Botulism. That’s what he had – or what they kept saying in the hospital when it all happened. Kenny can hardly believe a month has spun by since that terrible night when there was nothing he could do but call Carly and have her rush home and phone an ambulance. Even as he was being loaded into it, Kenny was ranting to the paramedics that he couldn’t go anywhere – not when there was vomit on his living room carpet.
‘Dad, never mind that,’ Carly had snapped, more firmly than he’d ever known her to be before. ‘We’ll get you to hospital and then I’ll go back to your flat and clean it up – which means I’ll need your keys.’
‘What for?’ he asked, delirious.
‘To get into your flat! Unless you’d like me to break in?’
He’d stared at her helplessly then. His keys! He was in no mood to put up a fight, but as she wangled them off him it felt like having an organ ripped out. A load of fussabout nothing, he reckons now, even though things were alittlebit tricky when he couldn’t breathe or see properly or even walk, when his muscles seemed to be paralysed and he was vomiting and couldn’t keep anything down, not even water, and they had him on a drip – what’s the obsession with staying hydrated these days? Sip-sip-sip, young people with their phones and those great big water bottles with the spouts, big water-bottle-sucking babies—
Kenny’s thoughts break off as the kind nurse with shiny auburn hair sets a covered plate on the small moveable table beside his bed. ‘Here you go, Mr Munro. Your favourite.’
‘Thank you, love.’ He readjusts his position in bed and removes the plastic cover with a flourish, as if it’s a silver dome in a swanky restaurant. There’s a Jenga brick of unnamed white fish in white sauce. Beside it sits a small globe of white mashed potato, scooped like ice cream. It’sallwhite, like the plate – none of the rabbity salads Carly tries to force on him – and Kenny finds this soothing. He had hallucinations, during the worst of whatever it was. Terrifying nightmares with violent nurses holding him down on the floor while trying to force drugs into his mouth. Even in his dreams Kenny rebelled, secretly storing the pills hamster-style in his cheek.
Throughout it all, Carly’s been popping in pretty much every day – not in his nightmares but in real life. And Frank appeared, and his granddaughter Bella came all the way up from London, even though there was no bloody need! Travelling four hundred miles just because he’d had a stomach upset? The expense of it! More money than sense.
‘Oh, Granddad,’ she exclaimed at his bedside. ‘Of course I’d come. Did you think I wouldn’t?’
Kenny huffed at that, embarrassed by the concern of a child – because his grandkids will always be children to Kenny. Even daft Eddie who’s going to be a dad. But he had to admit that Bella did seem very grown up these days as she listened gravely to what had happened, and told him what she’d been up to in London. ‘I’m going for a promotion at work,’ she said. Got her head screwed on properly, that one. And then Eddie was here, seeming concerned but also somewhat relieved when visiting time was over.
And then Myra, his neighbour, bowled up with home-made fruit scones, for God’s sake. ‘To build you up, Kenny!’ It was like Glasgow Central Station at rush hour with people crammed around his bed, even though it’s only meant to be two visitors at a time.
For a short time there, Kenny felt almost popular. But mostly it was exhausting, and thankfully things are a little calmer now, and his appetite is returning and he is almost feeling like his old self. ‘You could be out of here tomorrow,’ said the doctor this morning. Although what did he know? Another child, commenting on Kenny’s health. ‘We just need to finalise your care plan, Mr Munro.’
Care plan? What care plan? What do they think he is – geriatric? Kenny doesnotneed a care plan or fruit scones or people fussing around him, filling his water jug and reminding him todrink-drink-drink.He needs to be left alone to recover quietly in his flat. And he’s definitely ready. Very soon, he’ll be back home and everything will be normal again.
‘Hi, Dad.’ As soon as dinner is over Carly reappears in the ward. She plonks herself down on the chair next to his bed.
‘Where’s Ana?’ he asks. She’d waltzed into the ward earlier, all pink hair and smiles and jangling jewellery. She didn’t seem to think he’d notice the new tattoo on her wrist (he misses nothing). Dutifully, she and Carly had left the ward during dinnertime.
‘She’s just calling a friend,’ Carly replies.
Kenny frowns. More like having a cigarette outside, he suspects. He smelt it on her earlier. ‘So, you’re definitely coming out tomorrow,’ Carly explains. ‘I spoke to the nurse at the desk …’
‘Oh, that’s good news,’ he says.
She seems to hesitate as she bites at a fingernail. It was a moment of weakness that caused Kenny to call her that night. He’d panicked, that was all. He had no one else to phone and he wasn’t about to bother Myra next door, who’s always asking if she can pick up some sausages from the butchers for him. Once Myra’s in, there’s no getting rid of her.
‘The thing is, Dad,’ Carly starts, shuffling in the seat, ‘they’re saying you’ve refused the care plan. That you don’t want any help at home.’
‘No, no.’ Kenny shakes his head. ‘I don’t need any of that.’
A small groove appears between her eyebrows. ‘But why not?’
‘Because I’m perfectly fine now.’
She rubs at her eyes. She looks tired, he thinks, and a little pale. He knows about Eddie getting some girlpregnant. Ana blurted it out by accident earlier today. Carly nearly fell off her chair.Ana! Granddad doesn’t know!As if it should be kept from him. Did she think he’d make a moral judgement or what? Eddie doesn’t seem mature enough to be a father. But what does Kenny know about anything anymore? The boy could have mentioned it, though, when he was here.Thatwould’ve been some news to share. As it was, all Eddie said was, ‘Nothing’s really been happening, Granddad.’
‘Dad, I really think a care plan’s a good idea,’ Carly says now, pressing her palms together, as if in prayer. ‘It’s just people dropping in to see you three times a day—’
‘Three times?’ he exclaims. ‘What for?’
‘To make sure you’re okay—’
‘I told you, I’m okay now!’
‘Mr Munro?’ Having overheard, the auburn-haired nurse arrives at Carly’s side. ‘We’ve been through all this, haven’t we? They’d just pop in to make sure you’re up and dressed in the morning—’
‘I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.’
