This is what we will be doing this afternoon: this afternoon, we will be taking down the blind in our bedroom, and putting up a curtain pole.

What we have already done today is, we have gone to a department store and bought the curtains and the pole, then to a hardware shop for the right screws and some filler; and lastly to a bakery for some fresh bread. Before that – last night, in fact, after Amy and Simon collected Leah and Lucas from us – we measured all the windows so we'd know what we would need to buy.

Right now, what we are doing is, we are making lunch.

Usually if we're having a baguette like this between us, he'll divide it unevenly, maybe sixty-forty in my favour. Today I've gone in the kitchen before he got the chance, and I've cut the bread fifty-fifty; because he had no breakfast, and the boy's got to eat.

There's one reason for all of this: one reason we spent our Sunday evening measuring every window in our flat, and when that was done, sat with the laptop on our knees, browsing for soft furnishings. It's the same reason there's a bowl of Cheerios by the sink with barely a spoonful taken out of it. Same reason we kept moving from shop to shop today, and when we were in the car coming back, talked most of the way about the DIY we'd be doing. Same reason we'll be doing that DIY, soon as we've eaten this sandwich, even though time is getting on and, with how early it gets dark still, it's going to feel like evening by the time we're done.

The reason is that in between the skipped breakfast this morning and the trip to the shops, we went to the hospital to get his brain scanned, and tomorrow we're back there to get the results: and it's all he can think about, unless I keep him busy.

"What's today's special?" he says when he comes and finds me assembling our lunch.

I glance at him. He's in the kitchen doorway, and he's changed out of the tracksuit he wore to the scan, into an older, scruffier one.

"Ham. Cheese. Tomato. Lettuce. Mayo. And my pièce de résistance – the end of that bag of salt and vinegar crisps." I put his half of the baguette on a plate, and present it to him. "Least, I think the green stuff was lettuce – Lucas ain't keeping his seed-growing project in the fridge, is he?"

Steven laughs. "You're alright, that's lettuce. Lucas ain't started his seed-growing project yet."

"Phew."

Steven puts his plate back on the counter and says, "Want a cuppa with it?" He switches on the kettle, gets some mugs out. "I reckon we was right to just get the curtains for our bedroom window today, don't you? Because, if we'd got the ones for the front room an' all, I can just see us trying to get it all done in one go, and it's like, midnight, and we're not finished."

"True. Always takes longer than you think. Better eat up, then we can get on with the job."

I take the sandwiches with me and go and sit down on the sofa. He follows a minute later,

"Here you go," he says, and sets the mugs down on the coffee table. "Builder's tea."

I tap the edge of his plate. "Get your laughing gear around that..."

"'Laughing gear'? What's that – me mouth?"

"You not heard that before?"

"Don't think so. I bet our Lucas would like that."

"He would also like that sandwich."

Steven finally takes a bite, and another: I think he knows he has to, or I'll be on his back.

"How's that?" I ask.

"Delish."

"See, I debated. Could'a gone with cheese and onion crisps, only, would that be overkill, on top of the actual cheese? Then, salt and vinegar, it's a classic, so..."

"I think you made the right choice. Little bit of acidity sets off the flavours." He glances at me, and I wink at him; then he eats some more, and then he says, "You don't actually have to watch me eating. I'm eating it, alright?"

"Good. Don't want you passing out on me, and skiving off while I do all the work..."

:::::::

I've taken down the venetian blind and unscrewed its brackets. Steven went up the stepladder then and filled the holes. We worked out between us where the fixings had to go for the curtain pole, and he marked the wall with a pencil, and I did the drilling. By that time, the filler was dry enough for sanding, so he did that while I went and found the tin of blue paint from when we decorated this bedroom.

"Is there enough paint, or is it all dried up?" he asks when I bring it in.

He comes down the ladder. There's plaster dust on the tips of his hair, white like frost.

"Soon see." I prise off the lid. "Looks alright. Enough to do the top of the recess, which is all we need."

"That's good, then. Better clean up first, though, yeah, cos you can't paint on dust. D'you want to hoover? And I'll give the window a wash – just the inside, so it's quicker."

