What do you meanhes poorly? How bad is he? gasped the mother-in-law.
Hes resting. Its nothing seriousjust a slight fever. Winters come, thats all.
Winter? Thats no excuse! Its that job of yoursyou bring all sorts of things home from that till of yours! How many times must I tell youfind another position!
Emma had been asleep when a loud noise startled hersomeone had flung open the front door! Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at the clockonly eight in the morning!
Oliver, love, is that you? she called out, listening for movement in the flat.
Silence. Then, the creak of the bathroom door opening, followed by stillness.
Emma threw on her dressing gown and hurried barefoot to the bathroom.
She pushed the door openand froze.
There stood Oliver, stretching his lips wide, admiring his tongue in the mirror.
Emma, is it true that when someones poorly, their tongue goes white? he asked.
Are you ill? she murmured sleepily.
Think so, he muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. Need the thermometer. Where is it? I ought to lie down. They even sent me home from work. Might need to call the doctor.
Emma fetched the thermometer. Sure enough99 degrees. Well, winter had arrived, and Oliver had taken to his bed. The doctor came within the hour, signed him off work.
Emma rang her mother.
Could you fetch little Charlie from nursery? He cant come homeOlivers poorly.
Her mother was delightedshe adored her grandson, living alone as she did, and Charlie was her joy.
Whats wrong with Oliver? Nothing serious?
No, nothing much. The doctors been, hes got his sick note, some medicinewell manage.
And how are you feeling? her mother fretted.
Im fine! Just working the late shift. Ill ask his mother to check on him tonight. Shops busy eveningsI cant keep ringing him.
Poorly? What state is he in? his mother cried when Emma rang.
In bed. Slight fever, nothing to fret over. Just winter.
Winter? Nonsense! Its that job of yoursdragging all sorts home from that till! Ive told you time and againfind something else!
Margaret, Im not ill! Youve said yourself Oliver was delicate as a boy. Frost is setting inhardly my fault.
Emma cut the call short. Margaret had a habit of making mountains out of molehills, and no doubt shed be on the doorstep within the hour. Finelet her fuss. Emma had her shift to prepare for.
Sure enough, Margaret arrived bearing tins of herbal remedies, clucking over her son.
Lying there in a damp shirtno wonder hes worse! How could you not notice?
Margaret, he was asleepwhat could I do?
Emma left for work. By mid-shift, a weariness settled over her. Oh nonow she was coming down with it! But she couldnt let onhad to last the shift. That evening, her temperature was higher than Olivers. She longed to complain, but he was too wrapped up in himself.
Im chilled, aching all over. Mum gave me raspberry tea with honeyhelped a bit, but now I feel rotten again. What should I take?
Dont feel too clever myself
Well, take something then, Oliver said, studying his tongue in the mirror. Still whiteremarkable.
No, she couldnt fall ill! And no use complainingher mother would ring endlessly with advice, Margaret would blame her, and Oliver was lost in his own woes.
Decision madeno complaints. Quietly take her tablets, work through it. The bills wouldnt pay themselves.
All week, Oliver reveled in his sufferingno man more pitiable, even when the thermometer read a steady 99.
Margaret bustled in daily with tinctures and tonics. Emma dreaded facing hershe looked dreadful. Oliver noticed nothing, dozing between the telly and his phone.
Returning home, Emma checked her temperature. Only on the fourth day did it settle.
Weakness lingered, but she bore it. Oliver, abed far longer, demanded moremeals served, temperature taken, drinks fetched.
Margaret claimed hed been sickly as a child, but this was his first cold in five years of marriageand insufferable!
Even a mild fever required Herculean effort, with constant complaints.
The following week, he was cleared for work. Charlie came home. Over supper, Oliver mused:
When I was a lad, it never hit me this hard. Youve no idea what Ive been through.
Was it really so dreadful?
Easy for you to sayyou were fit as a fiddle!
Was I? I had it tooyou just didnt notice.
Oliver eyed her skeptically, then grinned as if catching her out.
Joking, arent you? Rightoff to bed.
Emma sighed. Hed never noticed at all.
Ah well.
As the saying goesa woman whos given birth can only begin to fathom what a man endures at 99 degrees…
