Sunny, who could ill afford to lose the colour, blanched.
“I haven’t actually told them about us yet,” I said. “I didn’t know what to call…this. I think they know something is up, though. Just thought I should warn you.”
Sunny took a deep breath.
“It’ll be fine. Intimidating, but fine,” he said.
I kissed him and went to catch a cab.
* * *
At the hospital I found Uncle Ben sitting upright in bed in pyjamas and a neck kerchief. He was covered in little stickers and wired up to various machines. The room smelt of antiseptic and bleach. He looked tired but cheerful enough.
“Darling boy!” he declared upon seeing me. I put the flowers I’d brought down on the table and gingerly wrapped my arms around him for a hug, trying not to hurt him or accidentally unplug him. He was still looking frail, as he had every day when I’d visited, but he seemed to be in high spirits.
“Your bruise has turned from raspberry to a sort of chartreuse, dear boy,” he said. His words were slightly mumbled, one of the after-effects of the mild stroke he’d suffered. I perched on the edge of the bed.
“Careful you don’t sit on my cables,” Uncle Ben said. “That one’s keeping me alive.”
I jumped up.
“I’m kidding. Sit.” He patted the mattress, and I carefully sat back down.
“What are the doctors saying?”
“Still worried about seizures and fainting, dear boy. My eyes keep going fuzzy. But I swear that’s because they won’t let me smoke. I’m having withdrawals!”
He spent the next few minutes trying to talk me into smuggling in a packet of Phillies Cheroots for him.
“The nurse says, ‘Oh, Mr Diamond, smoking will kill you,’ and I say, ‘I’m eighty-eight, Nadine, what does it matter now?’”
“It matters to me!” I protested.
“This is a private hospital. I’mpayingfor them to torture me like this. I said to the doctor, if I wanted a lecture on my lifestyle, I could have got that for free on the NHS.”
We laughed; then a moment of silence fell between us. Uncle Ben grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“You look happy, my darling boy. Is it love?”
“I don’t know.” It was true, I didn’t know. But I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. Uncle Ben’s eyes twinkled.
“It looks like love to me,” he said. “Your whole countenance has changed. You’re walking taller. You’re glowing.”
I smiled.
“Do you think you’ve found your Michael?”
“I don’t know, Uncle Ben. It’s too soon, honestly. But I know I think about him every minute of the day. And when I’m with him, it’s like that feeling you get when you’re sitting in the theatre, before curtain-up, and your stomach is full of butterflies, but it feels warm and safe and like there’s no place you’d rather be in that moment. Is that what love feels like?”
Uncle Ben smiled and patted my hand.
“Put it this way, dear boy. Whether it’s love or it isn’t, it sounds like a very nice situation indeed. Just enjoy it.”
Then, I’m afraid, I gushed. For a good ten minutes poor Uncle Ben had to listen to me banging on about Sunny this and Sunny that, until eventually I noticed he was starting to look tired and I feared he might deliberately unplug something just to get some rest.
“I should let you sleep.”
Uncle Ben coughed.
