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Lilith
Davey won his bottle of Jameson’s Whiskey, and I made a mental note to send the man a crate of the stuff as soon as I got the chance. As he’d predicted the bullet from Michael’s Glock had entered Finn’s abdomen, grazed his ribcage and ended up in his spleen; if Davey hadn’t stayed next to him applying constant pressure in just the right place with his wadded-up second-best fishing shirt, Finn would definitely have died right there on the quayside.
There was good news in that the shot missed both arteries and intestines, so Finn neither bled out in seconds nor developed sepsis or peritonitis from a perforated bowel; as his surgeon laconically explained to me afterwards, it was the best worst-case scenario he’d ever come across and nothing three units of O Negative blood and seven hours of surgery to remove the spleen and stem the bleeding couldn’t fix.
*****
Finn was kept sedated for two days to allow his body to rest, and I split my time between sleeping like a dormouse in one of the armchairs in the relative’s room, eating the endless supply of homecooked food provided three times a day by Davey, and giving what felt like the longest and most complex victim statement in the known universe to the Gardaí.
I also spent hours video-calling Niamh, Nat and Call-Me-Ed with updates. As lovely as it was to keep in touch with our family and friends, each call that I made left me feeling increasingly homesick and bereft, especially as I watched the hospital staff begin to decorate the wards and corridors for Christmas, and entire families visiting their loved ones.
In those darker moments I was cheered by reminding myself that I was going to be having a far better Christmas than either Kathleen O’Halloran or Blaine Albermarle.
*****
I had to push the door to Finn’s room open with my hip and walk in backwards, as I was using both hands to deliver the utterly ridiculous get-well balloon and teddy arrangement that Gabriel had just sent over.
It had been three long days since Finn had been rushed into surgery, and he was finally fully awake. I set my load down on the chair and had to bend over to reposition a sky-blue cuddly bear the size of a toddler in its basket so that it didn’t topple the entire set-up onto the floor. Five silver helium balloons in the shape of lovehearts bobbed and bounced off each other on their satin ribbons.
“Oh sweet baby Jesus but you’re the most beautiful creature,” Finn said brightly, then grinned and tried his very best to focus on me. He wore a pair of grey jersey Star Wars pyjamas courtesy of Davey, and he had a severe case of bedhead. He looked absolutely adorable and also completely stoned. “You’re, like, amazing. I mean, just look at that arse...”
“Just how much morphine have you had, Strachan?” I asked.
“Ooh, Goldilocks amount.” Finn’s smile widened. “Like l’il baby bear’s porridge.” I must have looked a little confused because he added, “You know, Jus’ right? Enough to keep the pain down to a dull roar and let me appreciate you and your glorious arse at the same time. S’amazin’. Your arse, I mean. Very… squeezable.”
“Well it’s very nice to be appreciated,” I finally managed. “Thank you.”
“Nah, you’re more than welcome, honestly,” Finn hazily reassured me, with such sincerity that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ooh yeah, and that right there. That smile - you’re just the perfect package,” he said.
“I try my best,” I said and straightened the blankets back over his legs where he’d animatedly thrown them off. “And whilst this impromptu convention of the one-man Lilith Bresson Appreciation Society is delightful, what you really need is sleep, and peace and quiet.”
“Aw, but I have half this amazing bed going to waste,” Finn pouted. “It’s got these... what are they called? Uppy-downy things and everything. See?” He clicked a button on the little control panel in his hand and happily brought the back of the bed up so that he was sitting upright, then found the other button that laid him flat again. “How cool is that? I wouldn’t even have to make an effort – I could just lie there and press stuff.”
“My love, as tempting as that sounds and as ridiculously adorable as you are, you’re currently flying at forty-two thousand feet and so far from informed consent that it’s been left in a different timezone.” I placed a kiss on his forehead. “Now sleep and heal, Strachan. I’ll only be next door, and I love you.”
“An’ I love you. Def’n’ly worth getting shot for,” he slurred.
“Thank you. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I assured him.
“Nah, you’re more than welcome,” he said. Then as I reached the door, he raised his head one last time. “And I definitely think we should get married.”
I froze on the threshold. “Pardon?”
“You know, get hitched. Have a wedding. You’d be my next of kin no problem then. Heh.” He gave a happy little snort of laughter. “An’ there’s the fact that I love you, of course. We could jump the broom. Do we even have a broom? Maybe it’s a vacuum cleaner these days. Or maybe the ward cleaner would lend us her mop…” his voice trailed off. “Just lemme know…”
Yes, No, What the hell did you just say? raced through my head, but loudest of all was that first Yes. For a moment, the world spun.
I finally found my voice. “If you can remember any of this conversation when you finally land, perhaps we could talk.”
I turned to look at him, but Finn had already fallen asleep, a look of innocent, beatific bliss on his face.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lilith
In the strangest way, the two weeks with Finn in hospital once he was out of danger provided some of the most tranquil and content moments of our relationship so far. There was nothing he could do but heal and there was nothing I could do but be with him as he did so. There were still bad days as the pain relief wore off and the hard work of recovery began, but with time and care and Finn’s indomitable courage the balance eventually shifted, and the good days outnumbered them.
