Handle With Care (9 page)

“Visiting hours are almost over. You need your rest.” She gave us both a pointed stare before moving off to the next victim.

“I’ll be back later, yeah? Evening visiting hours. Or will you want your sister here instead?”

“I want you both here,” I said.

“Great. She seems cool.” He gave me a warm smile. “Laters, yeah?”

I tried to give him back the drawing.

“No, you keep that. I’ve got it scanned into the Mac, so I’ll print out a colourised version for you when I get the chance. This is to remind you what you have to look forward to when you get better, yeah?”

I nodded and watched that cute little arse as he walked towards the door. I didn’t need to try and hide the fact I was checking him out anymore, did I? My boyfriend. My very much alive-and-kicking boyfriend.

After he’d left, I studied the drawing for ages, only hiding it back in the file when the nurses came in on their rounds. It was a reminder that I hadn’t hallucinated Ollie’s visit, but also, I was captivated by Ollie’s vision of me.

Cyber-Ben was large but powerful. I was reminded of some of the blokes I used to watch in the clubs, studying them for tips on how to approach a potential hook-up.

Did Ollie really see me as one of those sexy tops? The thought warmed me through, right down to my toes.

Or maybe that was just the morphine.

74

Ollie had been at my bedside every visiting session for the last two days, and I’d become utterly dependent on him to lift my mood. I’d been moved into a small ward by then, and the guy in the bed opposite was driving me nuts with his snoring all night and incessant moaning about this and that during the day.

God, I hoped I never sounded like that. I made a mental note to keep a positive outlook. Should be much easier, though, after the transplant. I might have been on a drug regime to rival Michael Jackson’s, but at least I wasn’t going to have to deal with dialysis anymore.

But the pain, the frustration at being stuck in hospital, and the knowledge that I’d spend the rest of my life on a cocktail of powerful drugs to stop my body rejecting my new organs, all melted away with the warmth of Ollie’s laugh and the light of his smile. That’s why I was bereft when he told me he wouldn’t be visiting the next day.

Zoe butted in. “Hey misery-guts, I’ve got the day off work, so I’ll be here instead.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.” Oh God, I sounded like a sullen teenager. I tried to summon up a smile for them both. They didn’t deserve me going all grumpy on them when they’d both been putting themselves out driving over here to visit every day. “What are you up to, then?” I asked Ollie. Did that sound demanding and suspicious? I didn’t mean it to, but I did want to know more about his life.

Fortunately, Ollie didn’t seem to find my tone objectionable. “Got my shift at the café. I can’t let them down, and anyway”—he started spinning his leather bracelets around, an action I’d learnt signalled nervousness—“I, uh, need the money right now.”

What for? But I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to be the prying, controlling type.

From what few details he’d let slip, it sounded as if his ex had been like that, and I wanted to be different, to treat him with respect. “I thought you were on holiday this week,” I said, trying to keep the whine out of my voice.

“Um, yeah, well, I didn’t want to bother you when you were in such a mess already…” Ollie trailed off, looking at Zoe as if for help. The two of them seemed to have made friends these last couple of days. Or at least, Ollie was friends with Zoe. I couldn’t yet tell what she made of him, as she was always perfectly polite yet guarded in his presence. Still, Ollie didn’t seem to notice, maybe because he didn’t know what she was normally like.

Ollie’s imploring eyes made him look about twelve, and I wondered what on earth I thought I was doing with him. The age gap seemed insurmountable at times like this.

“Nuh-uh. You tell him yourself,” Zoe said. “I’m not doing your dirty work.”

Eventually he took a deep breath, and it all came out in a rush. “I-got-the-sack-’cause-I-was-late-and-one-of-your-neighbours-saw-my-van-parked-outside-your-house-for-fifteen-minutes-and-phoned-it-in-to-my-boss. Sorry, ex boss,” he added sheepishly. “Turns out she’s his great aunt, and she’s a right curtain-twitching busybody.”

“Oh,” I said. Then I thought about what he was telling me. “Shit! You mean, on Friday when we were in the kitchen…” A vision of Ollie looking up as he took me in his mouth momentarily distracted me. I glanced at Zoe, who was watching us both with ill-concealed interest. “And he fired you for that?

Bastard!”