So we do that. And then I do the painting, while Steven watches.

I jump off the ladder when I'm done.

"Ain't perfect," I say. "Ought'a have another coat."

"It won't show once the curtains are up. Plus you didn't get any drips anywhere, did you."

"Quit while we're ahead, you mean?"

He smiles. "Yeah."

:::::::

Once the pole is up and ready for the curtains, Steven says, "I might have a shower and get changed first, before we get them curtains out. Only, that dark blue colour, if they get dust on them from me clothes, it'll show, won't it."

:::::::

I take the shower head down to rinse the shampoo from his hair, shielding his eyes with my hand, then I rinse my own.

He washes my back for me, and when I turn around to face him again, we kiss. He's slippery in my arms, hot water on warm skin: when I close my eyes, he feels to me how shimmering looks.

I go on my knees to him, my mouth pressed to his belly and then around his dick. He takes half a step back and I come away, look up at his face: does he not want this right now? He's not retreating, though, he's just bracing his back against the tiles.

I close my eyes, blinded by the water, but I've got my answer, and now his hand in my hair confirms it.

He tastes pure, like rain.

:::::::

He's on the ladder, attaching one curtain, and I'm standing on a chair attaching the other.

"People could look at us, all lit up in the window," he says, then he waves to the people he's imagining out there in the darkness: "Ooh-ooh, yeah, that's right, we've got new curtains – are you jelly?"

"Idiot."

He laughs. "Is your one done?"

"Yep. Yours?"

"Yeah." We both climb down. "Right, I'm gonna close the curtains now, but don't look."

"Don't look at you closing the curtains?"

"Don't look at the curtains. We'll put the ladder away and the chair, so then when we come back in here and see the curtains for the first time, there won't be all stuff in the way. Go on, take that chair back to the front room, and I'll close the curtains and bring the ladder out, and then we'll come in again. Come on, we can be like gays off the telly for a minute."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, but I pick up the dining chair and take it back to where it belongs, and he clanks out to the hallway with the folded ladder and stashes it away in the cupboard there.

"Ready?" he says.

"Agog."

"Shut up. Come on, then."

We go into our bedroom.

"Looks different," I say, and it does. The darkish blue walls with the darker blue curtains make the room feel like its own place – ours alone – cut off from the outside, more so than when the blind was on the window.

"Looks lush," Steven says.

"We did a good job."

"Team work makes the dream work," he says, and for added comic effect he puts his hand up for a high five, knowing full well he won't get one back.

"'Team work makes the dream work'?" I say. "Dear god."

He laughs. "Well, it's true."

:::::::

If I've fallen asleep at all, it's shallowly, and my own restlessness wakes me up before long.

He's awake too, and once he realises I am, he slips out of bed. I feel him go, but it's so dark in the room that it's like he's disappeared, a shadow stepping into shadow.

He's gone to open the curtains. There's some light now, from the buildings the other side of the canal; and from the moon, stars maybe.

Back in bed, he whispers, "Opened them because we've got to wake up in the morning, and we might oversleep if it's dead dark."

"Good point." Think of something to give him heart: something further in the future than tomorrow. "Be good when it's summer, though, when it gets light so early and we still need our sleep – your curtains, they'll give a better blackout than the blind ever did."

"In summer." He cuddles up more; for a minute or two he's quiet, but then he says, "Will you tell me about the holiday, please?"

He's not asking about a holiday this summer coming – us and all the kids like last year – even though we'll have to think about that soon enough. He means the one we conjured up when he was ill, to pull us through.

"Okay." It comes back to me at once, more like a memory than a dream. "Gonna be warm there – get the sun on your skin, enough to dry you off when you come out from swimming. Sit on the grass for five minutes and you'll be dry, or just walk around, eat some fruit straight from the tree. Apricots or something, only they'll be sweeter than you've ever had before."

"Will it be an old house?"

"Old, yeah. A cottage, or an old farmhouse, I dunno. Floor made of flagstones, big kitchen table. No cooking, though, unless we want to. We'll just get what we want from the market – bread, cheese, wine, anything we like."

