She was raising her boy alone too, and the two had bonded over the years, at the school gates and in the shop. She would be here at the hospital too, after the shop was closed up. She’d come through those doors, smelling of sandwiches and perfume, all smiles and nervous jokes to fill the silence he left around him. He hated talking, he’d been practising on his own, when he could make sure no one would hear. He sounded a little drunk, his mouth still slack on one side. His arms were improving, but only because he did the bare minimum of the treatment they offered him. He knew he was wasting their time, but he just couldn’t help it. He wanted them to give up. He’d even flipped them off once, but they all just clapped him for the achievement. The cheek of it!
He had nothing to go back to really. His garden would be too much for him now. He wouldn’t even have his trips to the sandwich shop anymore. His car was a write-off, and given his current state, he could imagine the DVLA wouldn’t be too pleased to hear he was back on the road. He’d be stuck in the house, and that didn’t interest him anymore. When he thought of home he thought of the dread it managed to evoke in him even now. He didn’t want that life, so it was time to just shuffle off. He’d done what he said he would. He’d raised their son to adulthood. He would understand, one day. Maybe. Or maybe he would just repeat the pattern. Maybe he’d be in his house all alone one day, wondering why he hadn’t said yes to more things. The thought of that made Frank want to cry all over again. Looking down at his hand, he saw that he was half clenching his fist. He focused on it, thinking back to what made his hand curl in reflex. Luke. The thought that he would be alone, like Frank, but worse. He pictured Luke in their house, rotting away with memories of his long dead parents all around him. His fist clenched a bit tighter. There, he could do it. He just didn’t want to. They should just discharge him, give the bed to someone who wanted the chance to live.
He heard a commotion outside the door, and for a second thought he’d heard Marilyn. Maybe he wasn’t as awake as he thought. Good, sleep is good. Take me now, Mr Sandman.
‘Dante, come on love, my lad’s at the shop, and the new shop girl rocked up in a low-cut top this morning. I want to know that the place will still be standing when I get back. Has he said anything yet?’ Dante’s voice was deep, but muffled outside the door, and he heard Marilyn huff and tut loudly. ‘The stubborn bugger, I tell you. I will deck him one of these days!’
Frank laughed and turned it into a cough. The voices outside stopped, and the door opened.
‘Good morning, Mr Sunshine!’ Dante trilled, his legs entering the room half a minute before his smiling head. Marilyn trotted him after him, a tablet in a black case in her hands. ‘How are we this fine Saturday morning?’
‘Not time,’ he pushed out, pointing with his finger square at Marilyn. Her eyes widened, and Dante flashed her a warning look. Yes yes, the old dog learned a new trick. I also know my ABCs. He turned back to the window.
‘Well, Marilyn here has special permission. She has brought someone who wants to talk to you.’
Frank turned to the door, but it was closed. ‘Not time,’ he said, feeling like he was showing them the whites of his eyes. He didn’t want any bloody visitors. He wasn’t even dressed. It wouldn’t be Luke anyway.
‘Well, this visitor has a pretty busy schedule these days.’ She brought the tablet over, pulling open the case and clicking on an app. ‘Just give me a second.’ She frowned, and lifting up the sleeve of her top, she squinted at some writing on her arm. The woman’s as nutty as ever. Frank laughed just once, and she studiously ignored him. Dante left the room, and when Frank looked, there was no one outside. What was this, a pointing game or something? He’d watched enough kids’ TV growing up. He wasn’t about to follow a C-bloody-beebies phonics program. The app popped up, and she rested the tablet up on its stand, on his overbed tray, facing Frank. Frank looked at the screen, and a call popped up. Quick as a flash, Marilyn pressed the button, and the screen went white. A pure brilliant white, with a bluish hue.
‘Are we on?’ a voice asked. Frank’s eyes welled up. His lips pressed together as best they could now, and his lower one trembled. My son. My boy. My life. Marilyn leaned forward into the tablet, and she spoke into it as if she was an air traffic controller.
‘We can see you! Go ahead!’
‘Dad,’ the voice began. ‘I know you told me to go away, and carry on with my life, but when I went back to get your paperwork, I found Mum’s list, and the plans.’ Frank swallowed hard, and his eyes never left the white of the screen. It shook slightly, and he realised that his son was holding the camera. ‘I get why you never told me about it. I would have wanted to do it all, obviously, and you were scared. I get that now. I think you’re still scared. We both lost Mum, but you gave up too, Dad. I let you give up, in a way, cos I didn’t know any better. I never really knew the Frank you were when Mum was here. You’ve got to fight Dad. Marilyn, he still listening? His blood pressure okay?’ Marilyn was tearing up, and her voice broke when she laughed. ‘He’s okay.’ She smoothed Frank’s hair,