76

Ollie just shrugged. “Yeah, but it is against the rules, and he said he’d had enough of my insolent ways giving his company a bad image. Said I was guilty of
at least
seven different uniform violations.” He sounded proud of this last fact.

“Did you wear that T-shirt into work, then?” Zoe asked.

Ollie looked down at his skinny-fit, purple T-shirt. It was the one I’d seen him in that time I went to spy at the skate park. Turns out the rhinestones spelt out:
Drama Queen, fuelled by chocolate
. I couldn’t imagine the confidence it must take to walk out wearing something like that. Especially as it was quite clearly a girl’s T-shirt. Looked good on him, though, and the slogan was particularly apt as he always seemed to have a bag of Malteasers or M&Ms on the go. God knew how someone who ate that much chocolate could stay so skinny.

“Nah, this one’s way too good for work. He mostly had a problem with the hair and the jewellery. Said I looked like a punk, but so what? Didn’t make any difference to how well I could deliver a bloody parcel, did it? And none of the customers ever seemed bothered.”

“What a git!” Zoe exclaimed. “After you saving Ben’s life on the doorstep last week! Now that’s customer service.”

Ollie looked alarmed. “You wouldn’t have died, would you?”

I shook my head. “Not when Zoe was coming to check up on me.”

Ollie nodded, but from the way his gaze fixed on me, I knew he was still worried. I needed to change the subject from my ill health before it scared him off for good.

I considered the situation from Ollie’s point of view. “So, are you looking for another job, then? Or are they giving you more shifts at the café?”

The bracelets started spinning again. “Not exactly.” I waited for him to continue. When he eventually did, there was a nervous smile on his face. “I’ve been looking into setting up that café I told you about. Remember? In the park, by the ramps?” I flushed, remembering spying on him there. Ollie continued.

“There’s this building there that’s been empty for years. It’s just perfect, and the rent seems pretty cheap, but there’s so much I need to sort out, and I’m not sure how to. I’ve been researching suppliers and shit, but I don’t know how to put a business plan together, and I need to have one to apply for a loan.”

“You really want to run a café?” Zoe asked. She sounded perfectly polite to the untrained ear, but I could hear the scepticism lurking under her innocent question. “Catering is bloody hard work, you know.”

“Yeah, it’d be brilliant. I’d be my own boss, get to chat to people all day, make good food and drinks. An’ what’s more, I’d be able to watch the skaters, but I wouldn’t feel I had to get up there and prove anything. You know, that I’m still tough even though I’m a poof. I could just be a spectator.” He grinned and pulled up a sleeve to show us a skinned elbow. “Could do without getting these all the time.”

I hated the idea of him hurting himself just to prove a point to his so-called friends. As I stared at Ollie’s broken skin, a plan formed. I’d need my laptop, but until I could get Zoe to bring it in, paper and pen would suffice.

“So, this park, does it get busy? You think you’ll have enough customers? I can’t imagine teenagers have all that much money to spend.”

“You’d be surprised. Most of ’em come from nice families. You know, their dads drive BMWs and Mercs. They’ve got a fair bit to waste on cans of Coke and chocolate from the nearby shops. I reckon I can persuade them to come and buy stuff from me instead, especially if I can give them somewhere warm to sit on chilly days. Play some decent music.” I frowned, but Ollie was determined to sell the idea to me. “It’s not just them, though. During the day, the park is packed with mums and littl’uns. I could serve tea and coffee and cake. Maybe get some organic baby foods in. Keep some toys in the corner. And then when the 78

weather’s hot, in the school holidays, I reckon I could sell enough ice creams to keep me in business all year round.”

“What about bad weather? And will you be able to manage all of this by yourself? What about if you get sick?”

“That’s the beauty of it, you see. When it’s quiet, I’ll be able to get on with my illustrations, and then when it gets really busy, I can take on extra help. My cousin said she’d give me a few hours’ help every Saturday, and she’s brilliant with people.” Ollie’s cheeks dimpled as he launched into his plans. Okay, so he didn’t have a clue about the administrative side of running a business, but he had good ideas and a surplus of energy and enthusiasm. I watched the way his hands moved to emphasise his words, and I realised that I didn’t want him to ever lose that optimism. I wanted to help him make his dreams come true.

