the documents, moving, money, we’d help. Wouldn’t we, Bob?”
Bob felt as if his head was spinning, he was used to Maureen and her determination to organise everybody, every thing, but he hadn’t seen this one coming, so he just nodded, forcing a smile, whilst considering how welcome a glass or two of La Motte Shiraz would be at this moment.
Maureen’s jaw tensed, thin lips pursing. “We would even let your wife come if that was what you wanted.” The words were strained, through clenched teeth. She glanced about. “Hold on a minute, talking of that woman, where is she? She should be at your bedside right now. How dare she not be here when you need her, baby. What is that woman like!”
Darren held her hand, interlinking his fingers with hers, her perfect pink manicure offsetting the ochre nicotine stains on his hands. “She’s here, Mam, she just went upstairs for a bit.”
Maureen tutted her disgust. “I should give her a piece of my mind!”
Bob had no dislike for his daughter-in-law of two years, she was pretty enough, seemed as if she’d make a good mother one day if she’d just lose the silly job and concentrate on her man instead, but he knew that, right now, it was time to diffuse the situation. “So, Daz, what do you think of your mam’s suggestion then?”
Darren thought for a minute, nodding, a light smile. “You know, I think it would be good. It’d be good to be near you guys, and I definitely like the idea of all year sunshine. You reckon I’d be able to find work, Dad?”
“Of course, of course. Carpentry, woodwork, you’d get plenty of work out there, and, like your mam says, we’d help you with everything. Run it by Sophie when you see her. It’s about time she stopped that career lark and gave us a grandchild, I mean, after all, there won’t be much call for an English solicitor in Mallorca, will there, so she’d have to just look after you and a few kids instead.”
Maureen’s back straightened, hands neatly placed in the centre of her lap, and she smiled sweetly, mission accomplished. So she’d have to put up with that woman, but at least she’d have her favourite son and his babies nearby.
Harold stood abruptly, sucking air into his lungs, gasping, and he reached over, patting Beryl’s shoulder. “Darling, wake up, wake up!” Beryl stirred, then sat bolt upright as she remembered where she was. “She’s awake! Sophie’s awake! Nurse! Nurse!” Fumbling, he reached for the assistance button and pressed a few times, overexcited.
Sophie’s eyes were wide, deep brown puddles in the centre of the scared whiteness, framed by long, dark lashes that defied the goldenness of her long curls. Her weak hands rose to her throat, breathing raspy and laboured, trying to tug lamely at the ventilator. A split second later a nurse at the door, seeing the recently comatose patient, shouted out for assistance. Running over, she pushed Harold aside. “Please move back.” Taking Sophie’s hand, her manner was calm and reassuring. “Sophie. Hello Sophie. Calm down, love, I know it’s awkward to breathe, just let the machine do it for you until the doctor comes, just relax, love, it’s okay.”
The gossip had swamped the nurses’ stations, the canteen, the sneaked cigarette breaks: the story of the tragic couple who had both ended up in hospital on the same night for completely different reasons. It was easily approved to give them a room together, that was the least they could do, poor loves! The porter wheeled Darren’s bed into the small room, pleasing him immensely to have his own space away from the coughing and spluttering, wheezing and grunting, of the patients on the previous ward.
At the same time, Sophie was with the consultant being discharged from intensive care. The ventilating cannula had been removed from her mouth, leaving her throat sore and grazed, her voice husky, and the only drip still attached was helping to rehydrate her. Harold and Beryl, his
Bob felt as if his head was spinning, he was used to Maureen and her determination to organise everybody, every thing, but he hadn’t seen this one coming, so he just nodded, forcing a smile, whilst considering how welcome a glass or two of La Motte Shiraz would be at this moment.
Maureen’s jaw tensed, thin lips pursing. “We would even let your wife come if that was what you wanted.” The words were strained, through clenched teeth. She glanced about. “Hold on a minute, talking of that woman, where is she? She should be at your bedside right now. How dare she not be here when you need her, baby. What is that woman like!”
Darren held her hand, interlinking his fingers with hers, her perfect pink manicure offsetting the ochre nicotine stains on his hands. “She’s here, Mam, she just went upstairs for a bit.”
Maureen tutted her disgust. “I should give her a piece of my mind!”
Bob had no dislike for his daughter-in-law of two years, she was pretty enough, seemed as if she’d make a good mother one day if she’d just lose the silly job and concentrate on her man instead, but he knew that, right now, it was time to diffuse the situation. “So, Daz, what do you think of your mam’s suggestion then?”
Darren thought for a minute, nodding, a light smile. “You know, I think it would be good. It’d be good to be near you guys, and I definitely like the idea of all year sunshine. You reckon I’d be able to find work, Dad?”
“Of course, of course. Carpentry, woodwork, you’d get plenty of work out there, and, like your mam says, we’d help you with everything. Run it by Sophie when you see her. It’s about time she stopped that career lark and gave us a grandchild, I mean, after all, there won’t be much call for an English solicitor in Mallorca, will there, so she’d have to just look after you and a few kids instead.”
Maureen’s back straightened, hands neatly placed in the centre of her lap, and she smiled sweetly, mission accomplished. So she’d have to put up with that woman, but at least she’d have her favourite son and his babies nearby.
Harold stood abruptly, sucking air into his lungs, gasping, and he reached over, patting Beryl’s shoulder. “Darling, wake up, wake up!” Beryl stirred, then sat bolt upright as she remembered where she was. “She’s awake! Sophie’s awake! Nurse! Nurse!” Fumbling, he reached for the assistance button and pressed a few times, overexcited.
Sophie’s eyes were wide, deep brown puddles in the centre of the scared whiteness, framed by long, dark lashes that defied the goldenness of her long curls. Her weak hands rose to her throat, breathing raspy and laboured, trying to tug lamely at the ventilator. A split second later a nurse at the door, seeing the recently comatose patient, shouted out for assistance. Running over, she pushed Harold aside. “Please move back.” Taking Sophie’s hand, her manner was calm and reassuring. “Sophie. Hello Sophie. Calm down, love, I know it’s awkward to breathe, just let the machine do it for you until the doctor comes, just relax, love, it’s okay.”
The gossip had swamped the nurses’ stations, the canteen, the sneaked cigarette breaks: the story of the tragic couple who had both ended up in hospital on the same night for completely different reasons. It was easily approved to give them a room together, that was the least they could do, poor loves! The porter wheeled Darren’s bed into the small room, pleasing him immensely to have his own space away from the coughing and spluttering, wheezing and grunting, of the patients on the previous ward.
At the same time, Sophie was with the consultant being discharged from intensive care. The ventilating cannula had been removed from her mouth, leaving her throat sore and grazed, her voice husky, and the only drip still attached was helping to rehydrate her. Harold and Beryl, his
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