Page 3 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

Chapter

One

Hallmark doesn’t have anything to rhyme with ‘you’re behaving like a total wanker’

Gideon

I come awake slowly, becoming aware of beeping sounds and the low hum of voices.

At first I wonder whether I’ve died, but when I inhale I smell the scent of antiseptic and relax.

I’m fairly sure heaven won’t smell of Dettol.

I stir, trying to open my eyes, and someone’s hand comes down on mine, the skin so hot it makes me aware of how cold I am and that my teeth are chattering.

“So c-cold,” I mutter.

“It’s okay,” the voice says. “You’re alright, Gid. I’m here.”

I want to smile because that halting but warm voice belongs to my baby brother, Milo, but sleep beckons me again and I fall into its welcoming arms.

The next time I wake up it’s easier. My eyes flutter open and I wince against the brightness of the light. “Fuck,” I mutter, and a low chuckle sounds from somewhere near me.

“I see your vocabulary hasn’t been improved by your brush with death.”

“ Niall !” Milo sounds horrified. “What the hell?”

My best friend and old hook-up chuckles. “Relax. I’ve read that people who have near-death experiences come out of it changed. I thought maybe his intellect would have improved and he’d be using fancy words.”

I shake my head and force my eyes open again. “Oh, my God! That bloody light is burning my retinas. Close the fucking blinds.” My voice sounds thick and unused.

Niall laughs. “No, don’t worry. His intellect is still at base level, as is his temper. Yes sir, I’ll get right on it for your majesty.”

There’s movement and then the room dims welcomingly.

I open my eyes fully to look at my companions and immediately frown.

Milo looks worn at the edges, his clothes rumpled and his hair messy, while Niall has huge circles under his eyes.

I notice Niall’s hand on my brother’s arm and want to roll my eyes.

Since they got together and declared their love it’s been like being on the set of a romance by Barbara Cartland.

“You both look fucking awful,” I say hoarsely.

Niall laughs. “Oh my God, you came back with compassion . It’s like Simon Cowell has morphed into Mother Theresa.”

“I certainly didn’t come back with any patience for your shitty sense of humour.”

“Your throat sounds terrible,” Milo observes worriedly. He pours me a glass of water and slides his arm around my shoulder to hold me up so he can put the straw to my mouth.

“I am perfectly capable of taking a drink on my own,” I say acerbically. “I managed that skill when I was fairly young and it’s held me in good stead ever since.”

“Neither I nor The Sun are ever disputing your ability to drink,” Milo says and I give in and open my mouth for the straw, sucking greedily at the water. It’s ice cold and the best thing I’ve ever tasted, so I make a noise of protest when he withdraws the cup.

“No,” he says gently. “You’ll be sick, Gid.”

Niall smiles at me and runs his hand softly through Milo’s hair as if he’s comforting him, and Milo visibly relaxes.

He immediately turns to me and rubs my arm in a worried fashion. “How do you feel?”

I breathe in and cough immediately. “Shit!” I splutter.

“Easy,” Niall says, pressing a button and raising me up.

The coughing eases slightly and I shoot him a grateful look.

He presses another button on the wall and within seconds a nurse bustles in, her uniform almost crackling with efficiency.

A red-faced consultant in a very expensive suit follows closely behind.

“Well, Mr Ramsay,” he says in a very hearty tone. His English is heavily accented and has disapproval running heavily through it. “You gave everyone quite the scare.”

“I’m sure they’ll cope,” I say coolly and he blinks.

“Still, we’ve been a very naughty boy.”

“I’m not sure if you have,” I offer offhandedly. “But then that’s none of my business.”

“Ha ha, your sense of humour is very English. But luckily we have a lot of experience of that type of humour here.” He hums and laughs in a very unamused way.

“Lots of tourists around here who think they’re comedians.

” This doesn’t sound very complimentary and he looks around and stiffens as if he expects Vic Reeves to pop out of the wardrobe any minute and punch him.

I stare at him with my eyebrows raised and he fidgets. “Hmm. Let us have a look at you.”

He and the nurse bustle around, listening to my chest and poking and prodding me. She takes down the clear bag at my side and I look down at my hand, noticing the needle in my hand at the same time that I feel the pain and tug as she removes it.

“What was that for?”

