It was midnight on a Friday night and Daisy was at her wits' end. Tim had been violently ill for the last several hours, vomiting at an alarmingly regular rate of every 45 minutes. They had tried every home remedy they knew, but ice chips, hard candy, fizzy pop, and tea had done nothing but spare Tim the additional agony of dry heaves when he regurgitated them into the toilet bowl. He was camped out in the bathroom now, huddled on the tile floor with his bowed head pressed against the cool edge of the bathtub. Daisy held a wet flannel to the back of his neck, but left the room quickly as he lurched toward the toilet once again.
After he had finished and was wiping his mouth on the flannel, Daisy reentered the bathroom and stood in the doorway. "Please let me call Mike and let us take you to the hospital. You've been at this for hours."
She had first made this plea two hours earlier and had been met with resistance. Now, however, tears running down his cheeks, Tim nodded weakly. Daisy quickly walked into the sitting room and dialed Mike's number. Mike sounded groggy when he answered the phone, but when Daisy told him that Tim was sick, he immediately agreed to come downstairs.
Mike arrived within seconds and rushed to check on Tim. "There, now, Timmy, it's alright. Mike's here, we'll get you fixed up in no time." Tears welled up in Mike's eyes as he saw how badly his best friend was suffering. He scooped Tim up off the bathroom floor and hugged him tightly, then quickly set him back down when Tim began to gag. With Daisy trailing behind, Mike all but carried Tim to his vehicle and bundled him inside, settling him into the passenger seat. Daisy climbed in the back.
The trip to the hospital was not pleasant. Mike drove dangerously fast, but had to pull over three times to let Tim throw up. Neither Daisy nor Mike had thought to bring along a bucket or plastic bag for just such an occasion. Tim moaned piteously and leaned his head against the passenger window as Mike drove maniacally. When they reached the hospital, Mike jumped out and rushed around to the passenger side to help Tim. He solicitously helped his friend into the building, leaving Daisy to follow in their wake.
Once inside the A&E, Mike sat with Tim in the waiting room, holding his hand and stroking his hair. He murmured words of reassurance while Daisy sat nearby and filled out the forms. Once the forms were completed, Daisy fetched coffee for Mike and water for Tim. She also managed to find a receptacle for Tim to use in case he couldn't make it to the bathroom when the waves of nausea hit.
When Tim's name was finally called, Mike and Daisy both accompanied him to the examination cubicle. The nurse took Tim's vitals without comment. The doctor arrived in due course, did a cursory examination, gave Tim an injection to stop the nausea, and wrote down a few instructions. He then turned to Daisy. "Now, here are some things you can do to help your boyfriend feel better when you get him home."
"Oh, he's not my boyfriend!" Daisy snorted. "I mean, he's my friend and we're living together, but we're not living together, you know? We're just flatmates, just friends. Not a couple. Not like you're thinking," Daisy prattled on.
The doctor had stopped listening and noticed how Mike was hovering over Tim and smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Right, then," the doctor addressed Mike. "Here are some things to help your boyfriend feel better." Mike listened attentively, nodding every now and then to let the doctor know he understood. "Well, then, I've written these instructions down," the doctor concluded, handing them to Mike.
Mike thanked the doctor and helped Tim down from the examination table. "Let's get you home to Colin," Mike said. "He must be lonely there all by himself. Poor little fella." The doctor smiled warmly as Mike escorted Tim out the door with his arm wrapped around his friend's waist. Daisy followed meekly.
Later that night, Tim and Mike snuggled under a blanket on the couch and watched an old war film on television while Daisy made tea. She dozed in her chair after the boys fell asleep on the couch.
Three days later, Daisy was in absolute agony. Tim's virus struck her around 9:00 in the evening, and she was hunched over the toilet bowl for the third time when she begged Tim to call Mike to take her to the A&E. The injection that Tim had received there had made his nausea subside, and he had been able to sleep peacefully until the virus had run its course. Daisy didn't want to try and wait it out like Tim had tried to do; she wanted immediate relief.
Tim called Mike, who agreed to come to the rescue once again. Although he only lived upstairs, it was 15 minutes before Mike knocked at their door. Upon his arrival, Mike and Tim chatted by the door while Daisy dragged herself off the bathroom floor. "I'm telling you, mate, there's no way they'd be able to rebuild Steve Austin with just six million dollars today," Mike was saying. "It'd take close to one-hundred million, maybe more. I'm not real sure about the U.S. rate of inflation."
"Yes, but what about my Steve Austin action figure?" Tim asked. "How much would that be worth today? Sure, it's not mint in the box, or anything. I got it as a child and I played with it. But I took really good care of it!"
Daisy staggered after the pair of them as they made their way out the door. Tim once again took the passenger seat next to Mike. Daisy crawled in the back.
The drive to the hospital was a leisurely affair. Mike drove slowly while he and Tim talked animatedly in the front seat, bitching yet again about Star Wars, Episode I: The Phantom Menace. "I can't believe Lucas destroyed his masterpiece like that! Twenty-five years of hard labor, and he murders his baby! It was a boring, confusing mess executed with the dexterity of a 3-year-old wielding a paintbrush!"
"Let it go, Timmy," Mike soothed. "Once you admit to yourself and the world that it was rubbish, it's time to put it behind you and move on."
