Health Care

Excusing myself for the toilet, I head back into the kitchen and through the hall. I’m careful not to draw attention to myself, and in a way I’m thankful there is already a queue for the downstairs toilet. I make my way up the staircase and knock on Christopher’s bedroom door.

“Who is it?” he snaps.

“It’s Alex,” I say. “I’m not here to have a go at you. I just want to talk.” I’m left waiting on the landing while Christopher contemplates my offer.

“What do you want to talk about?” he calls, finally. I roll my eyes.

“Why don’t you let me in and I can tell you,” I say, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. After what seems like an age, Christopher pulls open his door. His face is stony. “Thank you,” I say.

Christopher returns to his desk chair. He points gruffly at the bed as an invitation for me to sit down. I slip my shoes off and cross my legs over tightly.

“I spoke to your dad,” I say softly. “He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

“What do you have to worry about?” he retorts, folding his arms.

“Christopher please,” I say. “I really don’t hate you. Yes you can have no sense sometimes and yes you lash out and yes you open your mouth without thinking but I don’t want to see you suffer. You never used to be like this.”

“Maybe it had something to do with you, I don’t know, breaking my heart.” He mumbles it but I know full well he wants me to hear it. A surge of guilt passes through me. I want to reach out and grab his hand, but I can’t.

“That’s in the past,” I say quietly. “I’m here to help you now.”

“Fine,” Christopher resigns. “Where do we start?” He looks at me expectantly. I can tell he’s still bitter. Maybe I've pushed him too soon.

“For starters,” I begin. “You can actually spend the afternoon with your girlfriend instead of up here.” Christopher considers it for a second, arching his neck to peer down into the garden. He slumps back in his chair.

“I don’t know what she thinks of me now,” he sighs. “Not after what I did to your boyfriend.”

“Christopher, she’s smitten with you,” I tell him. “I can see it. She’s probably obsessed with you, secretly, but she’s too scared to tell you. She’s been hanging around out there waiting for you to come back down, and you haven’t. Please.”

Christopher sighs again and rubs his eyes. He looks emotionally drained; broken.

“And you’re sure your boyfriend won’t take a swing at me when he sees me?” Christopher’s green eyes are wide. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look fearful.

“I’m sure,” I say. In fact, I’m certain. “Sam’s not like that.”

“So he’s more of a decent guy than I am,” Christopher says sadly, pulling himself up off his chair. He’s right, but I don’t feel it’s necessary to agree with him. He seems to know what a dick he’s been. As we descend the staircase, Christopher glances around anxiously for sign of his father.

“He’s furious with me,” Christopher mumbles.

Stepping out onto the lawn, everyone glances up at us, trying not to gawp for too long. Christopher spots Melissa hanging behind Loretta again, so I give him an encouraging push on the arm. He smiles weakly.

“I’m sorry, Alexa,” he says just about audibly. “I really am.”

“In all honesty,” I reply, sighing. “It’s not me you should be saying sorry to.” The thought crosses Christopher’s mind, but he makes his beeline for Melissa. She glares from him to me, but Christopher shakes his head quickly to dismiss it. Melissa wraps her arms around Christopher in an embrace filled with relief.

“Where have you been?” Sam asks. By now he’s put down his plate and is sipping on a cold beer. I stare at it, and glance around the marquee. Why can’t I see any beer? Sam taps the can and winks at me. “From Tim,” he nods. “Strictly for the sick and injured.” I roll my eyes. Trust Timothy to be so accommodating.

“I’ve been building bridges,” I sigh, settling into the chair next to Sam. He looks bewildered.

“What, with him?” he nods towards Christopher. “The guy that, oh, let me remember, punched me in the stomach.” He’s pissed, I can tell. I don’t blame him. I wish he understood.

“I did it for Timothy’s sake. Tim’s such a nice guy,” I nod towards Sam’s can of beer. “Christopher needs help. Once he’s stopped being pissed at me, he’ll stop being so pissed at his parents. Literally, he’s such a tearaway now. As you well know,” I pick up Sam’s free hand and kiss it softly. Sympathy: that’ll get Sam on my side again.

“Fine, I mean, yeah, his dad’s pretty cool,” Sam admits. “I just, ugh, I don’t know why you’d waste your time on his son.”

“Because,” I say defiantly, tugging his hand back again and kissing it more. “Because he needs to be as happy as I am.” Sam lets a faint smile cross his lips and slurps on more beer. Men are so easy to please, Jesus.

*

At gone seven, the caterers begin to pack up and clear the kitchen. The sun has begun to sink low across the sky, splashing everything with a dusky orange glow. A fog of insects are clouding around the plants, a small collection finding their way onto my exposed legs and stealing droplets of my blood. Eventually I grow tired of swatting them away.

The majority of people are leaving, as Sam and I decide it's best to make our way home too. We say our goodbyes to as many people as we remember talking to. Timothy stops to give us both a warm hug, whispering another ‘thank you’ in my ear. Even Loretta gives us a proper goodbye, perhaps Timothy had told her about our secret plan. Christopher nods curtly at the both of us, although I am the only one to return it. Christopher doesn’t look pissed off, in fact he seems more guilty. Reaching the front door, he comes skidding up behind us.

“Sam,” he calls, as Sam turns around. Instinctively, they square up to each other, but Christopher shrinks down as he opens his mouth. “I’ve come to offer you my apology; I don’t expect you to accept it. I was way out of line, I overreacted and I’m truly sorry. I’m having a hard time recently,” his emerald eyes flash to me. “But I’m gonna get myself sorted, I promise you. You’re a great guy, no wonder Alex likes you so much. I hope we can put this behind us, mate.”

Mate! When has Christopher ever called anyone mate! Either way, his apology seems heartfelt. We both watch Sam’s reaction cautiously.

“I appreciate it, mate,” he replies. Oh God, more 'mates'. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I said about your girl. I’m truly having such a good time with Alex, and I hope you can find that with someone too, it’ll be great for you – I promise. Take care of yourself, yeah?”
Sam’s right hand twitches slightly and Christopher notices. He tentatively offers his hand, and Sam shakes it.

“Bye, Christopher,” I mumble softly.

“See you, Alexa,” he replies.

Closing the door behind us, Sam lets out a long whistle.

“Baby,” he says, taking my hand. “I cannot wait to get home.”

Before we even reach the car, Sam has already undone some of his shirt buttons and even removed his belt. He drops himself into my passenger seat and reclines the chair as far as it will you. He yawns widely, and wiggles his feet. God he’s so adorable.

“This is always my favourite part,” I glow. “Coming home.”

I pull out of the field and swerve my way back around the houses. Joining the main road, I flick on my headlights to see through the twilight dusk and rest my arm along my window. It’s still another ten minute journey back and Sam is already fading. He’s leaning his head back on the headrest, his eyes drooping.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he sees me watching him.

“Sssh, baby,” I say, resting my hand on his knee. “Just sleep”.