He opened his eyes when he heard his mum come back. She’d brought down a pillow. ‘Sit up a bit more, put your leg on the sofa on top of this. You should elevate it when you’re sitting.’
He should but sometimes he forgot, or he didn’t bother.
‘Thanks.’
She pulled the blanket from the other sofa – the purple blanket from the end of the bed that she’d tried to cover him with yesterday and the day before and the day before that – and she tried to wrap it around his shoulders.
‘All right, that’s enough, Mum,’ he snapped, almost adding that it was too late to start fussing around him now when she hadn’t bothered when he was a boy, but even he wasn’t that much of a tosser, despite the fuss doing his head in.
‘Sorry, just trying to help.’
‘The heating is on, I’m plenty warm enough.’
She huffed and puffed and busied herself taking out a lunch box, which he heard her washing up, being none too delicate with anything in the kitchen, taking out his resistance to her helping on anything she could find. And then she went for a shower while he settled back and watched television, the ridiculous number of programmes doing nothing to make him happierabout his current position. If anything, they made him feel worse, particularly when he found a show set in a fire station; it was as though broadcasters had put that on on purpose.
‘Mum, could you do me a favour?’ he called over to her when she came back downstairs. He hoped the request would settle things between them. He didn’t want to be the one to piss her off, the one who drove her to distraction, risked making her want a drink.
‘What is it, love?’
‘Can you get the key for the back door – it’s in the junk drawer – and open it up for me? I’m going to use my crutches and go outside for some air.’
‘Are you sure that’s…’ She broke off at his expression. ‘Okay. I’ll open it up. But at least put a coat on. I’ll get that for you.’
‘Appreciate it.’ He’d rather do it all himself, but if it placated her, so be it.
Within five minutes, he was bundled up warm, and he managed to use his crutches to cover the fifteen or so metres from the lounge to the back door and went outside to sit on the bench that sat on the highest part of the patio in front of the steps leading down to a lawn.
It felt good to be out in the cold, early-evening air. He looked into the darkness and he hadn’t been sitting there long when he heard the familiar sound of a helicopter. Sure enough, when he looked up, he spotted the yellow and red Whistlestop River air ambulance passing overhead. He almost wanted to wave, as ridiculous as that was – who would spot him all the way down here? He wondered whether Bess was on board. He wondered whether she’d been thinking about the day she’d come to see him in the hospital. She’d stopped by to see him here at the house a few days ago but he’d been asleep and she hadn’t been back since. She had her own life. They’d texted, the usual banterbetween them, but he’d love to see her smiling face right now. And, if he was honest, check out that tattoo again.
Mind you, he’d make lousy company at the moment – he’d been cheerier in the hospital, maybe because the pain medication was stronger, who knew. But reality had hit since he left and it wasn’t a reality he particularly liked.
By the time he went inside for dinner, he felt less tense. He let his mum take the crutches from him and sat at the table. Up until now, no matter what she did to help, all he could think was that it could never make up for the years she’d missed, but the night air had given him a bit of perspective. Because she was here now, she was trying.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He picked up his cutlery to dig into the cottage pie she’d bought, heated up and served with a side salad.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ she said.
Sitting next to her now, sharing a simple meal and conversation, he almost felt like a young boy. He and Marco hadn’t had this, not in the latter parts of their childhood after their father walked out. But watching her now, sober, eating a proper meal and safe and warm in his home, made Gio realise that it wasn’t only he and Marco who had suffered for so long. She had too. And didn’t they all deserve a chance to heal?
The next morning, Gio had breakfast with Marianne before she went to work on the 10a.m. until 7p.m. shift. Just like with last night’s dinner, it was good to sit at a table with her, watch her, know for himself that she was doing okay. But after a bowl of muesli and a couple of slices of toast, the conversation – or rather the questions about Marco and when he was next coming to visit – got too much and Gio excused himself for a shower.
‘The physio will be here before 10a.m. I need to make sure I’m ready,’ he explained.
‘I’ll clear the dishes; you leave them to me.’
The hidden benefit of the tired downstairs shower room, which was more of a wet room, was that the shower didn’t have a frame and so had all the space in the world in which to put the plastic chair to sit on while he washed himself the best he could. At this stage, it was better, easier and safer than trying to do it on the one leg he could weight-bear on and he kept repeating in his head that he needed to face his limitations. This was one of them. But it wouldn’t be forever, right?
By the time he finished his shower, his mum had gone to work, so Gio got dressed and gave Marco a call.
‘When are you coming here again?’ he asked as soon as they got the hellos out of the way.
‘I wasn’t planning on it any time soon. Work, you know.’
‘Well, I did…’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to?—’
‘No, I apologise, that was unnecessarily touchy.’
