“Can I still eat pudding?”
Dr Patel smiles. “Yes.”
Alfie nods. “Okay then.”
Ava makes a small choking sound that is definitely laughter she is trying to hide.
“We’ll discharge him this morning,” Dr Patel continues. “Just keep an eye on him. If he becomes very sleepy, dizzy, or sick, bring him straight back. Otherwise he should be fine at home.”
Home.
That word brings a certain relaxation to me.
The drive back feels strangely calm. Alfie talks almost the entire way, retelling the story of his accident with increasing heroic detail. Ava sits in the back beside him, listening as if she hadn’t already heard the story at least five times.
She asks questions in the right places. Laughs softly when he expects it. Never corrects the parts that get wildly exaggerated.
By the time we get home Alfie is running on the last of his energy. The crash is obvious now the excitement is gone.
We settle him carefully on the sofa. Ava arranges the pillows so his arm is supported without being jostled. I tuck the blanket around him while she hands him one of his dinosaur comics from the stack on the coffee table.
“Is that alright?” she asks.
He wiggles slightly.
“Can you move this one?” he says, nodding at a cushion.
She adjusts it immediately.
“Better?”
“Better.”
He opens the comic and is quiet within seconds, which is always the real sign he’s tired.
The front door opens not long after.
“There’s my patient,” Mum calls as she comes in.
Alfie looks up, already smiling.
“Granny.”
She bends to kiss the top of his head. “How’s my brave boy?”
“I’m okay.”
She smooths his hair. “I thought you might like spaghetti with the tiny meatballs.”
His eyes light up.
“And,” she adds casually, “jam roly-poly.”
That gets her a full beam of delight.
“Best Granny,” he declares.
“I know,” she says calmly.
