“Um, is there anything I can get you?” Annie said it in an embarrassed rush. “Anything you need?”
He looked around at his meager collection of belongings, the cardboard box he was sitting on to keep the damp out. “Jacuzzi’d be nice.” He laughed at her face. “Seriously, you don’t have to give me stuff. I’m just passing the time of day, like anyone else. It’s fine.”
“Okay. Thanks.” The bus came then, and Annie got on it, but she looked out of the window as they pulled off, Jonny’s forlorn figure sitting by himself on the ground.
DAY 45
Be silly
“Ready? Set—go!”
“Are you sure this is safe?” Annie called.
Polly and her opponent ignored her, racing past in wheelchairs, hands frantically spinning. They sped the length of the corridor, screeching to a halt beside a rack of sheets. A passing nurse dropped a pile of bedpans, swearing like a trooper.
Dr. Max stuck his head out of his cupboard-office, irate, hair sticking up. “I might have known it was you, Polly. But, Ahmed, I thought better of you?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ahmed said meekly. He was seventeen and totally bald, wearing Action Man pajamas. He had a brain aneurysm which was threatening to burst at any moment.
“Don’t listen to him, Ahmed. You’re the terror of the neurology ward. Faster than a speeding bullet.” Polly raised her hand to high-five him.
Ahmed smiled, aiming for her palm and missing it—loss of depth perception was one of his side effects. Dr. Max met Annie’s eyes down the corridor, and she shrugged. It was all Polly’s idea—the Great Neurology Ward Pentathlon. Next event: bedpan curling using a mop as a stick. Dr. Max rolled his eyes, offering a small blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile, then ducked back into his office-cupboard.
DAY 46
Raise money for charity
“Would you like a cupcake?” asked the French maid. He was six foot four with hairy knees.
Annie squinted. “Is that you, Yusuf?” Yusuf, or Dr. Khan as he was better known, was the head of cardio at the hospital.
“Yes, it’s me. It’s fancy-dress day. Everyone’s raising money—bake sales, dressing up...”
“I see.” She dropped a fiver in his basket and took two cakes, which were iced in pink ripples. Much like the one Polly had given her that first day. “Is this by chance anything to do with Polly?” The money from the fundraising event was still rolling in, and she’d become determined to raise enough for a new MRI machine.
“Do you even have to ask?”
“Good point. So what else is going on?” she mumbled through icing. It tasted like strawberries, the sugar hitting her bloodstream.
“We’re auctioning off some of the radiologists, and the nurses from the NICU are doing a conga. Oh, and some of the hairier staff are getting waxed in the cafeteria.”
“They are? Um, which staff?”
“The hairiest ones, I guess. I’m supposed to be doing it, too, but I felt the hair just added to this costume.”
Annie arrived just in time to see Dr. Max with his shirt off, lying across one of the tables, which had been covered in blue hospital paper. His back, like the rest of him, was indeed rather hairy.
He saw her. “Oh, for God’s sake. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a home to go to?”
“You can talk. I thought you hated stupid fundraising things?”
“I do. I hate them with every fiber of my being. Almost as much as I’m going to hate this waxing.”
“Oh, it hardly hurts at all.”
“Really?” He cocked his head, hopeful.
“No, it hurts like hell.” She stepped aside as one of the surgical nurses—used to de-fuzzing patients for operations—applied a long strip of gauze to his waxed back, then pulled. His howls could probably be heard all the way on the third floor, where Polly was no doubt masterminding the whole thing.
Annie checked her watch. “Much as I’d love to stay and watch this, I need to get my visits in, then go to work.”
“There’ll be pictures,” he said gloomily. “Bloody Polly.”
Outside the geriatrics ward, Dr. Quarani was running sprints up and down it, resetting his Fitbit each time.
“Not joining in with the fundraising?” Annie asked.
“I do not have time for that. Only five minutes between rounds.” His white coat flapped out behind him as he ran the length of it, counting under his breath, every muscle rigid and controlled.
**
After she’d finished her visits, Annie went to the bus stop again. Jonny was in the same clothes. He must only have one set, she thought, then realized how stupid that was. Where would he keep the rest of them? He literally had nowhere else to go. “Hiya,” he said. He was turning the pages of a Terry Pratchett book.
She pointed to it shyly. “I’ve read that one, too. It’s good.”
“Oh, yeah. Gives me a laugh, anyway. How are you today?”
“I’m okay.” Compared to him, she had to say that she was. At least she had a home to go to, and friends, and a job. She wished there was something she could do for him. “Um, do you like cake?” she said awkwardly, holding out the brown paper bag. Cake was a small thing, in the scheme of things, but she knew from her first meeting with Polly that it was still something.
DAY 47
Meet new people
“You look so much better.”
Polly beamed at herself in the hand mirror Annie had propped on her bed tray. “I do, don’t I? Just as well, that whole cancer pallor thing wasn’t doing much for my complexion. Pass me the eye shadow.”
“Which one?” Annie had Polly’s massive vanity case open in front of her.
“The sparkly green one. I feel in a sparkly green mood today.” She shut her eyes. “You do it. My wrist strength isn’t what it was. But don’t spread that about, okay? I don’t want the boys hearing.”
“Polly. You really want me to do it? I’m hopeless.”
“You have to learn. I won’t be around forever to do your makeup and pick your clothes. Although I’m liking this ensemble. Let me see.”
Self-consciously, Annie stepped back to let Polly admire her suede skirt and boots, worn with a stripey Breton jumper.
“Nice. Very nice. You won’t even need me much longer.”
“Shh now.” Annie didn’t want to talk about the end. Not today, when Polly had color in her cheeks—and not just from the generous application of blusher. Not when she seemed better, even if it was just another of cancer’s cruel tricks. “There you go. Hope you like the ‘drag queen having chemo’ look because that’s what I’ve given you. I’ll need a few more makeup tutorials before...” She’d almost said, before you go. As if Polly was just setting off on a long cruise or something. It seemed impossible, however many times Annie reminded herself, to take in the fact that her friend would not be coming back from the final journey. And that it was almost upon them; maybe not today, maybe not even this month. But soon.
The door opened in a whiff of Chanel. “Darling, how...oh, hello, Annie.”
“Hi, Valerie. We’re just getting Polly all dolled up.”