‘Lovely,’ she repeats.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘I’m sure Susan doesn’t see it that way.’ Susan picks out another grape. ‘Well, it’s lovely to see you again, but I have a few checks I need to do, I’m afraid. Could give us some privacy for a moment?’

‘Sure, of course. Look, I need to get to an appointment now anyway, perhaps I can swing by later. Will you still be here?’ I’m looking at Susan.

‘She’ll still be here,’ says Kat, glancing quickly at the contraption Susan’s leg is trussed up in, largely committing her to her bed for the foreseeable.

‘Ha! Course. Well, not ha… but you know.’ I reach into the mock fruit bowl for one of the peaches. ‘You don’t mind, do you? For work.’ I flick it in the air, letting it ricochet off my arm, almost dropping it instead of catching it slickly in my hand, like they do on the telly. Idiot. ‘You want one?’ I ask Susan, throwing her one to catch, which she does. ‘Great. I’ll see you later then. Good.’ I point at them both, stepping backwards away from the bed as Kat raises her eyebrows. Susan slurps at her peach and I’m reminded of the time I used to visit my nanan when she was in the home. It was never for very long, just passing through, really, but Mum always said how much of a difference it made to Nan’s day. How it lifted her spirits. Yet somehow, this time, it’s my spirits that are lifted.

Chapter Thirteen

KAT

I rest my head against the sandwich machine. Money in, eeny meeny miny mo-ing between chicken salad and a BLT. Emma’s arm reaches across and presses for the BLT. ‘I hear you were invited on a hot date last night.’

I step back as she pulls open the vending drawer, motioning for me to collect my lunch before opting for the same herself. She pauses, shoves more money in, then retrieves a bag of prawn cocktail crisps like a giddy kid with a school trip pack-up. ‘Well?’ she says, winking repeatedly as she waits for me to catch up.

‘Wow. That didn’t take long to find its way around. Also, prawn cocktail, really?’ I grimace. The chocolate machine tempts me into a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. ‘Actually, I was invited for curry, which may or may not have been a date, but was, in either case, as awkward and awful as you might imagine. I’m barely over the trauma.’

‘He isn’t that bad, you know,’ she chides. ‘You’re single. He’s single. I don’t know what your problem is.’

‘My problem, dear friend, is…’ I try to work out what the problem actually is, opting for, ‘He wears the same aftershave as Daniel.’ It’s not the strongest of problems, but it’s a problem all the same. We push through the ward doors, squeezing splodges of sanitiser and simultaneously hand rubbing like we’re hatching a dastardly plan.

‘He has higher-than-average looks and seems to be a nice bloke too. You’re being short-sighted if you ask me!’