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8
Nine years ago:
“You look like shit.”
Thomas chuckles, genuine mirth momentarily flooding his face, driving away the usual pallid gray tone it has these days.
“Did you come all the way down here to insult me, Ransom?”
I grin.
“In part.”
He smirks. “Well, I’m dying. What’s your excuse?”
He laughs a thin, weak laugh when I flip him off.
“Brought you something.”
He blinks, his eyes snapping to the pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes I toss on his lap in the hospital bed. He eyes them, frowning, before he raises his eyes to mine.
“Noel, I quit these things ten years ago.”
I nod. “Hmm, yes, I’ve heard they’re bad for you.”
He chuckles as I turn and grab the wheelchair pushed against the wall of his hospital room. I wheel it over, and we both ignore the indignity of me scooping his weakened frame out of the bed and into it.
“You’re a terrible influence, you know.”
“Well, someone has to remind you what fun feels like.”
I dodge the nurses on rotation and quickly push my friend into an elevator. I’ve bribed one of the janitors for his keys with a thousand quid, which I use to unlock the elevator access to the roof. We wheel out, down a short metal hallway, and then finally push through a maintenance door to the roof of UCH Macmillan Cancer Centre.
At the edge of the graveled roof, I stick two of the cigarettes in my mouth, lighting them with a flick of my grandfather’s lighter. I inhale, catching a cherry on both before I pass one to Thomas. He eyes it, shakes his head, and sighs as he brings it to his lips.
“Oh fuck me that’s good.”
I chuckle at the euphoric look on his face.
“Missed it, have you?”
“Everyfuckingday,” he groans, drawing another lung full of vice.
“Careful, I hear they can give you cancer.”
He grins, shaking his head.
“Maybe if I get two kinds, they’ll fight each other to death.”
“Brilliant theory, Thomas.”
He chuckles.
“You know, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who got me hooked on these bastards in the first place.”
I snort. “Fuck you, I’m not falling on that sword. I think we can both blame my father for this particular vice.”
He grins. “Oh, Christ, those pub tricks he used to show us when we were like ten?”
