* * *
She came back again at lunchtime, bringing a large carrier bag full of supplies. Toothpaste and a toothbrush, moist tissues for his hands and face, a few pieces of fruit and some dog-eared paperbacks from the hospital book exchange. Jon was taken down to the operating theatre late that afternoon, and when he woke up from the anaesthetic, his leg throbbing and his mouth feeling as if someone had stuffed it with cotton wool, Chloe was holding his hand.
‘You should...go...’ He didn’t know what time it was or how long he’d been out for, but the curtains on the ward were closed and it was dark outside.
‘I can stay until visiting time is over.’
She leaned forward, her fingers brushing his hair back from his brow. All he could feel was her tenderness. ‘I spoke to Mr Saunders. He says that everything went well, and your leg’s going to be fine. Now close your eyes and rest.’
He wanted to stay awake but the drugs in his system were dragging him back into a state of drowsy half-consciousness. The last thing he remembered was holding her hand in his, pressing it possessively against his chest.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JON WOKE THE next morning to find that his eye was throbbing, his leg was in a cast, and pretty much every bone in his body ached. And there was a note from Chloe on his locker.
Today is Saturday.
Jon smiled. He’d been wondering what day it was, and Chloe had clearly anticipated that.
I’ll be coming to see you this afternoon. Hannah picked some clothes up from your house yesterday and they’re in your locker. If I find you’ve not been doing as you’re told, I’ll fill out the forms to have you restrained.
Jon wondered whether Hannah had broken in when she’d gone to collect his things, and decided he didn’t care. Chloe was coming, and she could threaten him with whatever she liked. He needed to get out of bed.
He leaned over, reaching for the controller for the bed, just managing to grasp it between the tips of his fingers. Once he was sitting up he felt a little better, and a cup of tea from the breakfast trolley consolidated the improvement. If he lowered the height of the bed a little, he could reach the locker door, and he found a couple of T-shirts, a hooded top and some sweatpants stacked neatly inside.
‘Hey...’ One of the nurses, whom he knew by sight, was marching across the ward towards him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Mobilising.’ He gave her a smile and she ignored it.
‘Ah. Not playing with the controls on the bed, then.’ She picked up the remote, and hooked it on the end of the bed, out of reach.
‘Nah. I wouldn’t dare.’ He tried the smile again, and this time the nurse grinned back. ‘But I would like to get out of bed. Have a wash and get dressed.’
‘I don’t know. You’re not supposed to...’
But he was going to. Jon knew exactly what he wanted to say to Chloe, and he couldn’t say it like this. He needed to get back on his feet, and the sooner he started, the sooner he’d get there.
‘Please.’ He flashed the nurse his most winning smile. ‘I promise I won’t overdo things.’
‘All right. Stay there, I’ll go and get a wheelchair.’
* * *
Jon couldn’t help watching the doors of the ward and as the hands of the clock closed on the number twelve he operated the controls of his bed to put him as close to a sitting position as possible. It was crazy. Chloe wouldn’t be here this early. She might not be here at all, in which case he’d go and find her, as soon as he was able. But when the first group of visitors came onto the ward she was one of them, a large bag slung over her shoulder and Amy in her arms.
‘You’re dressed. And sitting up.’ She grinned in approval.
Amy was looking at him intently, and Jon wondered whether his swollen and bruised eye was frightening her. He covered it with his hand and smiled at her, his eye throbbing with pain.
‘Hurt... Kiss it better.’ She looked enquiringly up at Chloe.
‘Yes, sweetie. You want to kiss it better?’
Amy nodded, and Jon held out his hands towards her. Chloe delivered her into his arms, and he hugged her tight.
‘Careful, now, sweetie.’ Chloe caught Amy’s reaching hand just before it connected with his face. ‘We have to be very gentle with him.’