“What happened?” I repeat. My voice is nothing but a faint whisper by the end.
“Simone found you, next door,” he starts. Next door. Then they know something’s going on. “Then Jason carried you in here.” Jason saw me like this? Fuck! “The doctor said you had a fever, but they didn’t think it necessary to send you to hospital. The fever broke late last night and you’ve slept easier since then.”Last night? How long have I been out of it? I open my mouth to speak but I can’t, and I try to swallow but the pain in my throat prevents it. I need a drink. I cast my eyes around and see a bottle of water on the bedside cabinet. Jones must have seen me looking.
“Do you need some water?” I can only nod, but he understands and opens the bottle, then he puts in a straw and holds it up for me to drink. Once I’ve had a few mouthfuls, I can swallow and my throat doesn’t quite feel like it’s being grated.
“What day is it?”
“Sunday.” Fuck, I’ve been asleep for nearly two days. I don’t have time for this. I have to check my account, get the latest videos uploaded. I try to push the covers off, but I can’t, and I fall back in the bed already exhausted.
“Easy, you’re going nowhere just yet. You need to rest. Martha is making you some broth. You need to get your strength up. That’s partly why the fever was able to take hold.”
“But I need to explain,” I protest weekly. I can’t keep the camboy videos a secret but I do want to tell them why.
“If you want to, then there'll be time for that later, but right now you need to rest. I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake so she can come check on you.” He pulls out his phone as he leaves the room, and I relax back into the pillows. I don’t care what he says, I’ll get up soon, but first I’ll close my eyes for a minute.
When I come to again there’s a lady perched in a chair next to me, her hand gently holding my wrist.
“Welcome back to us, Lord Buckley. I’m Doctor Narinda Patel. It’s nice to see your pulse is stronger than it was on Friday.”
“Hello, Doctor. Don’t they have machines for this nowadays?” I ask, nodding towards her hand.
“We do, but it doesn’t hurt to practice the old ways every so often. We never know when we might not have a pulseometer handy and we’ll need them. Now I want to check your chest, your breathing was a little irregular yesterday.” She produces a stethoscope and listens to my chest, directing me to sit forward so she can listen from the back too. She makes a hmmm sound.
“What’s that supposed to mean, hmmm?” I ask, as I lean back and try to get comfortable. My body no longer feels as limp as a rag, but instead aches all over, which is somehow worse.
“It means you’re recovering, but I think you need to get some tests. Your lungs aren’t as strong as they should be. Did you have any fevers, chest infections as a child?”
“I had pneumonia when I was eleven,” I offer. It was awful, three weeks in hospital and then a month at home before I was allowed back to school.
“Yes, that could be a factor. I’m going to write a referral letter and they’ll call you in for an appointment, probably by the end of the week if you feel up to it.”
“End of the week. I thought it took months to get appointments these days.”
“Not privately. Your healthcare is paid for by the estate. Your uncle added you onto the policy shortly before he died.”
“You knew my uncle?”
“I did. I was his doctor too, and so was my mother, though she’s a surgeon now rather than a general practitioner. We were both sad when he passed, and sorry we missed his funeral. Now, the best place for you is here, resting and making sure you get plenty of Mrs Jones’s broth. Unless you feel worse, I’ll check on you in a couple of days.” She leaves and I contemplate what she told me about the healthcare plan. More secrets and things I didn’t know about. The thought of trying to get my head around everything is more than I could tackle on a good day. When I first came here I would have asked Mr Nagle, but I don’t trust him anymore. I’m going to need some help.
A few minutes later Jones comes in with a tray.
“I have no doubt the doctor gave you orders to keep me here,” I say, and know I’m right by the small twitch of his lips.
“You work for me, you know that, don’t you?” I say peevishly.
“I work in your best interests, sir,” he replies, putting the tray down. That’s his diplomatic way of saying he’ll be following the doctor’s orders no matter what I say.
“That smell’s delicious.” I decide to ignore his words for now. I don’t have the strength to argue with him over it, and the aromas coming from the bowl do smell wonderful.
“Martha’s famous chicken broth, sir.” he says and picks up the bowl. “Do you want me to?—”
“There is no way you’re going to spoon feed me.” I cut him off. It’s bad enough being stuck here like an invalid, I can at least feed myself. “Just give me the bowl and spoon.”
“Very good, sir,” he replies and passes them over. I take a mouthful, blowing on it gently so it’s not too hot.
“Mmmm, okay, I can see why this is considered famous. Tell Martha thank you.” It’s truly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. After I’ve finished, almost scraping the pattern off the bowl in order to get the last few drops, I pass the bowl back.
“I need some help, Jones,” I say as I lean back again. I’m tired, so perhaps a nap won’t hurt. “I didn’t know about the healthcare, and I’m sure that’s not the only thing I don’t know. I’m not good with paperwork. I also need to find a new solicitor as I don’t trust Mr Nagle. Would you be able to help with that?”
