The nurses.
Wagons.
There wasn’t a nice one among them.
There was.
One. She’d been there smiling when he’d woken. Was it this morning? Yesterday? He hadn’t a clue.
It was hard to keep up. There was something he had to remember. He’d been grand a while back. Chatting to the fella across the way. A boring enough cunt. Going on about the horses. Trainers and jockeys, all the winners he’d nearly had, the fuckin’ accumulators. The telly, the racing — the sound had been up full blast. It still was — Jimmy could hear it. It wasn’t the horses now though. Australian voices. Neighbours. For fuck sake.
Jason Donovan.
Kylie Minogue.
Two names that fell neatly.
From way back.
Couldn’t keep his head up.
Kylie. That was her name. Charlene. He thought. Charleeeeene!
— Sore?
— No.
— You’re not just being brave?
— I am, yeah. I’m in fuckin’ agony. No, I’m grand.
He was awake. Fully awake. Wide awake. He knew what day of the week it was.
— Wednesday.
— Thursday, said Aoife.
He sighed. It felt good. He could exhale without worrying. There was something; it was there now, something he hadn’t told Aoife.
— The drugs, though.
— You told me, she said.
— No, he said. — I didn’t. I don’t think so.
— You said they were amazing, said Aoife.
— They were. Fuckin’ amazin’.
— Okay, she said. — What was it about them?
She was sitting up on the bed. The kids had gone back down to the shop, Brian in charge of the tenner.
— Just, said Jimmy. — Your man, the anaesthetic guy. The anaesthetist. Try sayin’ that when you’re pissed.
— I’ll give it a bash tonight. Go on.
— So he’s there. All set, like. He was a bit of a cunt.
— Jimmy.
— Well, he was. Called me James.
— Then he was definitely a cunt, she whispered, and Jimmy loved her so much, so much, so fuckin’ much.
— You’ve never been a James, she said.
He watched her mouth. The words were coming out — he could see them all. Eggs.
— The drugs, he said.
He held back the tears. He touched his face. It was dry. He was feeling strange again. Woozy. A bit not there.
She leaned down and took his hand. The tubed-up hand.
— Go on, she said.
— He tells me to count to ten, said Jimmy.
— Did you manage it? Aoife asked.
— I don’t think I got to three. But the feeling, Aoife.
— What?
— It’s impossible—. Heat, like. A rush. The nicest feelin’ ever.
— For two seconds?
— Felt like much longer. Years. I don’t know.
— You’re crying.
— I’m not — am I?
She slid off the bed. She put her hands on his shoulders.
— I want to go home, he said.
— Me too.
— I don’t like this place. It’s a kip.
— That’s my Jimmy.
— It’s a fuckin’ kip.
— Only a few days left.
— Okay.
Aoife looked up as she tied his lace.
— I’ll have to get you a pair of shoes with Velcro.
— Ah Jaysis.
— Or slip-ons.
— No fuckin’ way.
— Mind you, she said. — The Timberland boots go really well with your tracksuit bottoms.
He had to wear the bottoms, because of the stitches and that. Aoife had bought them for him. Blue with a yellow stripe.
He was standing now.
— Let’s get out of here.
He grabbed his bag but she took it from him.
— Are you not going to say goodbye to anyone? she asked.
He was at the door.
— No.
— Ah Jimmy.
Outside at the ward station, he signed what needed signing, and got away to the lift as quickly as he could.
— Come on.
— God, you’re rude.
— I just want to get out of here.
He was sweating, already wet.
— You didn’t even say thank you to the nurse at the desk.
— I didn’t know her, he said. — I just want to go.
The lift was right there, no distance away, but it took him all fuckin’ morning to reach it.
Aoife pressed the down button.
— I wanted to do that, he said.
He could feel the sweat cooling. It reminded him of something, something that used to happen — he didn’t know.
He hated not being able to remember. It felt like he was closing down. Songs, names, places — they were disappearing.
— How are you feeling? she asked.
— Grand, he lied. — I’ll write them all a card, he lied again. — The nurses. To thank them.
— That’s a nice idea.
No sign of the lift and there was none of the noise that meant it was on its way. It was one of those industrial-sized hospital lifts, built to accommodate three or four dead bodies on a line of trolleys. The real Jimmy wouldn’t have waited. He’d have been down the stairs and out into the world by now.
— What did you say? said Aoife.
— Wha’?
— You said something.
— I didn’t. Wha’ did I say?
— I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.
— I didn’t say anythin’.
— Are you alright?
— I’m grand.
The door slid slowly open and Jimmy walked in. They were sharing the lift with a fat guy in a tracksuit and a wheelchair. He seemed to be missing a leg but Jimmy wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell where he started and ended. He was with his wife, or his life partner. Maybe his sister, or even his ma. The lift took forever. Jimmy wasn’t even sure if it was moving.
— Cuntin’ lift, said the chap in the wheelchair.
The sun was low and mean. It made his eyes feel old.
— Seatbelt, Jimmy, said Aoife.
— Oh yeah.
— And off we go.
— See the guy in the yellow dressing gown? And the baseball cap?
— Yes.
— Hit him, will yeh.
She laughed.
— Custodian of the remote control, said Jimmy. — You can see it in the pocket of his dressin’ gown, look.
He was right. The ward remote was poking out of the pocket.
— Jesus, said Aoife.
— That’s what I’ve been livin’ with, he said.
Home was ten minutes away, even if all the lights went against them.
— How could Marv lose his fuckin’ iPod? said Jimmy.
— What?
— How could he have been so fuckin’ blasé?
She looked at Jimmy, and back at the road.
— Marvin didn’t lose his iPod, she said. — He had it when he went to school this morning. I called after him because he’d forgotten his lunch but he didn’t hear me.
— Are you sure?
She looked at him quickly again.
— Yes.
He dragged his open hand from his forehead to his chin. He looked at the sun through his fingers.
— Did I imagine it?
— I think so, she said. — You must have.
— I gave out shite to him.
— You didn’t.
— I did.
— You couldn’t have, Jimmy, she said.
He could hear the worry in her voice, and impatience.
— It didn’t happen.
— I know, said Jimmy. — I can see that. But I imagined it did.
He looked at her looking at the road ahead.
— The only realistic thing I did imagine. Everythin’ else was mad.
— It must be hard, she said.
He decided to say nothing.