Page 126 of While I’m Still Here

Danny looks between us with sudden delight. “Are we officially using that word now? Because I feel like there should've been some sort of announcement. Maybe a ceremony. I could've worn a suit.”

“You'd have set it on fire,” Marcus says.

“ONE PIECE OF TOAST MARCUS! LET IT GO… GOD”

I laugh again, and Danny grins at me with such obvious satisfaction that I immediately suspect he'll spend the rest of our relationship setting increasingly elaborate things on fire whenever I look miserable. “You do realise you can eat as soon as they take me through?” I ask, reaching over to steal Colin's hand from where it's resting on the table. “You don't have to wait until I'm out of surgery.”

Danny looks genuinely offended. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Why?”

“Because we've committed now, haven't we? We can't abandon the cause at the first sign of adversity.”

“What cause?”

He sits up a little straighter, clearly thrilled to have been asked. “Breastless Breakfast Solidarity.”

Marcus shuts his eyes and groans.

“No Tits Before Toast?” Danny suggests.

“Absolutely not,” Marcus replies.

“Tits Out, Toast Out?”

“Danny,” Colin says, sounding about done with him, as Marcus clearly is.

“Fasting for the Fallen?”

“My breasts aren't fallen soldiers, you absolute bellend.”

Danny glances pointedly at my left breast beneath Colin's T-shirt. “Technically, one of them committed treason.”

I make a noise that is part laugh and part genuine outrage. “She's still fucking here, Danny!”

He immediately turns towards my chest, places a hand over his heart and bows his head. “My sincerest apologies, madam. Alleged treason. Innocent until proven guilty.”

Colin laughs so hard he has to lean forward, and even Marcus loses the battle with his own face, turning toward the window with a smile he's clearly trying to hide from the rest of us.

I sit there watching them for a moment, my fingers still tangled with Colin's, while Danny launches into an increasingly elaborate argument about whether my left breast should be permitted legal representation. Marcus informs him that the prosecution has rather compelling medical evidence, which leads to Danny suggesting that my right breast should be offered witness protection. “She's getting removed too!” I remind him.

Danny's mouth falls open. “Fucking hell. This judicial system is corrupt.”

And I laugh.

Properly laugh, until my stomach hurts and my cheeks ache, and I have to tell Danny to stop because I genuinely cannot breathe. Somewhere in the middle of it, Colin squeezes my hand beneath the table, and Marcus takes the butter back to the fridge, and for a few minutes the most pressing concern in my life is whether Danny Clarke should ever be permitted unsupervised access to my household appliances again.

Then I glance at the clock above the kitchen door.

6 fucking a.m.

My laughter falters as I remember that in less than an hour I'll have to get dressed, grab my overnight bag, and leave this kitchen. Colin notices me looking at the clock, but instead of asking if I'm okay, he gets up and starts clearing away the remains of Danny's culinary disaster. Marcus checks that my hospital paperwork is in the bag, and Danny retrieves the banana from the fruit bowl, examines it for a moment and announces that he's putting it somewhere safe before anybody else gets hurt. I watch him place it carefully on top of the fridge. “Why the fuck have you put it up there?” I exclaim.

“Out of harm's way.”

“It's a banana, Danny.”

“That's what it wants you to think.”