George was more honest. “Jesus Christ, Poll. You better be actually dying, because I am never, never doing that again. I’m going to need years of therapy to get over this.”
Polly waved her hand. Taking offense was one of the many things she’d decided she didn’t have time for, along with worrying about her calorie intake, queuing and trying to look cool. She slung a cardigan over her thin shoulders; Annie noticed how her hands shook. But her voice was bright. “I might go with some of these guys for a hemp smoothie, fancy it?”
George and Annie clashed eyes. “I’ve got to work,” she said quickly.
“On the weekend?”
“Um, it’s Wednesday, Poll.”
“Is it? Oh, well, it’s all the same to me these days. What about you, bro?”
“I have a big audition...possibly.”
“What for?”
“Um, I don’t know,” George vamped. “Agent forgot to tell me, ha-ha.”
“Okay.” Polly waved a hand. “See you guys soon?”
“Tomorrow. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. Duh, I’ve still got some of my faculties. See you then.”
As she left, Annie looked at George again, and the two of them burst out laughing. “Dear God,” she said. “I’ve had general anesthetics that were more enjoyable than that class.”
“Let’s never go again. Even if she begs. Pact?”
“Pact,” she agreed. “Do you really have an audition?”
“Ha, no. The way things are going, I couldn’t even get picked for a police lineup. Unless someone’s casting for the role of ‘battered husband.’”
Annie fell silent. She suspected there was more behind his black eye—now almost healed—than he was saying, but was afraid to ask.
He slung his man-bag over his shoulder and pushed his hands into his gilet pockets. “Bye, Annie. See you tomorrow for yet more ridiculous antics with my sister.” And he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Annie blushed. She would never have even spoken to someone like George—so grouchy, so opinionated—in her life, if not for Polly and all this madness. Unless he rang up to complain about his council tax. And yet here she was, on a weekday morning, giggly and glowing, with an hour left before she had to be at work. Time to buy a latte somewhere, and maybe a croissant, and sit for a while in the spring sun. She thought of the city spread out before her, and she thought of Sharon and Jeff and Fee all cooped up in that smelly little office in Lewisham, and she heaved a deep sigh of something that might have been close to contentment.
DAY 32
Volunteer
“This is the worst yet,” George said. “I mean...look at me.”
“You look great. That yellow really matches the whites of your eyes.”
He glared at Polly. “May I say it again, if you weren’t already dying...”
Annie plucked at her own costume. “I get that George is the Easter bunny, but what are we?”
“Chicks, of course. Groovy chicks.”
That explained the fluffy yellow dress and the orange tights. At least she got to wear a beak headdress that would hopefully hide her identity.
George was still moaning about his costume, which was made of pale yellow fur, with floppy ears. “This is so humiliating. I’m in Equity, you know.”
“Think of it as a top acting gig,” Polly urged. She managed to make her own chicken costume look like couture. “Come on, guys. This is really important.”
Annie and George exchanged grouchy commiserating looks. “At least you’re not dressed like a dumpy showgirl,” she said. “You’ve got the starring role.”
“Hmph. What’s my motivation for this part?”
“To give Easter eggs to the poor suffering kids on the children’s ward,” Polly said sternly. “The ones who can’t go outside because they’re so ill it will kill them?”
“Fine, fine.” He adjusted his ears. “I’m going to play it as an Easter bunny that missed out on the lead role in Watership Down because of a tragic brush with myxomatosis, and compensates by bringing a depth and pathos to even this gig.”
“Whatevs. Right, we’ve hidden the eggs around the ward already, so you just have to help the kids find them and be nice and stuff. Think you can manage that?”
“Yeah,” mumbled Annie and George.
“Och, it’s Bugs Bunny!” Oh, no. Scottish accent. Dr. Max was approaching, today in a shirt and tie, both crumpled, as was his face with tiredness. With him was Dr. Quarani, neat as always.
“Hi, Dr. McGrumpy!” shouted Polly. “What do you think?” She gave a minitwirl, adding, faux-nonchalantly: “Oh, hi, Dr. Quarani.”
“Hello,” he said. Polite but distant. Annie saw Polly’s face fall. “How is your mother, Ms. Hebden?”
“Much better, thanks. I found her doing the word search in her magazine earlier. It’s been months since she could manage that.”
“Interesting outfit.” Dr. Max was looking at Annie.
Annie blushed, pulling down the edge of her fluffy dress. “It’s for the kids,” she said.
“Is it, or is it to make the adults feel better about themselves? I hope the costumes have been sterilized. Seriously, Polly, some of these wee ones are vairy sick indeed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop fussing! It’s going to be great.”
“Well, sorry, but it’s my job to fuss. Hand hygiene, everyone. If they’re on ‘nil by mouth’ that means nothing by mouth. Don’t give them chocolate. If they’re on ‘limited contact,’ do not cuddle them or pick them up. I know it might make you feel all fuzzy inside, but it could actually kill them. Aye?”
“Do you want to join us, Dr. Quarani?” Polly said innocently.
“I tend to deal with the older patients.”
Dr. Max glanced at him. “Sami is a serious doctor. I doubt he’d want to be associated with grown-ups dressed like farm animals.”
“Rabbits aren’t farm animals.” Polly adjusted her beak. “Come on, the kids are really cute!”
“I must go. It’s time for my run.” Dr. Quarani hurried off without a backward glance, fiddling with his Fitbit.
“Well, isn’t he a barrel of laughs,” muttered Polly.
Dr. Max frowned. “I’m serious, Polly. Leave Sami alone. And be careful around these kiddies. They’re vairy fragile.”
“Are you coming in?” said Annie.
He shook his head. “I’ve to excise a brain tumor. It’s not a—”
“Not a nine-to-five, yes, we know.” Polly rolled her eyes again. “That really is your catchphrase.”
“Well, petition the government for more funding if you want things to change. Have fun, though.”
Funny how he could always make her feel frivolous and stupid, even when she was trying to help. Annie pulled her hem down again. Polly stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. “Never mind Dr. McGrumpy. Come on, let’s do this.”
Annie was strangely nervous as the doors buzzed open, rubbing a layer of hand sanitizer into her palms. Sick adults she could cope with. At least they could understand their situation. But what did you say to a small child who might die before they’d even lived? At least there wouldn’t be any babies. She couldn’t have coped with sick babies.