Page 25 of Tribute Act

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded and smiled. “I am now. This morning was hell though.”

For the next half hour we were all pretty quiet and subdued, content just to sit with each other, be with each other. At last though, I stood.

“I’m going to look in on Mack.”

Mum smiled, seeming relieved. “Oh, would you love? I popped down earlier when he was first coming round but I’m not sure he’ll remember. I’ll go and see him again in a little while, but I want to sit with Rosie while she’s awake.”

“Course,” I said. “It’s not a problem.” I glanced at Derek. He was staring at the floor.

“He’s in Ward Fourteen,” Mum said. “Just say you’re family if anyone asks. You are brothers after all.”

“Stepbrothers,” I blurted. “And it’s not like I even met him till a month ago.”

She didn’t seem to find my comment odd. “Well the nurses aren’t to know, are they?”

I sighed. “I suppose not.”

I left the three of them in their quiet huddle and headed for Ward Fourteen, following the faded yellow arrows painted on the worn, hospital-blue floor.

Unlike Rosie’s single-occupancy room, this was a four-bed ward. Three of the four beds were occupied. The two nearest the door, facing each other, were taken up by a sleeping elderly gent and a faded man in late middle age who lay, helplessly listening to the monologue of a woman of around the same age. The bed beside him was empty, and Mack was in the one opposite that, semireclined on a pile of pillows, his face turned to the window.

“Hi,” I said as I drew near. “How are you feeling?”

His head jerked towards me—he was clearly taken aback. “Nathan? I wasn’t expecting to see you.” His voice was slightly slurred.

I laughed but I was frowning a little too. “Really?”

He didn’t answer that, brows pleated with confusion, and his honest bemusement at my arrival bothered me somehow. Were his expectations of us all really so low? Then again, should that surprise me given Derek’s behaviour?

“Do you mind?” I asked, hovering uncertainly. “I wanted to check on how you’re doing, but if you’d rather be alone . . .”

He looked at me blankly, then down at his own body, as though wondering how to answer, and I realised that, despite seeming far more alert than Rosie, he was still pretty out of it, probably with some strong drugs in his system.

“Tell you what—I’ll sit with you for a bit,” I said gently. “But just tell me to go anytime you want. I won’t be offended, okay?”

Something in his expression softened, and it made me feel like I’d said the right thing—made me feel good out of all proportion.

“’Kay,” he breathed.

He had the same big patient chair Rosie had, next to his bed. I tugged it round to face him so he wouldn’t have to move his head to look at me, and sat down.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I actually feel really good.” He added by way of explanation, “I’ve had a lot of drugs.”

“Tomorrow might be a different story,” I warned.

He smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

I wondered if he’d had surgery before, or if he’d read up on the procedure. There was so much I didn’t know about him.

“How’s Rosie?” he asked.

“Good,” I said, smiling. “All drugged up, just like you.”

He gave a laugh, then winced, then laughed again at his own wince, which made me chuckle too, even as I said, “You okay? You need anything?”