Page 2 of Full Court Crush
“Morning, Dad. How did you sleep?”
“Oh, you know…” Her father shrugged. Keira pinched her lips together. The ever-present circles under his eyes seemed darker than usual this morning.
She finished cooking the omelette, plated it up, and put it down in front of her father, along with a fork and the ginger tea.
“Thanks, love,” he said, badly hiding a grimace.
Keira returned to the counter and made a toastie with two stale slices of bread, the scraps of ham, and what she could salvage from the cheese. By the time she’d joined her dad at the table, he’d managed a couple of mouthfuls of his breakfast, but his queasiness was written across his face.
“You don’t have to eat it all,” she reassured him, reaching out across the table and covering his hand with her own. He half smiled, gave a curt nod, and tried another bite. They ate in silence. She drew out every bite of her own to match her father’s pace.
After breakfast, Keira fussed around her dad as he moved to the living room. She made sure he had the television remotes, his phone, and a variety of snacks and drinks, all within arm’s reach. Finally, she picked up a blanket and draped it over his legs, tucking it down the sides.
“Stop fretting, would you?” he mumbled, swatting her away like a gnat.
“Sorry,” Keira replied, stilling her hands by her side. Nervousness made her twitch, though, wanting nothing more than to finish smoothing out the blanket.
The frown lines on her dad’s face relaxed.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, looking and sounding remorseful. “But I’ll be fine. I can look after myself.”
“I know,” she replied, then leant down and kissed him on the top of his head. He put the television on and started scrolling through the channels, which Keira interpreted as her cue to leave; if she stayed, she would only fuss more.
Turning to head upstairs, she caught sight of her framed college basketball vest, hung pride of place on the living room wall. On the sideboard below were pictures of her and her team: formal pictures, team dinners, beach days in the sun. If she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, she could still feel that sun on her skin.
Her dad coughed, making her jump, and brought her back to the reality of their living room; somehow always cold, even in July.
Upstairs, she gathered the washing from both her and her father’s rooms, putting it in the shared laundry basket, then dragged it clumsily down the stairs. While she was loading the clothes into the washing machine, the letterbox clattered, announcing the arrival of the post. Hearing the creak of the old armchair, she looked up to see her father heaving out of his seat.
“I’ll get it!” she said, and scuttled through the living room before he could finish standing up. He grumbled something in reply before sitting heavily back in the chair. Keira scooped up the letters and flicked through them; gaudy junk mail interspersed with formal-looking letters, and a thick envelope from Uncle Frank, probably containing another puzzle book for her dad. Keira winced at the last letter, clearly a bill — undoubtedly the water company threatening to send collectors over again.
“Anything interesting?” Her father called out from the living room.
“If you count junk mail as interesting,” she replied, ignoring the tightness in her chest. She put the bill on the stairs and took the rest of the mail to her father. She hoped her new job playing basketball for the Cardiff Bay Blizzards would help loosen their financial corset strings.
Once she started the washing machine, she had nothing to do but wait; she returned upstairs, lay down on her bed, and picked up her video game controller. She booted up the machine and winced as it whirred into life. The poor thing had struggled with the recent transatlantic move, and did not like being plugged in via an adapter. She’d have sold it back in the USA if it had been worth anything anymore. Her favourite co-op fantasy game eventually loaded, and she immediately scanned the ‘friends online’ list for Sonia. The little dot next to her name being a sad shade of grey didn’t surprise her — Sonia was most likely asleep, considering the time difference. With a sigh, Keira resigned herself to grinding some experience points on solo missions. Her character, in a battle-ready stance, bobbed on the right-hand side of the screen. Fluorescent pink hair and hero’s armour—her character was the saviour of the realm, slaying monsters and doing selfless deeds wherever possible. Keira scoffed at the irony.
Chapter 2
Amelia
Ameliawasneartheend of her rounds, a gaggle of medical personnel following her around like goslings. The children’s ward had twelve beds, six on each side, with brightly coloured illustrations painted on the walls and a fish tank visible through the doorway. An ‘L’ shaped curtain rail ran around each bed, with a map of the local area printed on the fabric. The air smelled stale and sterile at the same time, with occasional metallic undertones.
A young boy with floppy blonde hair plastered to his fevered forehead lay on a nearby bed, his small body made more miniature by the mattress that engulfed it. His worried mother stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.
“Hi, Amanda, how is he this morning?” Amelia approached the bed. One of the junior doctors picked up the boy’s file and scanned through it; another found a thermometer and took his temperature.
“He slept through, so a little better, I think.”
The junior doctor with the thermometer nodded, indicating the mother’s assessment was correct; the boy’s temperature was coming down.
“Let’s have a listen.” She removed the stethoscope from around her neck. A small pair of floppy grey ears attached to the earpieces made Amelia resemble an elephant when she put it on. The boy, now half awake, giggled.
“Can you sit up for me, buddy?” She asked, vigorously rubbing the end of the stethoscope between her hands to warm it up. She waited for the boy’s coughing fit to pass before listening to his chest. During her examination, the boy reached out for the teddy bear pin on her lab coat, his tiny fingers stroking the soft, fuzzy fur.
“He sounds better, Amanda.” Amelia gave the mother a reassuring smile. “Another day or two and you’ll be able to take him home.” Amanda’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“Thank you, Doctor Preston.”