Drift around wards, checking charts, giving fluids. Speak to patients and amaze myself by managing to sound normal and to talk about something other than the fact that my brother is finally coming home.
Home.
Richie is coming home.
Keep rearing away from the thought, the way I always had to – my mind pastes Richie back into my life, and then it jumps away as if it’s touched something hot, because I’d never let myself finish that thought. It was too painful. Too hopeful.
Except now it’s real. Will be real, in just a few hours’ time.
He’ll meet Tiffy. They’ll talk just like they do on the phone only face to face, on my sofa. It’s literally too good to be true. Until you remember that he should never have been in jail in the first place, of course, but even that thought can’t kill the euphoria.
I’m in the hospice kitchen making tea when I hear my name, on repeat, very loudly and getting louder all the time.
Tiffy: Leon! Leon! Leon!
I turn around just in time. She piles into me, rain-wet hair, pink cheeks, big smile.
Me: Whoa!
Tiffy, very close to my ear: Leon Leon Leon!
Me: Ouch?
Tiffy: Sorry. Sorry. I just . . .
Me: Are you crying?
Tiffy: What? No.
Me: You are. You are incredible.
She blinks at me, surprised, eyes bright with happy tears.
Me: You’ve never even met Richie.
She links arms with me and spins me back to the kettle just as it boils.
Tiffy: Well, I’ve met you, and Richie’s your little brother.
Me: Just to warn you, he’s not that little.
Tiffy reaches for the mug cupboard and pulls out two, then rifles through the teabags and pours the kettle as if she’s been in and out of this kitchen for years.
Tiffy: And anyway, I feel like I know Richie. We’ve talked tons of times. You don’t have to meet face to face to know someone.
Me: Speaking of . . .
Tiffy: Where are we going?
Me: Just come on. I want to show you something.
I pause and wait as she adds milk painstakingly slowly. She shoots a cheeky little glance over her shoulder; I immediately want to undress her.
Me: Are we ready?
Tiffy: OK. We’re ready.
She hands me a mug and I take it, and the hand that offered it too. Almost everyone we pass along the corridor says, ‘Oh, hi, Tiffy!’ or ‘You must be Tiffy!’ or ‘Oh my God Leon really does have a girlfriend!’ but I am in too good a mood to find it annoying.
Tug Tiffy back as she goes to open the door to Coral Ward.
Me: Wait, just look through the window.
We both lean in.
Johnny White hasn’t left his side since the weekend. Mr Prior is asleep, but still his papery, sun-blotched hand rests in Johnny White’s palm. They’ve had three whole days together – more than JW could have hoped for.
Always worth walking through those doors.
Tiffy: Johnny White the Sixth was the real Johnny White? Is this literally the best day ever? Has there been some sort of announcement issued? An elixir in everyone’s breakfast? A golden ticket in the cereal box?
I kiss her firmly on the mouth. Behind us, one of the junior doctors says to another junior doctor, ‘Amazing – I always assumed Leon didn’t like anyone who didn’t have a terminal illness!’
Me: I think it’s just a good day, Tiffy.
Tiffy: Well, I guess we are all overdue one.