I just had to hope he’d still want me along for the ride.

In the end, it was Ollie who drove me home. Zoe had been at work when the doctor discharged me, but Ollie was right there at my bedside. He cleared out the bedside cabinet while I signed the paperwork and accepted my Ziploc bag full of medication. There was one of those day-of-the-week pill containers in there, with a separate compartment for each day. I was going to have to take three different immunosuppressant drugs three times a day for at least the first six months, and two of them I’d remain taking for as long as my new organs lasted. The list of possible side effects was about as long as my arm and just about the scariest thing I’d ever read. Still, better that than have my body reject the transplants, I suppose.

I wasn’t too thrilled about erectile dysfunction appearing on all three lists, although come to think of it, I’d been told not to have sex for a month anyway.

The doctor wasn’t too detailed about what was included in that definition, though, but as I didn’t particularly want to discuss the ins and outs of my sexual preferences with the guy, I decided it probably ruled out everything.

Well, mostly everything. Maybe I could think of a few ways to get Ollie off, even if my orgasms were out of bounds.

“I’ve got your bag,” Ollie said when I went to pick it up.

“I can manage. I’m not a total invalid.”

Ollie gave me this look of bemused pity. “You know you’re not meant to be lifting anything until your muscles have healed. Anyway, there’s a porter waiting outside with a wheelchair.”

“I don’t need a sodding wheelchair.”

“Right. Because after all the exercise you’ve had this last week of lying on your arse, you’re ready for a half-a-mile walk across the hospital to get to the car park.”

He had me there. I’m sure it hadn’t been that far away when I arrived, but then maybe Zoe had lucked out with the parking. I submitted to the chair with rather ill grace, I admit, but I was secretly glad not to have to prove my level of fitness…or unfitness, as was more likely.

I was silent during the trip down the hospital corridors, listening to Ollie chat to the porter about whether he enjoyed his job and whether he had any family.

“Five beautiful girls and a handsome baby boy,” the man answered in heavily accented English. I could believe his kids would be attractive, as the man himself was so striking. Tall and dark-skinned, he looked like he’d have fit in 80

better modelling than working as a lowly porter, if it weren’t for the gold tooth and long dreadlocks hanging down his back.

“You got kids yourself?” he asked.

I could hear Ollie’s grin in the sound of his voice. “Nah, not much chance of that. I’ve got a little brother, though. He’s a right little bruiser. Reckon he takes after his dad.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” I said, aggrieved he’d confided in the porter before me.

“Well, half-brother. I don’t see him as often as I’d like.”

After that, the two of them got back to the porter’s brood, while I sat and pondered how much I really knew about Ollie. Clearly there were big gaps in my knowledge that needed filling.

Ollie’s car was one of them.

I stared at it, blinking, forcing myself not to react visibly to the rust patches, gaffa tape around the wing-mirror and heap of discarded chocolate wrappers and takeaway coffee containers that littered the inside. Worse yet, it was a white Fiat Panda—a car that not only looked like a piece of shit but had virtually no acceleration and was cramped inside.

Ollie swung open the passenger door with a flourish.

“Your carriage awaits you, sir.”

“Thanks.” I lowered myself into the seat and got a lungful of air-freshener from the cardboard Christmas tree hanging from the rear view mirror. Now that I was inside, I could see a few touches that were more obviously Ollie, such as the row of miniature skateboards blu-tacked to the dashboard, and the R2-D2

keyring hanging next to that stinky air-freshener tree.

“What d’you reckon?” Ollie said as he thunked down into the driver’s seat, making the whole car shake. “I know she doesn’t look much yet, but she’s all mine. I saved up out of my wages.”

He sounded so proud of himself, I couldn’t help smiling. I remembered my first car, a beat-up old Vauxhall Astra, and how good it felt to have finally gained a bit of independence. That feeling soured when, five months later, Mum and Dad had their crash, but I’d had to keep driving so I could take Zoe places in my new role as legal guardian.

“She’s lovely,” I lied, patting the dashboard. “Does she have a name?”

Ollie turned the key, and as the starter motor struggled, he flashed me a bashful grin. “Rogue.” He gave her some choke, and she finally caught. “Not sure if I’ve cursed her with that name, but I reckon it suits her.”