Page 81 of Indie

“It’s an honour that I get to look after them in their last days. And it hurts every time they go. Every time. But some more than others.”

We stood in silence after that, listening to the floorboards above our heads groan and creak, and eventually Ciara sat down at one of the tables.

“Where did you and Demon meet?” I asked, hoping to fill the silence with distraction.

“Funny story that. He ripped my wing mirror off my car. Yeah, I know, utter knob huh?” she continued when I looked at her in surprise. “Still haven’t forgiven him for that. Even if he did eventually save my life.”

She laughed gently, her face breaking into a smile, the thick scar hugging her right cheekbone.

“They’re a good bunch, really,” Ciara continued. “Just emotionally inept sometimes. Ste brought them up to be hard. Fighters. But Demon’s different, on the inside, at least. Indie, well, you never really know what he’s thinking. He probably ought to be a poker champion.”

The door clanged against the wall, ringing out loudly through the pub, Demon charging towards us.

“I can’t stay here,” he said urgently, Ciara already rising to her feet. “I need to go.”

Ciara gave a wry smile.

“Come on then. Let’s get out of here. See ya later Emmie.”

“Indie asked if you would go up,” Demon’s voice muffled, half lost under the helmet as he secured the strap under his chin.

The stairway was dark, the persistent rain and cloud stealing away any light, and it was almost as if the weather knew what was coming. As did I. That heavy note of dread settled into my stomach as I wandered towards the low muffle of voices, following the drone of conversation until I pinpointed the room they were in. This one was to the right, the opposite side to the room Indie called the chapel. Leaning my ear to the wooden door, I listened for a few seconds. The only words I could make out were Tori’s.

“He must have some meds we can give him…”

I knocked tentatively and waited. Footsteps clumped louder until the door was opened and I could peer inside.

“You don’t need to knock, Spuggy,” Indie greeted me, tipping his head in wordless invitation, and I followed him into the room.

It was as plain as the funny room on the front with all the single beds, yet this one had only one king-sized bed, in which Ste sat, half propped up by pillows. I could hear the rattle of his chest as I got closer, the sickly grey of his skin.

“Can we give him more meds?” Tori asked.

“More painkillers, yes. He has some oramorph prescribed. Can you get some of that?”

She nodded, “it’s in the car. I’ll go find it.”

Ste tried to smile, but every breath tugged at his throat, a gargling noise coming from inside.

“What’s happening, Emmie?” Indie asked.

I turned him away, trying not to let Ste hear these next words.

“I know what’s happening,” he gasped. “Just tell him, Emmie.”

I nodded, taking Indie’s hand. “It’s time.”

“What do you mean, it’s time?”

“The final stages, Indie. Your dad is going to die.”

“I know that.” His tone was clipped, emotions welling to get out.

“No. Soon. It’s going to happen soon. Could be a few hours. Could be less.”

“No. How? How can it be so soon?”

“You need to be with him now, Indie. I’ll stay if you want me to, or I’ll just be along the corridor. We’ll make him a bit more comfortable.”