“Tom, have you lost the plot? You think Im inviting you to live with me for money? I just feel sorry for you, thats all.”
Tom sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window at the courtyard below. No luckhis view was of a dreary inner square with a few benches and flowerbeds, but hardly a soul in sight. To make matters worse, it was January, and the few patients who usually ventured out for fresh air had vanished. Hed been alone in the ward for a week now, ever since his roommate, Jamie Wilson, had been discharged.
Jamie had been a proper laughalways chatting, always with a new story to tell, complete with voices and dramatic pauses. No surprise, really, since he was studying acting at drama school. With Jamie around, boredom never stood a chance. Plus, his mum visited every day, bringing homemade biscuits, fruit, and sweets, which Jamie generously shared.
Now, without him, the room felt hollow. Tom had never been lonelier.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Nurse Gladys. His heart sank. It wasnt the cheerful young nurse, Daisy, but Gladyspermanently scowling, as if life had personally offended her. In the two months hed been here, Tom had never once seen her smile. Even her voice matched her expression: sharp, blunt, and utterly joyless.
“Oi, daydreamer. Back to bed!” she barked, brandishing a syringe.
Tom sighed, obediently wheeled himself over, and let her manhandle him onto the mattress. Gladys flipped him onto his stomach with the efficiency of someone whod done this a thousand times.
“Trousers down,” she ordered. Tom complied. And nothing. For all her gruffness, Gladys gave the least painful injections hed ever had.
“Wonder how old she is,” he thought, watching her prod his bony arm for a vein. “Probably past retirement. Bet her pensions rubbishthats why shes stuck here, grumpy as a badger.”
The needle slipped in with barely a pinch.
“Right, done. Seen the doctor today?” she asked, already packing up.
Tom shook his head. “Not yet. Might come later.”
“Well, wait then. And stop sitting by the windowyoull catch your death. Skinny as a rake, you are,” she muttered, stomping out.
He wanted to be offended, but couldnt. Beneath the bluntness, there was something almost caring. Not that hed know.
Tom was an orphan. His parents had died when he was foura house fire in their little village cottage. The only thing that survived was him, thanks to his mother tossing him through a window seconds before the roof caved in. The scars on his shoulder and wrist were permanent reminders.
No relatives had stepped forward, so hed grown up in care. From his mum, hed inherited soft-spokenness, dreamy green eyes, and a love of books. From his dad, height, long legs, and a knack for sums. Memories of them were faintjust flashes, like snippets of an old film. A village fair, his mum laughing, waving a little flag. His dad hoisting him onto his shoulders, the breeze warm on his cheeks. And a big ginger catMarmalade, or maybe Whiskers.
No photos survived.
In the hospital, no one visited. At eighteen, the council gave him a room in student digsfourth floor, no lift. He didnt mind solitude, but sometimes the loneliness hit like a punch. Still, hed adapted.
School hadnt gone to plan. Hed missed uni by a whisker, so hed settled for college. Liked it well enough, but making friends? Hopeless. Too quiet, too bookish. Girls werent interested eithernot when louder, smoother lads were around. At eighteen, he still looked fifteen. A proper outsider, but he didnt care.
Then, two months ago, rushing to class, hed slipped on icy pavement and shattered both legs. The breaks were nasty, healing slow and painful. Now, finally, he was almost freebut freedom came with a problem: his flat had no lift, no ramps. And hed be in a wheelchair for ages.
After lunch, Dr. Patel, the orthopaedic surgeon, strode in. He examined Toms legs and X-rays with a satisfied nod.
“Good news, Tom. Your fractures are healing nicely. Few more weeks, and youll be on crutches. No point keeping you hereyou can finish recovery at home. Discharge papers in an hour. Someone picking you up?”
Tom nodded silently.
“Grand. Nurse Gladys will help you pack. Try not to break anything else, eh?”
The second the doctor left, Tom panicked. How was he supposed to manage alone?
Gladys barged in, tossing his rucksack on the bed. “Get packing. Matrons coming to change the sheets.”
As he stuffed his few belongings in, he caught her studying him.
“Whyd you lie to the doctor?” she asked, head tilted.
“About what?”
“Dont play daft. Youve got no one coming. Howre you getting home?”
“Ill manage,” he muttered.
“With legs like yours? Dont be daft.”
Suddenly, she sat beside him, voice softer. “Tom, its none of my business, but youll need help. You cant do this alone.”
“Ill figure it out.”
“You wont. Ive been nursing thirty years. Whyre you being so stubborn?”
“Even if youre right, why dyou care?”
She hesitated. “Because you could stay with me. Ive a spare room. Just till youre back on your feet.”
Tom gaped. Stay with her? They were strangers.
“Youre hesitating? Living alone in a fourth-floor flat with no lift is madder than my offer,” she snapped. “Well?”
He wavered. It was awkward, yes. But she wasnt wrong. And lately, hed started noticing how shed slip him extra custard creams, nag him to shut the window, or huff, “Eat your cheese, its got calcium.”
“Alright,” he mumbled. “But Ive no money. Student loan doesnt stretch far.”
Gladys planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Tom, are you thick? You think Im charging you? I feel sorry for you, thats all.”
“I just thought”
“Stop overthinking. Wait in the staff room. My shift ends soon.”
Her house was a snug little cottage with narrow windows. Inside, two small roomsone of them his. The first few days, he barely left it, terrified of being a nuisance.
Gladys eventually lost patience. “Stop mithering. Youre not a guest. Ask for what you need.”
He grew to love it: snow outside, the crackle of the fireplace, the smell of her shepherds pie. It felt like home.
Weeks passed. The wheelchair went, then the crutches. Time to return to town.
After a check-up, they walked homehim limping, her lecturing.
“You should defer your exams. No rushing!”
Theyd grown close. Too close. The thought of leaving ached.
The next day, as he packed, he spotted her in the doorwaycrying. Without thinking, he hugged her.
“Stay, Tom,” she whispered. “Whatll I do without you?”
So he stayed. Years later, she sat as mother of the groom at his wedding. And when his daughter was born, she cradled her in the delivery rooma little Gladys, namesake and all.
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