“It’s lovely to meet you,” Sashe gushes, rushing over to Rosa until she tries to back up a step. “I haven’t met any of Trent’s friends before.”
“Because you’ve only been here five minutes.”
“Trent,” my dad growls in warning.
“Nice to meet you,” Rosa manages, peeling herself away from me. “Sorry we didn’t get introduced earlier but my mum’s in hospital, sick with cancer, and we had to run there before visiting hours were over.”
I stiffen at the excess of information.
The girl won’t answer the simplest questions I give her but pop her before my stepmother and she confesses everything? The openness rubs me the wrong way.
Then I see how Sashe gushes, how my dad is taken aback, how neither of them is angry nor glaring any longer. My reaction takes an abrupt U-turn.
Guess someone’s had a few lessons in emotional manipulation.
It makes me glad I’ve been let off lightly.
“She’s receiving palliative care, but the health board couldn’t find the right bed for her,” I inform my father since the floodgates have already opened. “I wondered if we’d be able to do something better. A private hospice, maybe?”
“I’m sure I can sort something,” Dad mutters and Sashe beams at him.
“You’re so generous. Don’t you have that friend in oncology.” She turns back to Rosa. “He’s a genius and is running research into altering medications according to a person’s individual genome. Do you think you could get her onto his patient list?”
I clamp my lips together, thinking that’s a step too far, but Sashe mustn’t yet have worn out her welcome because he instantly agrees. “I’ll ring a few contacts. What’s the name of the facility she’s in currently?”
Rosa recites all the details, grabbing hold of my hand the moment he and his wife leave the room. “Is he for real?”
“Must be because no one would imagine him into existence.” She giggles, and I let her lead me to the couch and try out a dozen different cushion combinations before deciding she’s reached peak comfort.
I try not to take it personally that I spent ages trying to get her to accept even the slightest help while she let Dad and Sashe swoop in to solve her biggest concern in one go.
* * *
ROSA
Finley ended up choosing a teenage rom com with a delightful lack of solemnity. Halfway through the third episode, there’s a buzz at the door. Trent answers, bringing a doctor with him when he returns.
“It looks worse than it is,” I insist to the middle-aged woman as she examines me in the privacy of Trent’s room. Then, in answer to her query about pain, I insist, “It barely hurts at all.”
“If that’s true, you must have an excessively high pain tolerance.” She packs away her stethoscope and sphygmomanometer, pulling out a prescription pad and scribbling on it. “This is for codeine if your pain increases.” When I open my mouth to rebut, she holds up her hand. “If you don’t need it, then toss it in a week.”
She moves to the door, opening it to reveal Trent hovering far too close. She turns back to me with an arched brow. “You want me to let this man inside?”
I wrinkle my nose, watching him squirm, then nod. “Yeah. He’s good.”
“You should have those hands in ice,” she scolds him. “Or better still, stop thumping people.”
“People should stop deserving to be thumped, then.”
Trent crosses to me, taking me into his arms. “All good?”
“No,” the doctor responds. “Not all good. Very far from good.” She casts a concerned eye back to me, then nods as though reaching a decision. “This level of throat trauma is slow healing. If you feel breathless at any time, call an ambulance, and don’t fuck around. Any delay could kill you.”
I stiffen. It’s silly but I’ve never heard a doctor swear before. It amplifies the warning until I’m nervous. Trent puts a supporting hand on my lower back, stroking gently.
“Repeat trauma is a bad idea.” She stares straight into Trent’s eyes as she issues the warning. “If you like breath play—”
“He’s not the one responsible,” I blurt, feeling so embarrassed, soashamed, that I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
