What do you mean, poorly? How bad is he? gasped the mother-in-law.
Oh, just a bit under the weather. Slight temperature, nothing seriouswinters settling in.
Winter? Pfft! This is your jobs faultyoure bringing all sorts of germs home from that till of yours! How many times must I tell you? Find something else!
Emily was fast asleep when suddenly, a loud crash jolted her awakesomeone had flung the front door open! She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock. Eight in the morning?
Oliver, love, is that you? she called out, listening to the shuffling in the flat.
No answer. Just the creak of the bathroom door swinging open, then silence.
Emily threw on her dressing gown and dashed barefoot down the hall.
She pushed the door openand froze in disbelief.
There stood Oliver, peering into the mirror, lips stretched wide as he admired his own tongue.
Emily, is it true that when youre poorly, your tongue goes white? he asked earnestly.
Are you poorly? she mumbled, still half-asleep.
Must be, he sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. I need the thermometer. Where is it? I should lie down. They even sent me home from work. Might need to call the GP.
Emily fetched it. Sure enough37.2. Well, winter had arrived, and Oliver was officially down for the count. The GP came by an hour later, signed him off work.
Emily rang her mum.
Could you pick up little Alfie from nursery? Olivers got the sniffles, and we dont want him catching it.
Her mum was thrilledshe adored her grandson, lived alone, and any excuse to have him was a blessing.
And Oliver? Nothing serious?
Nah, just a cold. GPs been, gave him a sick note, told him to rest.
And how are you feeling? her mum pressed.
Fine! Ive got the late shift, so Ill ask the mother-in-law to pop round and check on him. Another week of thisoh well. Cheers, Mum, talk later.
Right. Chicken soup. That meant a dash to the shoppharmacy first, then carrots and potatoes.
She got the medicine, woke Oliver at lunch.
Come on, up you get. Soups ready. She shook his shoulder.
Oliver sat bolt upright, clutching his head.
Ugh, I feel queasy. Cant I have it in bed? The kitchens miles away.
That bad? Fine, Ill bring it. Then check your temp again
Soup down, thermometer instill 37.2. Emily handed him paracetamol. He rolled over, facing the wall, and was snoring in seconds. Thank goodness.
She couldnt afford to get illOliver got full sick pay, but at the shop? Not a chance. And with the mortgage, she couldnt risk it. She dialled her mother-in-law.
Margaret, Olivers under the weather. Could you keep an eye on him tonight? The shops manic in the eveningsIll never get through to him.
Under the weather? How bad? Margaret gasped.
Asleep. Slight temperature. Just winter things.
Winter? Ha! Its that job of yoursdragging germs home from the till! How many times must I say it? Get a new job!
Margaret, Im not ill! And youve said yourselfOliver was always poorly as a child. Its freezing outthis isnt my fault!
Emily cut the call before it escalated. Margaret could turn a molehill into a mountain, and the last thing she needed was her barging in within the hour.
Sure enough, Margaret arrived armed with herbal teas and tinctures”just in case.” She tutted, changing Olivers damp t-shirt.
Honestly, leaving him in sweat like this! No wonder hes worse.
He was asleep, Margaret. What was I meant to do?
Emily left for work. A few hours in, she felt itthe creeping weakness. No, no, no. Not now. She couldnt let onjust had to power through.
By evening, her temperature was higher than Olivers. She wanted to complain, but he was too busy examining his reflection.
Still white, he muttered at his tongue.
Right. No whinging. Just paracetamol and pretending. The mortgage wouldnt pay itself.
All week, Oliver revelled in his misery. Even at 37.0, he groaned like a man on deaths door.
Margarets visits multiplied, her remedies cluttering the flat. Emily avoided hershe looked rough, and the last thing she needed was scrutiny.
Oliver noticed nothingnapping between Netflix and his phone. By day four, Emilys fever broke.
Weakness lingered, but she soldiered on. Oliver, meanwhile, demanded meals in bed, constant temperature checks, drinks fetched.
He was poorly all the time as a boy, Margaret sighed.
This was his first cold in five years of marriageand it was unbearable.
The mildest sniffle had him acting like a Victorian consumptive.
The next week, he was cleared for work. Alfie came home. Over tea that evening, Oliver sighed dramatically.
Illness hits harder as an adult. Youve no idea what Ive been through.
Really? It was that bad?
Easy for you to sayyou were fine!
I wasnt. I had it too. You just didnt notice.
Oliver blinked, then smirked.
Pulling my leg, eh? Come on, lets go to bed.
Emily sighed. Of course he hadnt noticed.
Typical. Like the joke saysa woman whos given birth can only begin to fathom what a man endures at 37 degrees
