“Are you okay?” Angelo repeated. “You looktraumatised.”
Dylan forced a low laugh. “Maybe I am. And maybe I deserve to be. I should’ve been here when you were admitted, not rocking up however many days later in the middle of thenight.”
“Three days,” Angelo said with a weary sigh. “And as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I’m glad you weren’t here when they brought me in. I was a mess, and I’m pretty sure I puked on some hot doctor in A &E.”
Dylan winced. “Really? Yeesh. Why is it always the hotones?”
“I dunno. He was nice, though. He came to see me up here and referred me to an MEphysio.”
“That’s good. It’s about time you had some help with it?—?” Dylan stopped. “Sorry, I’m not here to lectureyou.”
Angelo smiled tiredly. “You’re not lecturing me if you’re telling the truth. I might have got pneumonia anyway, but it probably wouldn’t have been this bad if I’d been in a better state beforehand. The doctors here reckon I’m anaemic as fuck and totally rundown.”
Dylan could believe it. The hand Angelo had been dealt was brutal, even without chronic illness thrown in on top. “What happened to get you here? I feel like I’ve missed alot.”
“You have, but it’s not your fault, so wipe that guilt shit off yourface.”
“Guiltshit?”
“Yeah. That frown you get when you’re blaming yourself for everyone else’s problems. I saw you do it at work that first time I saw you in Stratford. You ran through the waiting room like a walkingmigraine.”
Dylan laughed and then clapped his hand over his mouth, remembering the ward sister’s warning about keeping quiet. “That’s pretty much my life when I’m not in The Pitt or Lovato’s, and I haven’t been to either for awhile.”
“The Pitt is that mysterious metal club you’ve never taken me to,right?”
“Yeah. Why? You wannago?”
“Sure. I can dig a mosh pit. When I was with the EBC, we performed with Mötley Crüe at Glastonbury. It was proper mental. I loved it?—?” Angelo broke off with a harsh cough that went on andon.
Dylan passed him some water and helped him drink, then eased him back down, frowning when Angelo winced. “What’s the matter? Apart from theobvious.”
Angelo shifted onto his side. “My hips are killing me. I need to wedge something between my legs?— Don’t fucking smirk. I’mserious.”
Dylan swallowed a grin and stood, searching for something to help. He opened and shut a few battered cabinets but came up blank. “What about apillow?”
Angelo rolled his eyes. “You think I haven’t thought of that? I asked for one yesterday, but I was asleep when the pillow fairy camearound.”
“Pillowfairy?”
“She didn’t tell me hername.”
“She could’ve left it anyway, even if you wereasleep.”
“I think you have to sign something. Stop you nickingthem.”
“That’s fucking ridic?—?” Dylan caught himself mid-rant again. “Never mind. I’ll just go ask Jade forone.”
“Jade?”
“The wardsister.”
“Blonde withtattoos?”
“That’sher.”
Dylan briefly deserted Angelo and cadged a pillow from the nurse’s station. When he got back, he helped Angelo get comfortable and then covered him with the thin hospital-issue blanket. “Stillcold?”
Angelo shrugged. “I’m allright.”
