“With water?”
“No. In a towel,” I say. He simply frowns. “To put on the swelling. It helps.”
“Right. Yes. Ok,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “This stuff doesn’t come naturally to me.”
I twist, flinching at the way the pain intensifies at the slightest movement, and sit up to take a proper look at it. It’s definitely swollen, but then again, so is my other one. Hopefully, it’s nothing.
“How come they’re so swollen?”
I sigh. “I have poor circulation. It always happens to me. My friends dragged me on a walking holiday one time, and my ankles got so big they had to cut me out of my jeans.”
He tries not to smile. “Well, thankfully, you aren’t in jeans.”
No. I’m in just a very oversized t-shirt which is bunched up at the top of my thighs. As if he’s drawn attention to the fact he awkwardly wets his lips and glances back towards the bed. “Can I pick you up?” he asks.
“Really?”
“Unless you’d rather crawl to the bed?”
“No,” I say, feeling my lips draw down. “I’m sorry about this but I do still need the loo though.”
He nods, his eyes softening. “Ok. So, I’ll lift you onto the loo.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because…” I use my hands to gesture wildly at invisible truths in the air. “You’re not a nurse.”
“We can pretend.” He says it so casually it could be taken innocently, and yet, there’s a tone there. I tilt my headto let him know I’m onto him. He laughs. “What?”
“I am not role-playing doctors and nurses with you.”
“Hey, where did that come from? I’m simply offering to help you to the loo then back to bed where we will share a double mattress with zero romantic tension. I don’t like your insinuations.”
I sniff. “Hmm. You’ve had too much media training.”
At this he guffaws. “I promise you that is not what my team say. There’s no such thing as too much media training.” He reaches out, offering me his arm. I already know it’s going to be rock solid even before I touch it. My hands grasp onto him as his other arm comes around me, his fingers pressing against the softer part of my lower back.
He also winces as we rise. Which reminds me. “Oh, your back. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Hush. I’m fine. I’ll help you those last few steps to the loo,” he offers, as I place my spare arm around his shoulders for balance. Once I’m close enough, I huff at him which he takes as a cue to leave.
“I’ll wait outside.”
“Gus,” I call a minute later, having hopped painfully across the bathroom to wash and dry my hands. “Ready.”
He opens the door. Before I can even think about how best to navigate this, he wraps one arm under my legs so that I’m forced to grapple with his shoulders as he swoops me off my feet. I can’t fight the squeal that escapes me as he strides up the steps, switching lights off as he goes.
“So the bad news,” he mutters, “is that we have no ice.”
“Is there good news?”
“I have found a flannel which I can pour some roomtemperature water on to wrap around your ankle?”
I whimper again. It’s not a good look on me. “I’ll be ok.”
“I can go out?”
