Page 28 of Tribute Act

And soon a new year will begin

All I can think as I sit here drinking

Is whether you’ll be here by Spring

Or if you’ll go and leave me low

If you do that, babe, I won’t have anything

(Repeat chorus)

— “Christmas Stocking” by The Sandy Coves, 1989

September

The next few days passed quickly. The café was busy without Mum and Derek to help out. They spent all their time at the hospital, mostly with Rosie, though Mum forced Derek to go with her to see Mack each afternoon. I got in the habit of visiting Rosie after the lunchtime rush, when they were with Mack, then I’d drop in on Mack in the evening, once the café had closed.

It was obvious early on that he was set on being released as soon as possible. He pushed himself hard, first to get up out of bed, then to start walking around, ignoring the nurses’ warnings that he needed to pace himself. Although he never complained of any pain to me, I’d see him steeling himself before he stood up or took a step, his grim expression telling. In those first few days after the surgery, the simplest of activities exhausted him, a fact that clearly frustrated the hell out of him.

“You’re going to have to resign yourself to letting me do some things for you for a couple of weeks,” I told him one evening a few days after the operation. I helped myself to a few Maltesers from the family bag sitting on his bedside cabinet, tossed one up, and caught it in my mouth.

“Ugh, unhygienic!”

“Unhygienic how?” I demanded, tossing another chocolate ball in the air. I caught that one too, then displayed it to him between my teeth, grinning.

“This is a hospital—it’s full of bloody germs!”

“What, my Maltesers are going to pick up germs as they travel through the air?” I chuckled.

He just rolled his eyes, and it made me smile. He’d eased up in my company these last few days, and I liked it. I liked it a lot.

“Anyway,” I went on, “the point is, you’re going to need some help when you first get out of here.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “So, if you want me to give you a bed bath, you let me know. Because I can absolutely do that.”

He gave me the repressive look he used on me whenever I said something joke-flirty like that. “I just need to take things slowly for a bit,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a crime to ask for help, you know,” I said, tossing another Malteser up and catching it. “You just need to ask.”

They finally agreed to release him on the sixth day. He’d been haranguing the nurses about getting released—I was convinced they only agreed in the end because they couldn’t take any more of his increasingly irascible questions.

I arranged to extend Katie’s shift so I could pick him up and take him back to the flat. When I arrived at the ward, he was sitting in the chair beside his bed, fully dressed with his packed rucksack beside him.

When he saw me approaching the bed, he got slowly, determinedly, to his feet.

“Thank God you’re here,” he said. “I can’t wait to get out of here. I need a burger.”

I laughed. “I suppose we could stop off at Macky Ds if you’re desperate.”

“Cool your heels, Speedy,” said a voice behind me. I turned. It was the nurse from the first night. She was in her usual scrubs plus a green plastic apron. She stepped past me, offering an unappetising tray of hospital food to Mack. “You’ll have to wait for the doctor to sign your release forms and her round’s not till two. Here’s your lunch.”

“She said I could go home last night!” Mack protested.

The nurse shrugged, clearly unmoved. “She’s still got to sign the forms, hon.”

Mack muttered out a string of curses that I couldn’t make out but was willing to bet were fantastically rude. The nurse just laughed.

“Fine.” Mack scowled. “But I’m going to see my sister till the round starts. If I sit here a moment longer, I’ll go mad.”

“I’ll get you a wheelchair,” the nurse said, but Mack waved her off, getting to his feet and making for the door.