, picks up a slice, and takes a nibble. He tries a few experimental chews, then begins to wolf it down like it’s the last morsel of food he’ll ever consume. Mid-gorging, he lifts an oily finger. “No one must ever hear of this. Promise me.”
I give him a scout’s salute, then rub my hands on my jeans.
“Crap, I forgot. Hold on a minute.”
I run out to Mum’s alien creation and grab El’s present from my coat pocket. I’m officially the world’s most inept wrapper of gifts, and I really tried with this one, but it still looks like random bits of silver paper sellotaped together in a darkened room by a poorly coordinated chimp. El gets a napkin from the sideboard and cleans his fingers.
“Wow. It’s a gift, right? I mean, you don’t hate me or anything?”
“Just open it, smart-arse.”
It takes him a minute to wrestle with the tape but eventually he’s holding a brand-new snow globe in his hand. He stares through the falling flakes at this grim little elf who appears to be guarding a sack of presents.
“Dylan, I think this guy is trying to steal Christmas. No, don’t laugh, just look at him. He’s clearly broken into Santa’s workshop and pinched St Nicholas’s magic sack.” I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle giggles. “Frecks, please don’t be a child. Yes, I said ‘pinched his magic sack’. He’s an elf on the run.”
“Okay.” I stroke my chin. “I can see that. He is kind of gangsta.”
