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‘Time for move,’ he says. I’m guessing Eastern European.
‘Wow, I’m sure I can still walk.’
‘Why walk – you ride?’
I start to shift my legs, but he waves me to stop, beckons the nurse over.
‘Right, ready?’ She pulls back the bedclothes and I see I’m wearing hospital pyjama trousers, though they’ve left my T shirt. They’ve taken my boxers off too.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got your jeans,’ the nurse says.
‘Run off with my underwear?’ I joke.
‘Irresistible! But you’ll knock ’em dead in these!’ She slips synthetic hospital slippers on my feet.
‘Now, swing your legs over and steady yourself on my shoulder. That’s it.’
I get myself to a standing position, surprised how weak my legs feel, my head woozy.
‘Let’s walk you to the end of the ward, and then we’ll use the chair.’ She takes my arm. ‘There’s a bag with his stuff in that locker,’ she points out to Mum, ‘if you want to bring it along.’
I feel about ninety, leading the procession in my beige slippers, hanging onto the nurse’s arm. We get to the ward entrance and I’m thankful for the wheelchair.
The nurse helps me onto the bed in the side room. I lean back on the pillows and look out of the window. The brightness hurts my head and I turn away from it, rub my temples.
‘Will I get you something for your headache, now?’ the nurse asks.
I give her a weak smile. ‘I bet everyone wants to marry you, I want to marry you!’
‘I’m that spoilt for choice.’ She laughs.
Mum fusses putting my stuff away, pouring me water.
‘It’s OK.’ I wave her away. ‘Just need the drugs, yeah?’
‘I should leave you to rest a while, really.’
‘In a minute, Mum. Hold on.’ There’s a thin thread of something I wanted to say. I lean back and get an image of Jez in the firelight. When was that? Was that it?
The nurse brings painkillers. ‘Why don’t you take a wee rest?’ She looks at Mum who hastily gathers her bag.
The thread slips away. There is only Jez.
‘Where’s Jez?’
I drift into a soft greyness and give up thinking, better to sink and be carried by the warm cloud. All is emptiness, allow the drift.
I open my eyes a couple of times; they have drawn the slatted blinds across the window. I take a sip of water. Drift again.
‘Gethin?’ Mum’s voice, touch on my hand. I focus on her face, her blue eyes piercing the dim light. I feel a surge of gladness that she’s here.
‘You’ve got a visitor.’ She’s like when she’s springing a surprise on me as a kid.
She turns and I see, hovering behind her, that fat-cheeked baby-face with pursed lips holding back the biggest grin.
‘Jez!’
The grin erupts as Jez lunges towards the bed, landing with her arms around me, the weight of her boobs on my chest before she pulls back to look at me.
