27th April 2015
Three months earlier
"Well, it could have been worse."
Laura turned slowly to look at her sister, who had perched herself on the large window sil in the hospital corridor. Having just heard the worst news imaginable come out of the mouth of the grim-faced doctor, she could hardly believe that her sister could find the capacity for humour.
"I'm sorry," he had said, "but there's nothing more we can do..."
"I mean, he could have said six weeks, not six months. And why do they always pick that figure anyway? Nobody ever gets told they've got four months to live or seven and a half months to live. Why is it always six?" Emily raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "I think they just make it up because they're not sure."
Laura swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to shout at her sister or burst into tears. She knew that neither reaction would be appropriate under the circumstances. Though she had known Emily hadn't been well over the last few weeks, she had been hoping against all hope that it wouldn't mean what she feared it did. "It's not a joke, Ems."
"I know that. I was just saying."
"Well..." she fought for the right words, comforting words, like a big sister should be able to find in this kind of situation. But then, what sort of comforting words could you say to a seventeen year old who had just been told she would be lucky to see her eighteenth birthday? It's going to be ok? Don't worry...we'll get through this...everything seemed pointless, not to mention patronising.
"Can we go to McDonalds?" Emily said, suddenly getting to her feet. "You said we could and I'm dying for a McChicken Sandwich, literally."
"Emily..." Laura's eyes filled with tears, knowing she had meant that they could go in a celebration of good news, but her sister's face grew determined.
"No tears Laura, I mean it. I want to go to McDonalds. It's not going to matter if it's bad for me now, is it? Maybe I could just eat burgers all the time for the next six months and end up being really fat when I die. Come on, you know you can't say no to a Big Mac." Linking her arm through her sister's, Emily steered them towards the lifts and Laura found herself following mutely, as though she was the one who had just received the news and needed comforting. "I think we should have a DVD night tonight. Fifty Shades of Grey, what do you think? I've heard the sex is rubbish, nowhere near as dirty as the book, but we should at least see what all the fuss is about. You can tell me if it's anything approaching realism."
"Yeah," Laura said softly, suddenly realising that that experience, like so many others, would be lost now for her baby sister. "If you like." In reality, the last thing she wanted to do was sit through a stupid film about stupid people who liked bondage. But, if they didn't do that, what were they going to do? Spend the evening saying over and over, it's not fair...?
"That's that then," Emily said as they stepped inside. "And then tomorrow, we can plan how I'm going to spend the last six months of my life."
Oh God...Laura's brain screamed silently as her vision blurred with tears. What are we going to do?
XXXX
"When did you hear?"
"Dixie told me yesterday. Sam had heard about Jeff, albeit belatedly, called her to pass on her condolences and told her they had gotten married last week."
"Aw, well that's nice. I'm really pleased for them."
"Yeah, me too. Do you...do you think we should tell Dylan?"
"Uh...no, probably not."
Dylan paused, his hand on the handle of the door leading into the staff room. He assumed that Zoe and Tess hadn't realised how loud they were in fact talking, but the mention of his name and the fact they seemed keen to keep from him the news that his ex-wife had remarried, made him wary of stepping inside. It wasn't that he cared about what Sam and Tom did, in fact he too was happy for Sam if she was, but he knew that the looks of pity would be too much to bear. Instead, he decided to forego his coffee break and simply head back into the fray of whatever Holby ED wished to throw at him. Just at that moment, salvation arrived in the form of Dixie and Ian coming through the doors, pushing a stretcher containing a woman in a sparkly dress, blood gushing from a wound to her head.
"Right, this is Trixie Bell, forty seven, fell off the stage during a performance at the Star Club an hour or so ago, hitting her head on the floor with no loss of consciousness," Dixie said. "GCS is 15, sats are at 95%, BP's 110 over 70 and she's been given paracetemol for the pain."
"Hmmm," Dylan said as Rita joined them, "barely anything wrong with her then. Right, Miss Bell, I'm Dr Keogh and..." he stopped and stared at the patient in front of him. Despite all the makeup, there was definitely something odd about her. "Uh...I'm sorry, but this is a man."
"Well observed," Trixie said in a broad Mancunian accent. "I'm glad I've got you looking after me."
"Uh...do you have a real name?"
"Bob."
"Bob."
"But I prefer Trixie."
"I think it's a lovely name," Rita said as the patient beamed. "And that's a lovely dress."
"Hmmm, yes, well..." Dylan examined the wound on Trixie's head. "How did this happen?"
"I was about to go into my big finale number, when I caught my heel on the edge of the stage and over I went. A couple of very nice gentlemen had to pick me up. To say I'm embarrassed is putting it mildly...ow!" She jumped as he touched her skin.