“Antibiotics and fluids. We’ve been giving you them intravenously and they seem to be working nicely,” the consultant says. He steps back so the nurse can fasten my hospital gown back up. “You seem to be coming along nicely, Mr Ramsay,” he says in a slightly disappointed voice.

“That’s good, surely. Although not quite in keeping with the note of doom in your voice. You should really try a different bedside manner or you’ll have patients queuing up to throw themselves out of the window.”

“ Gideon ,” Milo sighs, and the doctor shakes his head.

“You had a near miss, Mr Ramsay. We were very concerned for a while that you might not pull through. You’ve been neglecting yourself for a long time.” He smiles at me in a very patronising manner. “We can’t burn the candle at both ends without damaging ourselves.”

“Well, you might not be able to, but I’m sure if I work hard enough at it I’ll succeed. Our nanny always said that nothing worthwhile ever comes without hard work and dedication.”

Milo sighs again and the doctor blinks, looking slightly discomposed. “I’m going to let you have a chat with your brother while I organise another X-ray of your chest.”

He leaves and silence falls for a blissful minute.

“How could you be so bloody stupid, Gideon?” Milo hisses.

Okay, a blissful second, but it was nice while it lasted . I’m amused to see my shy brother fold his arms and glare at me. It’s a bit like being told off by a gerbil.

“Oh, don’t smile,” he says ominously, and I wipe the smile away. He nods. “Better. You’ve had fucking pneumonia, you idiot.”

“Have you ever considered a career in nursing, Milo?”

“I’d never fit my hair in that cap.” I grin, but he turns serious.

“I told you to go to the doctor. I actually said those words out loud, and what did you do?” I open my mouth but he shakes his head fiercely.

“You decided to take care of yourself by smoking dope, snorting coke, drinking brandy, and having a threesome. What were you thinking ?”

“That I wanted a fuck, a drink, and a spliff. And coke always cheers me up if none of that works.”

“When don’t you want all that?” he says sharply. “Well, this time it nearly killed you. They had to phone for an ambulance, and you were carted out of the hotel naked on a stretcher while Christian ran alongside you asking you if you’d paid the bill.”

“Hmm,” I say slowly. “Hardly a very good epitaph. I hope I said something memorable for posterity.”

“You threw up in the foyer,” Niall offers. “It was memorable enough for the hotel to ban you from staying there again.” He pauses before offering cheerfully, “For posterity.”

“Shit. Were there any press about?”

Milo shakes his head and sits back, looking disgusted.

“ That’s what you’re bothered about.” I stare at him in consternation and nod.

He huffs. “Well, luckily for you there were no press in the foyer at three in the morning. However, there are a lot of them downstairs at the moment writing feel-good stories about how you were so close to dying that they had to put you on a ventilator in intensive care.”

His voice breaks a little and I feel heat in my face. “I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.

“What did you say?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” I say crossly. “I said it once. Don’t ask for the moon.”

“Oh my God, it’s like William Shakespeare has been reborn,” Niall says wryly, sitting back in his chair and propping his long legs up on my bed.

“I must say there’d have been a lot less of the sonnets for poor students to analyse if you’d written them.

Thou art more lovely than a rose. That’s it.

Finished. I’m not fucking repeating myself, you needy cretin. ”

I grin. “Pure poetry.”

“Oh, you’re smiling. How nice.” Milo’s voice has a sharp edge to it. “That certainly indicates that you’re well enough for a little visit.”

“From who?” I ask, worried now. “Mum and Dad aren’t here, are they?”

“ No ,” he scoffs. “They’re on a safari for their wedding anniversary which you paid for. I rang them and told them you were alright. Mum wanted to fly out and be with you but I persuaded her that you’d be cross.”

“Bewildered, more like it. Surely if she ran true to form she’d have just rung up the matron from our old boarding school. Then she could mother me in proxy the way it’s always been.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Milo sighs, and I can see the turmoil in his eyes.

The way our parents treated us so disparately drove a wedge between us as children that was strengthened by the ten-year age difference.

I got packed off to boarding school when I was seven while Milo, who seemingly activated all of my mother’s previously unused maternal instincts, got kept at home where she fussed over him twenty-four hours a day.

Once, I’d hated them for it when I’d hear of family trips I never went on, celebrations I wasn’t part of.

They never even came to get me when I had appendicitis.

Just left me to the less than tender matron because Milo had a speech therapist appointment.

Now, I don’t feel anything apart from a distant affection for them. Something that I’m obligated to feel.