It wasn’t. Rupert clocked out around midnight and jogged the short distance to hospital. The night sister met him at the nurse’s station and ushered him to the quiet corner of the ward where Jodi had his bed. Rupert squeezed her hand in thanks. The ward managers had been incredibly tolerant of his fluctuating shift pattern and let him in to see Jodi whenever he liked, providing he didn’t disturb the other patients, which was unlikely considering his visits to Jodi were mostly spent in silence.
And tonight would be no different. Jodi was fast asleep, curled on his side, his good hand tucked under his chin.
“He didn’t eat much dinner,” the sister said. “I tried to tempt him with some of Caz’s birthday cake earlier, but he wasn’t interested.”
Rupert’s bones ached with sadness. Before the accident, Jodi’s sweet tooth had been legendary. “Thank you.”
The sister left him to it. Rupert adjusted the soft grey blanket he’d brought from home so it covered Jodi properly, then took a seat. “Hey, beautiful.”
And beautiful Jodi still was, despite the purple smudges under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. His inky hair had grown a little, and Rupert had become addicted to the sensation of his thicker beard against his fingers. He scratched the wiry scruff now and squeezed Jodi’s hand. “Sweet dreams, boyo. Be safe. I love you.”
* * *
April 26, 2010
Jodi hopped off the bus in Harringay and took in the shabby buildings and monumental traffic congestion. Rupert was right. There really was nothing here but greengrocers with cabbages the size of small planets, Turkish/Cypriot cafés, and row upon row of scruffy bedsits.
“Welcome to bedshitland.”Recalling Rupert’s gentle sarcasm made Jodi smile, and the address he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper was burning a hole in his back pocket, but he had work to do and another address to find before he paid Rupert a long overdue visit.
He found the run-down meze bar a few streets from the bus stop. The owner, a wizened man who couldn’t have been less than seventy, greeted him with a mug of coffee you could stand a spoon in. Jodi liked him—Spiros—straightaway. And the job was relatively simple too. Somehow, the old man had discovered the growing market for online takeaway ordering and wanted a functional website to help him offer the service. Jodi glanced around the tatty restaurant and considered his pricing. The old man likely couldn’t afford his going rate—and Jodi had to wonder how he’d found him in the first place—but despite the peeling paint and cracked tiles, the place was spotlessly clean, and it smelledamazing.
On cue, Spiros placed a plate of grilled halloumi, tomatoes, and herby fried eggs in front of him, complete with fresh sesame bread and a glass of what looked like grappa. The food was rustic, honest peasant fare, and oddly beautiful. Jodi’s stomach growled its approval. He took another glance around. The restaurant was clearly struggling, like any business that wasn’t a fucking Wetherspoons. Did he really want to feel responsible for another shit-hot family business going bust? Hell no. Jodi downed the grappa and quoted Spiros a price that should’ve made him weep.
A little while later, he emerged into the grey world of Harringay under a haze of garlic and grappa. Spiros had invited him back for dinner, but Jodi had places to be—and people to see—and he was already half-pissed.
And late. Oops. He pulled out the scrap of paper he’d scrawled Rupert’s address on. The bedsit was a five minute walk from Spiros’s place, so Jodi turned east and set off, passing the time by planning the restaurant’s website. To fit in with its authenticity, the site couldn’t be too flashy, but it had to work, and work well, which demanded a certain amount of slickness. Trick was to balance the functionality with ambiance and personality, something that would probably have to involve photographing Spiros.Unless I could fudge a graphic of him.
Hmm. Jodi couldn’t draw for shit, but the idea had weight. He filed it away for later. Right now, he had eyes only for Rupert, who was standing on the pavement ahead, his phone tucked under his chin, and clutching the hand of a seraphic little girl Jodi knew from photographs to be his daughter, Indie.
Jodi trailed to a stop. Rupert hadn’t said he’d have Indie with him today. Not that it mattered, to Jodi at least, but the lingering tickle of grappa in his belly gave him pause. Though his buzz had faded, it felt a little wrong to gatecrash a father-daughter day when he’d been drinking since breakfast time.
He considered slinking away, texting Rupert from the Tube to say his client meeting had run over and he had to get back to Tottenham, but as he warred between doing the right thing and indulging the craving to see Rupert in any capacity he could, Rupert turned and saw him, and his window of escape was gone.
By Indie’s curious smile, she saw him too. Jodi swallowed a shot of nerves and dug around in his pocket for chewing gum. He didn’t have much experience with kids, especially girls, though he knew Indie was more into football than Barbies.
They met halfway, and it took Jodi a millisecond to see Rupert was as nervous as he was.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” Rupert said. “Indie’s childminder is ill, so I’ve got her for the day. I’m sorry. I tried to let you know.”
“’S okay.” Jodi bent to Indie’s level and held out his hand. “I was coming past anyway. I’m Jodi. Nice to meet you. What’s that on your T-shirt? A fairy?”
Indie took Jodi’s hand and looked down at her T-shirt with the confusion of a child who’d put on whatever clothes they’d been told to that morning. “I think it’s a mouse-dancer.”
“A mouse-dancer, eh?” The cartoon character was more like a hippo to Jodi, but what did he know? “What are you two up to? Anything fun?”
“We’re going to the park,” Indie said. “You come too?”
Jodi glanced up at Rupert, who shrugged. “We’d love you to, but I won’t be offended if you have better things to do.”
“Erm, looks like I’m coming, then.” Jodi squeezed Indie’s tiny hand. “On one condition, though.”
“I did already brushed my teeth and I didn’t make a mess.”
“Oh.” Jodi pretended to think hard and tried to ignore the faint shadow of guilt that darkened Rupert’s features. “In that case, you’ll have to push me on the swing instead. That cool?”
Indie giggled. “You too big for the swings.”
“That right? Oh well, you can give me a crunchy cuddle when I fall on my bum, then.”