"You can read all your books. Sitting in the garden, because there'll be shade for you, won't there, under the trees."

"While you sunbathe? Sounds about right..."

A breath of a laugh. "Yeah." Then, "You'll read bits out loud to me, won't you?"

"If you like."

He yawns. "And we can stay up if we want, talking."

"Go to bed when we want. The sheets on the bed, they'll smell of fresh air."

"We can..."

I wait to hear what we can do, but he's drifted off.

"We can," I whisper; and then, "I love you."

:::::::

"I wonder if it's Mister Raja today," Steven says.

He speaks quietly, same as everyone else sitting here in the waiting area.

"Could be."

"It was Doctor Milne last time, weren't it. I wonder how they decide."

"Whoever can get away from the in-patients, I guess."

"I don't mind, anyway, as long as it's one of them two, because they know me, don't they. I hope it's not someone else."

We'll find out soon enough, because another patient has just left, and a minute later Steven's name is called, and we're sent along to one of the consultation rooms.

It's Dr Milne. She smiles when we walk in.

"Hi," she says. "Hi. Take a seat, both of you."

"Hiya," says Steven.

We sit.

"How have you been doing since we last saw you – any concerns at all?"

"I've been fine."

"I'll just have a look in your eyes, if that's alright?" She gets her gadget, switches off the light in the room and looks into his eyes, one then the other, as she talks. "Mister Raja and I have examined your scan together, and we're completely happy with it."

She turns the light back on, has a look at the scar on the back of his head – has trouble finding it at all because it's hidden by his hair now, and these days you only know it's there if your fingertip happens to find it – and then she does they rest of the stuff same as last time, testing his reactions, the strength of his grip, so on. She converses while she does it, the sort of chat designed to glean answers.

When she sits down again, I say, "So it's all good?"

"All good." She scrolls through the notes on her computer screen. "You were weighed today, were you?"

"Yeah," Steven says, "Just now, when we got here."

"Okay, I've found it. So, you've just gained around half a kilo since last time. I'm guessing this is a normal sort of weight for you, though, isn't it? Around the same as you weighed before your seizures?"

"I never weigh myself, so I don't know. I think so, though."

"Yeah, this is his fighting weight," I say.

"That's what I thought," says the doctor. "So, carry on doing what you're doing. A balanced diet, good quality sleep. Obviously, you should still look out for any signs and symptoms that are out of the ordinary for you, and speak to your GP if you've got any worries. But to all intents and purposes, your scan shows a normal, healthy brain."

"So, I definitely won't have another fit?"

"Look, I'd love to say it's impossible, but we know that, statistically, someone who's experienced a seizure in the past is more likely to have one in the future, than someone who's never had one before. For you, though, looking at how you've recovered, I really do think you can put it behind you, okay?"

"Can I get me driving licence back, then?"

"No, I'm sorry, that's out of our hands until the twelve months are up. But the good news is, Mister Raja said that as long as nothing cropped up when I saw you today, we'll leave it six months for your next appointment."

"Really?" Steven looks at me. His face is clear of the worry it's been wearing since we woke up this morning.

"Okay, that's good." I nod. "Good."

Dr Milne types briefly on her keyboard, then she swivels to face us again, leans back in her chair, and looks at each of us in turn. Her demeanour has changed, as if she's put away the doctor persona.

"I've heard about your party," she says.

Steven laughs, and he's right: it's funny, the switch of subject.

"Did Curtis tell you?" he says.

"Suki, mostly, but Curtis as well, yes. Sounds wicked. And I've got a message for you – Suki's not in today, but she said hello and she's sorry she's missed you. And Curtis is in, and he said if you drop him a text when you're finished here, he'll grab five minutes if he can. He thinks you've got his number, but he said I can give it to you if you haven't."

"I've got it, yeah," I say.

"Thanks ever so much," Steven says. "I don't mean for the message – well, I do mean for the message as well, but, like, for everything. Thank you."

"No problem at all." She stands up, which is our cue to leave. "Take care."

"See you in six months," Steven says.

