“Right.”
“Managed to get up for a widdle yet?”
“Any of your business?”
“Nope. Urologist, though, can’t help it. Sore belly?”
“Yeah, when I move.”
“It will settle,” I promise him. “You’ll still feel a bit shit for forty-eight hours or so, ‘cos you were getting septic. As I always tell people, the source of the naughtiness has been cleared out, but some of the bad stuff remains swirling around your veins. Take all the painkillers they offer you, especially in the night.Otherwise, you’ll be asleep for a few hours, then wake up in agony when everything has worn off.”
I suck in a breath, internally debating with myself. Was this visit a good idea? Probably not. But he still looks ghastly, hasn’t anyone else to care for him, and it’s within my capabilities. Looking after people feels like an obligation, even when I’m not being paid for it. Would I want him to do the same for me, I ask myself, if roles were reversed? Yes, I would. I absolutely would. Whether he’d step up, of course, I have no idea, but I suspect the answer would be a reluctant yes. I pass him the bag of healthy goodies.
“Thank you.” Gerald grimaces through parched lips. “Oranges, grapes, biscuits, and… a mouth that doesn’t close.”
This second little dig I absolutely can’t let slide. “Oh, believe me, it does.” Light as silk, I run my fingers up his bare arm. Only for a second, but plenty long enough for the spy in the bed opposite to give the wife something to report back, and for Gerald’s brown gaze to widen. “If there’s something tempting to close it around.”
He snatches his arm away. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t even know why you’ve come. Most people hate hospital visiting, even visiting people they really like.”
“I know,” I agree cheerily as he lets rip a yawn wide enough to identify which of his wisdom teeth was extracted. He’s fighting a losing battle against sleep. “But hospital dramas are the best daytime soap there is. Perhaps I should become a full-time visitor when I retire. You know, be one of those volunteers that brings in a cute therapy dog and sits with kids and old people to make them feel better. I’ve always fancied owning a fluffy brown spaniel.”
“I can think of nothing worse,” Gerald chunters. “Being ill and having some chirpy sod and his slobbering dog perched on the end of the bed.”
Gerald’s lips pull into a grumpy scowl as he closes his eyes again. It’s oddly endearing. Reaching across him, I pinch a grape. And then another.
“I thought you bought those for me.”
“I did. Quality control. You’re welcome.”
Pushing my luck, I swipe a third, resolving to buy grapes more often. This one’s smooth and taut and slightly waxy, like a tiny balloon stretched to perfection.
“You’re supposed to eat it,” Gerald supplies sarcastically, side-eyeing me. “Or rather, I’m supposed to. Why are you studying it?”
“I tend to thoroughly inspect everything I put in my mouth.”
Gerald’s eyes close again. Over the last unwashed and unshaven twenty-four hours, he’s grown an impressive amount of scruff. I’m envious; Astroturf grows quicker than my beard. A little bit of ruggedness suits him.
“I don’t like company,” he says, a minute after I’m convinced that he’s nodded off.
“No shit. You’ve…um… kind of made that clear.” My hand hovers over a fourth grape. Why am I the one feeling awkward? “Which,” I add, “is why I’ve made the decision to move out as soon as I find somewhere back in town suiting my budget. I’ve given the wholelive laugh lawncarething a shot, and I’m not built for it. I need the chaos of the city; I need to know I can go out at 2 a.m. and find either someone to fuck or an all-night café selling overpriced oat milk lattes. I need my mates nearby, even…even if they don’t seem to need me. I need a noisy flat, I need the perilous daily possibility of getting mugged on the commute to work, I need to smell the neighbour’s weed through my bedroom window. Actually, that last thing was a bit tiresome, to be honest; it used to make me nauseous, but you get the gist.”
“That’s a lot of things to need.”
“I’m a very needy person.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You haven’t heard them all yet. In addition, I need affirmation, validation, snacks, and a hug at least every fifteen minutes. Sutton Common isn’t fulfilling my requirements.”
Gerald yawns again, slow and unbothered. His thirty-one remaining teeth appear to be in excellent shape. “Okay. Whatever.”
Fucker.“At least pretend to sound vaguely put out! I diagnosed your appendicitis, held your sick bowl, and brought you a fuck-tonne of fruit!”
His answer is a ruffling snore. Has my whingy blathering sent him to sleep? Or is he faking to shut me up? I nudge his arm; he grunts but doesn’t stir.
A part of me is disappointed by that unhesitatingokay, whatever. I mean, I want to move somewhere more suited– Sutton Common is draining my spirit– but what does his lack of protest say about me? Am I really that terrible a housemate? Pondering, I help myself to a few more grapes.
Gerald’s face softens in sleep. All the hard edges of him relax into something less wary. His hair hasn’t seen a comb all day. Sticking up and in need of a wash, it’s boyish, fluffy even, and unruly. His heavy snores roll over me in a hypnotic rhythm; the other three occupants of the bay are in for an absolute treat of a night if he carries on like this. Maybe I’ll put a pillow over his face on their behalf.
