Douglas was not accustomed to his phone ringing at nine in the morning on his days off, and he sighed as he left his tea to brew and dug his mobile out of his pocket. Martin. Odd; Martin had been very clear about his van jobs, and Douglas was fairly sure one of them should be about now.

"Martin?"

"No, this is James."

Douglas blinked. He knew two people called James, neither of which had any reason to be using Martin's phone.

"James who?"

"James – I live with Martin. He asked us to ring you. Well, to be honest, he asked us to ring Arthur, but some of us have met Arthur so we just told him he wasn't answering and he picked you next, so…"

Douglas sighed, nostrils flaring with the effort of keeping calm, both in the sense of not telling this boy he was a twerp, and panicking about why Martin would need other people to use his phone for him. "What's happened?"

"Give me that phone James, you're bloody hopeless…"

"Hey, I'm doing it, I-"

"Give it here!" There was the sound of a brief scuffle, and then a girl with a tired, scratchy sort of voice came on the line. "Hi, Douglas?"

"What's happened to Martin? Why can't he use his own phone?"

"Basically he's got food poisoning and he can't stop throwing up long enough to hold a conversation. We've been taking it in turns making sure he's got enough water and stuff, but it's the holidays and we've all got to go home – there's only a couple of us left now and- James go check on Martin I think he's puking again."

"Oh for god's sake, I'm supposed to be packed already."

"Just do it!" She took a breath. In the background Douglas heard a door slam. "Anyway, we can't really leave him on his own, so in the end he told us to ring you."

Douglas, listening to the stream of information with a sinking stomach and the strong wish that Martin lived with less excitable students, snapped himself back into speaking mode.

"You want me to come round?"

"Fiona, it's fine, it's really f-fine, I'll be fine."

"Martin, go away. You aren't fine."

"I am, don't bother him…"

"If you throw up on my new jacket I swear I will kill you. Go away."

"Being his usual, co-operative self, is he?" Douglas said, already toeing on a pair of trainers – if Martin was going to vomit on him he sure as hell wasn't wearing his good shoes – and rummaging for his keys in the bowl by the door.

"He's just a bit…agitated. James thinks he's got a fever but we lost the thermometer a couple of months ago and no-one bothered to get a new one." The sound of James swearing filtered through her end of the line. "Anyway, can you come round, or get someone to come round? Our train goes in less than an hour…"

"I'm on my way," Douglas murmured, slipping out of the door and blinking in the bright sunlight.

James and Fiona both looked tired, dressed in baggy jumpers and jeans, Fiona with her hair in a slapdash bun and James obviously in the midst of packing – he opened the door with his elbow, hands laden down with t-shirts and bits of toast.

Martin surpassed both of them. Douglas had seen blank pieces of paper with more colour and Martin only added to the overall effect by gagging repeatedly into the sink before Douglas could say so much as 'hello'.

Fiona was dashing about with cups of water and suitcases and James kept shouting about his lost glasses, but in the end Douglas managed to get them both out on time, which left him with a disconcertingly silent house and the delight of getting Martin to stop apologising between bouts of vomiting. After a few minutes of trial and error, in which he managed to avoid the worst of the projectiles, they on a position with Martin kneeling on an old cushion, head pressed against the toilet seat, and Douglas leaning against the sink with a cup of water he would press on Martin whenever he thought he could take it.

They didn't speak much during the first two hours.

Douglas was starting to get a line of soreness across his back from the rim of the sink by the time Martin finally piped up. He was wearing pyjama bottoms with a t-shirt that was too small for him, both of which were dripping sweat.

"I'm sorry…God, this wasn't how you were planning to spend your day."

Douglas sighed and offered Martin more water. "On the contrary, I was desperately hoping I'd receive a phone call from an incoherent student in the midst of my morning tea, telling me I had to come and listen to you making frankly the most appalling retching sounds for the next four hours or so."

His intention had been to make Martin crack a smile, to lighten the mood. His intention had not been for Martin to start crying. Douglas wasn't used to things he hadn't wanted to happen happening anyway, but he rose to the occasion all the same, leaning forward and putting a hand on Martin's shoulder.

"You can g-go," Martin babbled between gasps; he cried awkwardly, producing something little more than sniffles. "I'll be al-alright now."

"I have no intention of going." Douglas sighed and, because Martin seemed to have stopped throwing up, at least for now, risked sitting on the floor with his back against the sink and his chin propped on his hand. The position made him feel strangely vulnerable. "There's no need to cry, I'm not going to leave you here to starve."

"That's not…that's not…" Martin stopped and hiccupped, but brought nothing up. "That's not why I'm crying." He pressed his forehead against the seat with a groan. "This is all my fault."

Douglas raised an eyebrow. "Martin, people get food poisoning all the time. I've had it twice, my daughter's had it, I'm fairly sure Arthur got it after eating some fairly disgusting article of food in a hotel Carolyn once booked us into. It's no-one's fault."

"It is. It is my fault." He shuddered. "I was hungry, and the students, they keep their leftovers in the fridge with their names on and…and I pretended the label had fallen off, I pretended I thought it was mine." Tears were coming at such a rate Douglas had half a mind to ply the water on Martin again to replace them. "This started three hours later. So you see, I deserve it."

"Martin, shut up."

Martin snapped his head up. "What?"

"You do not deserve anything. You were unlucky which, when it comes to you, is frankly no surprise. On the other hand, you prevented a student going home for the holidays suffering a horrendous attack of food poisoning on public transport."

Martin blinked. "I…"

"Furthermore, any food that had been there long enough would probably have been thrown away. Took it right from the back, did you?"

"I think…yes…"

"There you go. If I remember my student days, it'd probably been sitting there for weeks." Douglas got to his feet, wincing as his knees creaked. "You're tired and feverish, and you need to go to bed."

"What?"

"Besides, I can't stand sitting in here any more. I'll bring you a bucket if you need it."

Thanks for reading, feedback welcome!

To be continued.