Page 2 of Indie
“No. Wait. Hang on.”
Too late. The dog bounded in, sliding on the laminate floor with wet paws. She jumped up at Luke, muddy paw prints covering his black school trousers. And then, with a sudden attack of the zoomies sped round the kitchen, slip sliding everywhere, crashing through the pile of freshly washed clothes, knocking over a stool and galloping into the lounge and on top of the six-year-old drinking out of her cereal bowl on the sofa.
“Mam! Daisy’s knocked my cereals over!”
The tears itched at the back of my eyes. Burning and threatening. But I wouldn’t let them fall in front of the kids. Not ever.
*****
I threw the car into a side-street, pushing at the door that stuck in the frame, bent on the outside where an object had collided with it. Multiple times. Rust was already setting into the gouges and scratches, marring the silver paint work. It was more than a T-cut could solve. Probably needed a new panel. Butright now, I could still get it open and closed, and so it was not a priority.
Not quite 10am, I was early, but after the school run there was little point going home again. That just used up too much fuel, and the dial was creeping ever closer to the red. I’d parked nearly a ten-minute walk away. Outside of the parking restrictions and pay-to-park requirements in the area that surrounded the hospital.
The clouds ahead gathered, threatening and ominous, a never-ending wet spell even though it was only late summer. And that continued now with drizzle. It blanketed outside, fine, wet spittle soaking you quicker than a sudden shower. From a little way away, a low rumble crept into earshot, slowly growing until it was a vibrating, angry growl. The motorbike grew larger in my rear-view mirror, crawling past, the rider scouring the street for a space and then riding away. I watched him go, the black bike and black leather jacket eventually disappearing around the corner to continue its search.
Pushing a leg out, I reached to grab my handbag from the passenger seat, the handle catching on the handbrake and yanking me backwards before it snapped entirely. Great. That’s all I needed. I nudged the door shut, the dent in the car door deepening, clunking like the whole thing may fall off its hinges. It probably wouldn’t be long before that happened. For now, though, I looped the synthetic leather strap through the billet and tie a knot in it, hoping the fraying on the other side could just hold out a little longer.
*****
“Hey, Mr Carter,” I called, pushing open the door of the little room in front of me. “How are you feeling today?”
“Not too bad, lass. Just wondering when I can get outta here?” the man with the long grey hair greeted me. “And it’s Ste. Less of the formalities.”
“Well, Ste, I hear you’ve been being a bad boy,” I joked, watching a smile light up his face, a flicker of old character igniting behind eyes of rich chocolate brown.
“Sorry nurse.” He pouted before breaking into a wide cheeky smile again.
He was a handsome man, even for his age. His hair was thick white, streaked with darker grey, his arms and hands stained with ink. A tapestry of grey and black pictures etched into his skin, intertwining and joining, telling a story of something.
“I hope you’re keeping your hands off the nurses?” A voice rumbled from behind me. Familiar yet alien.
I turned to the sound. To the man standing in the doorway, a padded leather jacket open in the middle, giving way to a plain black t-shirt underneath. He wore sunglasses over his eyes, even though it was raining outside, and a thick grey stubble covered his jaw, but not so much as to hide the groove in the middle of his chin.
“Is he behaving, nurse?” The voice growled again, deep and rich.
I nodded, suddenly self-conscious. A silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.
“Nurse Mills….” Ste started from his bed.
“Emmie,” I corrected, my eyes not leaving the man at the door.
“Emmie here was just doing my obs and telling me it looks like I can get home today.”
I turned to complain, opening my mouth like a fish out of water, and the old man in the hospital bed winked at me. When I turned back to make some attempt to corroborate the story, the man at the door was shaking his head, his arms now folded across his chest.
“I don’t reckon that’s what the nurse was saying at all, dad. She was probably telling you to stop smoking.”
Ste shrugged, “I’m dying. My lungs are shot. Don’t reckon a few fags will make things much worse.”
“That’s not true,” I corrected. “It’ll help massively. Could even buy you more time.”
Ste frowned. Not a playful furrow of his brow, but something darker, and suddenly there was more behind the mask of the old man.
“I’ll let you two have some privacy.”
The man in the doorway moved sideways, just enough for me to slide out through the space he had created, but not enough that I could avoid brushing right up against him, up against the smell of clean leather and the fresh floral scent drifting off warm skin. I paused, suddenly distracted, glancing up at him as he stared down at me, most of his face lost behind the dark sunglasses. And then I scuttled off, hurrying away from the room, suddenly filled with the heavy presence of both men.
Mid-morning break felt like hours away. My stomach rumbled with every second that ticked by, reminding me of the breakfast I’d not eaten and the lunch I hadn’t had time to make. The ward was busy, packed with patients, every roomand cubicle taken up. Oncology was a tough place to work, physically and mentally draining, a continual loop of families saying goodbye to loved ones. I don’t know why I hadn’t asked to be moved. Why I hadn’t tried to get away from the continual cycle of death and heartbreak? From the tears and the pain. But there was something about watching families come together, cherishing their last moments, and remembering the good times. And in a small way, if I could contribute something towards making it easier, then that was as fulfilling as it ever got.