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‘Am I, am…’
‘No, you’re not paralysed.’ Sharon grinned heartlessly at him. ‘You’re just weak. A combination of the beating you’ve taken, the anaesthetic and the operation–you’re just as weak as a kitten, as my mum would say.’
‘Sorry, I’ve been an idiot. I didn’t mean to make a fuss.’
‘It’s not making a fuss that got you in this mess.’ Sharon plumped up his pillows. Then, turning to Millie, she asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘Pete’s letting me go in late. I’ve got an hour.’
‘Then I’d best leave you to talk. I expect you both have a few things to say. The sandwich trolly will be around in a while. I recommend the cheese.’
Alone again, Millie looked at George and he wished he could turn back time. He wondered what she was thinking. Everything had been wrong since the mugging. Now he had to make things right, but he didn’t know how.
‘How did I get here?’ he asked. It seemed a good place to start. Easier to get an answer to than asking how do I make things right with you, Millie? Safer than asking, why are you cross with me, Millie?
‘I called an ambulance. You collapsing was scary.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know.’ She took his hand in hers and ran her thumb across his skin.
‘How did you get hold of my mum?’ Another simple question. Was he evading the hard stuff? Probably. Wasn’t that what he nearly always did?
‘The paramedic knew who you were.’
‘That was probably Uncle Stephen’s son, Christopher. He’s my cousin on my mum’s side.’
Millie nodded. ‘So, he gave me your home telephone number, and I gave it to the hospital, so they could call.’
‘Has my dad been in?’
‘For a little while.’
‘Oh.’ George stared at the cover on his bed, white with a textured fabric that formed little squares in the weave. If his dad had been in and Millie had met him, it was downhill from now on. He thought he’d already hit rock bottom. Now it seemed he was still travelling down.
‘He seemed anxious about you,’ Millie said. ‘Your mum had to take him outside to get him to calm down. When she came back, she was on her own and said he had things to do.’
‘I bet he did,’ George muttered.
The sandwich trolly rattled into the room. A cheery woman announced he could choose cheese, salad or ham. Caviar was off the menu today. She laughed at her own joke. On Sharon’s advice, George asked for cheese.
Millie said, ‘I’m going to have to leave.’
‘The hour’s not up yet,’ George protested.
‘I know, but I mustn’t risk being late.’
George looked at his sandwich. He wasn’t hungry. ‘I suppose our weekend plan is off,’ he said.
Millie leant over and kissed his unbruised cheek. ‘Aye, I’m afraid so. You heard the doctor. You’re going to be in here three days or more.’
George made a hissing sound that summed up all his misery. ‘I go back to university in just over a week… so no chance.’
‘No chance of what, George?’ She squeezed his hand and close up to his face their eyes met. Sapphires sparkled at him. His courage failed. Maybe he was never meant to do anything this weekend, even if he hadn’t been beaten to within an inch of his life. Perhaps Millie wasn’t over Robert yet.