:::::::

We've automatically headed outside into the air, and now, in the car park, we stop, and we hug.

"Didn't I tell you?" I say.

Briefly, we talk through everything that was said. Then Steven says, "Right, you gonna text Curtis?"

I find Curtis's number, and give Steven my phone. He types a message and hands it back for me to read: Hi Curtis we have finished are you around? Ste and Brendan xx

I delete the last two characters, then send it.

"He's probably busy," I say, but then he calls me back.

I let Steven answer.

"Hiya, Curtis, it's me, Ste. … Yeah? Brilliant. … Yeah, I think I know that one. Hang on, I'll ask Brendan, cos he'll know." He says to me, "Do you know the coffee place that the volunteers run, in the nextdoor block?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, he does," he tells Curtis. "So we'll go there now, and see you when you get there. … Bye."

"He's coming for a coffee?"

"He's gonna see how long he can get away for. He might not be able to sit down, but he said he'll definitely come down at least for a takeaway one, and say hello for a minute."

"Okay. I could do with a coffee anyways."

"Me an' all."

:::::::

We're half way through our coffee and cake when Curtis arrives.

He comes straight across to where we're sitting.

"I can't stop," he says. "I wish I could. How are you? Well, I know how you are, Ste, because I know how pleased Mister Raja was when he saw your scan."

"Hiya." Steven gets up.

"Sorry, hands are full. Hang on." Curtis is holding three reusable coffee cups, and he's trying to organise them in one hand so he can give Steven a hug.

"You talk to Steven here," I say, and I take the cups from him. "I'll go order your... whatever you're having."

"Alright, thank you. I'll come over and pay in a sec."

"No you won't."

"Thanks, Brendan. If you just say it's for Curtis, Marina and Zawadi, they'll know – and we're after two Twixes and a KitKat as well, which I'll come and pay for."

"No you won't. You said Marina and Zawadi, yeah?"

"That's right. But honestly, you don't have to – "

"There's no point arguing with him," Steven is saying to Curtis as I walk away.

I put the cups on the counter of the wee booth when it's my turn at the front of the queue.

"These are for Curtis there, and Marina and Zawadi – their usual, I guess?" I say to the lady serving.

She looks across to where Steven and Curtis are sitting; Curtis gives her a wave.

"I thought I recognised them cups," she says, and she gets to it. "Anything else for you?"

I take the relevant chocolate bars from the display.

"Just these." I put a twenty down. "Put the change in the whatever – your collecting box there. Curtis'll pick up the coffees. Okay."

I go back over to the table.

"Cheers," Curtis says, and he pockets the chocolate supply. "Well it was nice to see you both, but I'd better get back. You know what it's like upstairs – all hands on deck."

"Is it busier than when I was there?" Steven asks.

"No, probably about the same. It's pretty normal."

"It's funny, I never felt like you was rushing or anything. You know, when you was looking after me."

"Well, I'm glad about that. We're like swans, us nurses – all nice and serene gliding along on the surface, but you can't see our little feet paddling away like crazy underneath."

Steven laughs. Then he says, seriously, "Well, I'm grateful, anyway. I won't ever forget."

"Oh, bless you." He stands up: we stand too.

"So, yeah," Steven says, "It's six months till my next appointment, Doctor Milne said. But we'll keep in touch though, right?"

Curtis nods. "And thanks again for the coffees. See you later."

He goes off, and we sit back down.

"So," Steven says, "He was telling me about your advice."

He's looking at me, only I can't read his expression.

"Advice?" I say.

"Dating advice." Still looking at me, but now it seems to me that he's trying hard not to smirk or smile or laugh, or something along those lines.

I frown, shake my head, shrug. "Don't know what you're..."

I drink my coffee.

"You gave him advice about his love life, at our party. You told him, if he actually likes Hugo, don't just hook up with him. You said Hugo's not after something casual, so take it slow, then they might, like, have a chance. "

"Your coffee getting cold? You want another one?"

He laughs now, loud enough that everyone in the vicinity looks at him.

Okay.

I sit back, wait for him to stop.