"Sorry. So you didn't feel dizzy or unwell in any way before you fell?"
"No, I told you."
"Actually, you didn't. Right. Well we'd best get a head CT just to be on the safe side and then we'll need to put a stitch in."
"Will I have a scar?" Trixie asked, her face widening in horror at the prospect.
"I shouldn't think so."
"Thank God for that. This face is my fortune."
Dylan stared at her. "Money must be tight."
XXXX
"You need a boyfriend," Emily declared, her mouth full of fries. "I'm serious, Laura, a decent boyfriend. Not like that one you used to have when you worked in London."
"How do you remember him?" Laura asked, watching her over the rim of her cup. She had to admit to being slightly surprised by the quality of McDonald's coffee, particularly when one considered the quality of the burgers.
"I'm more perceptive than you give me credit for. He was a knob."
"I'll have to give you that one," Laura conceded. "Anyway, contrary to what you think, I don't need a boyfriend. I'm quite happy on my own just now, thank you very much. You take up enough of my time."
"I meant once I'm gone," Emily said. "I don't want you to be on your own."
This isn't right, Laura thought. My seventeen year old sister shouldn't have to talk like this... "Well, we'll see. I'll...I'll need to phone the college and let them know what's happened,"
"Do you have to? I mean, they said they would hold my place."
"Yes, but only until we knew what was happening with you. Now we...well...now we know."
"I could still go back, even just for a little while."
"You can't, you know you can't."
"Why not?"
"Because..."
"Because why?" Emily persisted, her face twisting into a scowl. "Because I'm dying? I feel fine!"
"You might feel fine now but..."
"But what? Soon I won't? Soon I'll start feeling tired and sick and cold and I won't be able to get out of my bed?" Emily got to her feet. "Maybe you're right and maybe I will but right now I don't. Right now, I feel fine!"
"Emily...Emily, wait!" Laura got to her feet as Emily hurtled away from the table and slammed through the door into the toilets. An elderly woman at the next table shot her a sympathetic smile as if to say, teenagers, eh? She sat back down in her seat and drained the last of the warm liquid from the cup. Time was all Emily needed, she told herself. Time to come to terms with things, time to realise that Laura was on her side.
XXXX
Having missed out on a coffee break that morning, Dylan decided to take advantage of an extended lunch break and head out into the sunshine for a quick trip to the local McDonalds. Though he didn't exactly rate the food particularly highly, he had to admit that the coffee was, in fact, quite good. It was also an opportunity to get away from Zoe' pitying gaze. Though she still had no idea that he had overheard her earlier discussion, it was clear that she was working up some kind of courage to tell him the news about Sam. He had made up his mind that if it came to it, he was simply going to tell her he already knew.
It was a strange feeling, being finally and fully divorced. Before, when Sam had merely been in Afghanistan and, indeed, when she had been at Holby, part of him had always clung onto the fact that, whatever their situation, they were still married. The reason he had walked away before was because he couldn't stand the raw emotion of knowing the ink had dried on the end of their marriage and he had been wary of how he might feel coming back to Holby under those circumstances. Perhaps it was because Sam herself had gone again or maybe it was because he was finally over her, but it was comforting that the raw emotion had now dulled.
"You need a girlfriend," Zoe had said a few weeks ago.
"No, no I don't," he had replied. "I'm better off on my own...uh, with Dervla of course,"
Thinking of Dervla, he pulled out his mobile and quickly dialled the Doggy Day Care number. As it rang out, he hoped that it wouldn't be Sharon that answered. She had been most aggrieved a few days ago when Dervla had chewed one of the table legs and stolen the other dogs' treats – again. He had tried to explain that it was separation anxiety, but for some reason Sharon hadn't wanted to listen. Thankfully, it was Gail, the nice one who answered and who told him that Dervla was behaving as good as gold. Satisfied that all was well with his family, he ploughed on towards the restaurant and was just about to pull open the door when it swung backwards into him and a teenage girl came careering into him.
"Sorry," she mumbled before pushing past him at speed, his attention most drawn by the blue and white spotted scarf she was wearing over her head.
"Emily!" The door opened for a second time, hitting him again, and this time he found himself face to face with a woman roughly his own age, who quite clearly had been crying. "I'm sorry," she said when she realised she had struck him. "I didn't mean..."
"Uh, no...it's all right," he said, staring at the mascara streaks underneath her eyes. "I...uh...is that...?" he gestured over his shoulder at the fleeing girl.
"Yes, she's with me," the woman sighed. "I'm so sorry, excuse me. Emily!" With that, she hurried past him towards the car park.
"Extraordinary," he mumbled to himself, finally able to open the door. "In McDonalds of all places."