“What’s he in for?” Annie sat down, noticing that the teddy bear she’d brought was propped on top of Polly’s heart monitor.
“Oh, it’s a fascinating story. He was the fourth person in the UK to be diagnosed with AIDS. In 1984. Imagine!”
“Wow, and he’s still alive?”
“Just about. It’s starting to attack his brain, and he forgets things a lot. All his friends are dead, two of his boyfriends—you name it, everyone gone. Can you imagine?”
“That’s sad.” Polly’s mood was clearly swinging back up, buoyant as a balloon. Annie waited to hear why.
“I mean, can you imagine living like I am now, thinking every day’s your last, only for twenty years? He’s got no savings. Can’t afford his rent now they’ve cut his benefits. No family, most of his friends dead.” Polly patted a book on her bedside table. “He’s given me this to read. Man’s Search for Meaning. It’s by this guy who was sent to Auschwitz and his wife and family died, but he still says it’s possible to be happy in any situation. That we can always control our response to anything, inside ourselves. Do you believe that, Annie?”
“Sure.” Annie didn’t. There were some things she just didn’t think you could get past.
“And have you seen the fundraising site? So many comments from people doing happy things. I need to keep doing stuff. Whatever happens to me. I need to keep going with the hundred days. But I’m stuck here. I can’t leave the hospital until they’ve shrunk this new tumor down. Did you know I had an exciting new tumor? I’m going to call this one Frank.”
“Yeah. I knew. Listen, George and I can do the happy-days stuff, if it means so much to you. Costas, too.”
“Really?” Polly raised the place where her eyebrows used to be.
“’Course. I mean, as long as there are no marine animals involved.”
Polly laughed, which turned into a storm of coughing. “I’ll...just ring SeaWorld and...cancel. Would you really do that for me? See, if you could film yourselves doing things, we can upload it to the fundraising site, and Milly reckons it’ll help ‘drive traffic’ or whatever. That’s good, isn’t it? That would mean something. Some kind of...legacy.”
Annie wondered what would happen if Polly gave up on the plan entirely. The energy of it seemed to be the only thing holding her together. “Of course. Listen, I can’t stay long, sorry. I’ve missed so much work recently, and I need to see my mum.”
“Oh, can I come with you?”
“Er, you’re bedridden.”
“I’m not. Push me in the wheelchair. Pleeease. I’m so bored here.”
“Well, okay, if you think a trip to the geriatrics ward is fun.”
“In my world, this is what passes for a night out clubbing.”
“Stop trying to get sympathy. Shall I call a nurse?”
“No, no, they’re busy saving lives and stuff. We can manage it.”
With much shuffling, Annie got Polly out of bed and into the wheelchair, which was sitting in the corner. She weighed so little Annie probably could have picked her up in her arms. “There. Where to, miss? I’m not going south of the river, not at this time of night.”
“Is there an Uber wheelchair option? Maybe I can start one from my deathbed.”
Annie wheeled her into the lift and they went to Geriatrics. As she squeaked Polly down the hall she nodded to people she recognized: the handsome pediatrics registrar, the motherly woman who pushed the books trolley, the receptionist from Patient Records. You could get used to anything, really. A hospital could start to feel like a home. A stranger could start to feel like your very best friend. And your mother—well, she could become a stranger.
“She’s sleeping,” said Dr. Quarani, barring the way. The ward was quiet, the only sign of the patients the tiny mounds in the beds. Funny how you shrank back into yourself, at the end.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, I think. Earlier she thought I was Omar Sharif, but apart from that...”
“Oh, my God,” Annie muttered, mortified. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s quite all right. She seemed rather pleased to meet me. Asked me to join her in a hand of bridge.”
“Er, my face is down here,” Polly said from her wheelchair.
He looked down. “Hello, Miss Leonard. Should you be out of bed? I understood you had a secondary and were on bed rest awaiting radiotherapy.”
Polly pulled a face. “You make me sound like a garden or something. I can’t just lie there. I have to do something.”
He frowned. “Does Dr. Fraser know you’re up?”
“Oh, I’m sure he does. On some level. Anyway, enough about me. How are you?” Annie could have sworn that Polly was trying to bat her eyelashes. Not that she had any. She leaned her cheek on one hand, the one with the catheter still in it.
“I’m rather busy.” He started reaching for the ward phone. “I really think I should speak to Dr. Fraser...”
“Oh, leave it, please. He’s so grumpy. Tell me more about you. You have any family over here or...?” Annie looked away. This was totally cringe, as Polly would say.
“Family? No.” He looked at his watch. “Miss Leonard—”
“It’s Polly, please. I’m not a defendant in court. Not yet, anyway, ha-ha. What about back in Syria, family there or—”
Dr. Quarani snapped his chart shut. “Please. I must ask you to go back to your ward. The nurses will be looking to take your bloods and if you’re not there it just creates extra work. Ms. Hebden, your mother is stable for now. I suggest you get some rest, attend to your own job and come back tomorrow.”
Polly stared as he strode from the ward. “Hold the front page, I think we have a new contender for grumpiest doctor of the year award.”
Annie started wheeling her away. “Seriously, Poll, what was that? Were you flirting with him?”
“So what if I was? Just because I’m in the hospital doesn’t mean I’m dead inside.”
“But he’s a doctor, and you’re—”
“What? I’m sick? I know I’m sick, Annie. For God’s sake. Is that all I am to you?”
Annie pushed her faster, hissing through clenched teeth. It was hard to argue with someone when they were in front of you. “You know that’s not true. It’s just...not appropriate, that’s all.”
“But it’s fine for you to flirt with Dr. McGrumpy?”
“I do not flirt with him.”
“‘Oh, Dr. Max, show me more brain scans. Oh, Dr. Max, someone should really iron your shirts and make you a decent meal!’”
“I don’t sound like that.” People were starting to look up at the sound of their bickering. Annie pushed faster. “Come on. Back to bed with you. Unless you want me to see if they can check you into some kind of ward for inappropriate behavior.”
“I have a brain tumor, I’m allowed,” Polly said, folding her thin arms.
“It’s hard to tell what’s the tumor and what’s your personality, sometimes.”
“Oh, charming. Shit! Dr. Max! Reverse, reverse! Duck in there! Quick!”
“But that’s the—”