Personally, Daisy couldn't understand Tim's issues with Phantom Menace. Liam Neeson was well fit! And the fellow who played Darth Maul was that comedian whose name Daisy could never pronounce. She had seen him on Jonathan Ross's show several times and he was hilarious! Privately, Daisy thought he bore a strong resemblance to Tim's nemesis Duane, but she wisely kept this to herself. As Tim and Mike continued to commiserate with each other about the demise of the greatest movie franchise ever to grace the big screen, Daisy heaved into the bucket she'd had the foresight to bring with her.
Once at the hospital, Daisy huddled in her chair and tried to fill out the forms while Tim and Mike sat nearby and argued about the merits of Resident Evil II versus its predecessor. She had to rush to the loo twice during the wait. Twice she asked if one of them would bring her some water, but they didn't hear her over their argument. Once her name was finally called, Daisy was surprised when both Tim and Mike accompanied her to the examination cubicle.
The nurse came in and took her vitals, then asked Daisy the date of her last menstrual period. "Well, now, I'm not sure of the exact date, but it's been about 3 weeks. I'm due to start again soon." Daisy was a bit embarrassed to answer this question in front of Tim and Mike, who were suddenly hanging on to her every word.
"Not sure of the date? Is there any possibility you could be pregnant? That's the most likely cause of these symptoms for a woman your age." The nurse was all business as she spoke.
"No, I'm not preggars! 'Course not!" Daisy blustered. She was really embarrassed now. Tim and Mike listened attentively, argument forgotten.
"And who are these gentlemen?" the nurse asked.
"I'm just a friend who drove them to the hospital," Mike volunteered, "but Tim, here, lives with Daisy. They've lived together for over two years now."
The nurse narrowed her eyes at Daisy. "Living together, eh? And you don't think there's any chance you might be pregnant?"
"No, no, we're not a couple!" Daisy protested. "We're just flatmates. We're not . . . intimate." Daisy spoke the last word in a stage whisper.
The nurse rolled her eyes. "The doctor will be in shortly," she snapped, and stalked out. Daisy threw up almost immediately after she left.
When the doctor arrived, he cut right to the chase. "I understand you're living with your boyfriend here. I must inform you that any time you are sexually active, there is always a chance of pregnancy, no matter what type of contraception you use. Pregnancy is the most likely cause of nausea in a woman of your age. Any drugs I administer to you might harm the fetus."
"But there is no fetus! I'm not pregnant! He's not my boyfriend!" Daisy's voice rose in pitch with each statement. "All I want is an injection so I'll stop throwing up! Tim had the same thing a couple of days ago - - I caught it from him!"
"And how did you manage to catch it from him?" the doctor asked.
"Because we're living together," Daisy said, "but we're not - "
"Are you telling me that you are not sexually active?" the doctor cut her off. Daisy was momentarily distracted as Tim and Mike snickered like schoolboys at the question.
"Not with him," Daisy declared, directing a scowl in the boys' direction.
"But you are sexually active?" the doctor persisted.
"Well, I've had sex, yes, but not for - -"
"I'm ordering blood work," the doctor interrupted her again. Tim and Mike looked crestfallen that they didn't get to hear Daisy's answer. "We'll see what's causing this and we'll do a pregnancy test while you're here." The doctor strode out before Daisy could utter another word. As soon as he left the room, Daisy threw up.
Waiting on the results of the blood work took ages. Daisy vomited three more times during the wait, but the intervals between each episode gradually became a little longer each time, and the vomiting progressively became less intense. By the time the doctor returned with the lab results, Daisy was almost feeling human again. Two hours had passed since she had first arrived at the hopital.
"Well, now, the lab results don't indicate any sort of bacterial infection. There's a nasty stomach virus that's been going around. Looks like that's the culprit. Oh, and you're not pregnant." The doctor never raised his eyes from the lab report as he delivered the news. "We'll just get you an injection for the nausea and you'll be on your way."
"Don't bother!" snapped Daisy. "I'm feeling better, I just want to go home."
"Looks like the virus has run its course, then," the doctor beamed. "Go home, suck on some ice chips and hard candy, get some sleep, and you'll be right as rain in the morning."
Daisy was about to tell the doctor what he could suck on when Mike spoke up. "Right, then, let's get you home to the littl'un," he grinned. "Poor little fella, home alone for all these hours. He must be missin' his mum."
The doctor looked at Daisy sharply. "Ms. Steiner, am I to understand that you have left a young child unattended at night for several hours?"
"No, no! He's not talking about a child! He's talking about Colin," Daisy hastened to explain. Before Daisy could explain that Colin was a dog, the doctor gave Daisy a nasty look, muttered something under his breath about unfit mothers, and strode out of the examination cubicle.
Later that night, or rather early that morning, Daisy sat on the couch snuggled under a blanket. Mike had gone upstairs to bed. Colin slept on Daisy's feet while Tim made tea. She was half-heartedly watching an old film on television when Tim carried a mug of tea to her. He asked her to budge up, and when she sat up a bit, he sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Daisy rested her head on Tim's shoulder. Colin snored gently while Tim idly stroked Daisy's hair.
"Sorry you've had such a rough time of it, Pickle," Tim said as they sipped their tea. "Those people at A&E were bonkers, thinking you were pregnant! Imagine, thinking we were a couple!"
"I know. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?" Daisy laughed.
The two friends fell silent, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Daisy began to drowse, feeling the effects of a long, hard night, along with the combined warmth of the tea, blanket, dog, and friend. While the rest of the world was waking with the morning sun, the inhabitants of the little flat at 23 Meteor Street were drifting off into a hard-earned slumber.