"My coffee's fine," he says, then he nudges me with his foot under the table to make me look at him, and when I do, he's smiling, in a piss-taking kind of way.

"Alright," I say.

"I think it's nice."

I finish my brownie.

"So, did it work, anyways?" I say.

"What?"

"My advice."

"Well, Hugo's come to Salford twice now. The first time, Curtis showed him around, like, showing him the best sort of places to look for flats, and when Hugo was getting in his car to go home, they just, like..." Steven taps his cheek and kisses the air. "Then the next time, Hugo had got two days of whatsitsnames booked... Viewings, yeah, for flats. So he rang Curtis and said, 'I'm going to stop in a bed and breakfast, because it's daft to drive all the way home in between,' because he's moved out of the hotel, obviously, now he's stopped working there, and he's staying at his brother's place down in Wales, so it's a bit of a hike from there to Salford, innit. So then – "

"That was Welsh, was it, the accent just then?"

"Yes." He's ready to be offended by whatever I say next.

"Cute..."

"Shut up. So then Curtis said he could stay the night with him instead, and save himself a few quid."

"That's what they call taking it slow, nowadays, is it?"

"Yes, it is, because Curtis said to him, 'Stay at mine, cos I've got a sofa bed.' Plus Curtis had a night shift anyway, so I think he had to sleep in the day the first day, so they didn't see much of each other, but he got up in the evening, and they went out for their tea. And they didn't sleep together, he said. And then Curtis had a day off work the next day, so they spent all day together, going round looking at the rest of the flats. And when they went back to Curtis's after, for Hugo to pick his stuff up... That's when they..."

"Slept together."

"No. They had a kiss. I mean, a proper kiss. And now, Hugo's coming up again soon because he's starting work now in his new job. He's not got a flat sorted yet, so he'll be staying in a room at the new hotel he's working at. Anyway, what's happened is, he's asked Curtis out. Which is good, because he was worried, Curtis was, because they've been talking a lot on the phone, but they've not talked about the kiss, and he thought, what if Hugo's friendzoning him? Cos Curtis thought the kiss was amazing, but he was like, what if Hugo didn't? But he must've done, because Curtis asked him if this is a date, in case Hugo meant, like, just going out as mates, but Hugo said, 'Of course it's a date – if that's alright with you.' So, yeah."

When you've passed a few days without him chatting on like this – when you've had to nudge him, sometimes, to talk at all – it's like getting back something you've lost.

"You got all this out of him," I say, "While I was queueing up for Twixes?"

Steven grins. "Swear down. He was bursting to tell me."

"You got one of those faces. People want to tell you things."

He gives me a look: the one where he doesn't have to roll his eyes for me to know that he's rolling his eyes.

I laugh, then I watch him chasing the last crumbs of brownie around his plate with his finger.

:::::::

He's heated up some of his home made soup, and warmed half a loaf of soda bread in the oven, and we're sitting at the table to eat it.

"I'm glad that's out the way, anyway," he says. "The hospital, I mean."

"Me too."

"So now that you haven't got to spend all the time worrying about me and keeping me busy – "

"You spotted that, did you? Okay."

He smiles. "Yes. And I'm grateful, Bren. I don't know how I would get through things without you."

"You don't have to, so."

"Neither do you. So, Brendan, now that the hospital's over until – "

"August."

"August, I s'pose, yeah. It's over for now, so we can think about something else."

His tone tells me I'm not going to like it, whatever he's building up to.

"I'm thinking about soup," I say. "It's good soup."

"Have you thought what you're going to do about Cheryl's mum?"

I put down my spoon, and look at him across the table.

"What makes you think I'm doing anything about her?"

"That's alright, if that's what you've decided."

"But?"

"There's no 'but', not really. I've told you I'll be with you, hundred per cent, whatever you decide, and I will."

"There's definitely a 'but'."

"Alright. But is it for ever? Like, have you decided, that's it, you're never gonna see her again?"

"No. I dunno. No, that's..."

"Right, can I tell you what I think?"

"Fill your boots."

"I think, if you decide you're never gonna see her, ever again, then, fine, we can just forget about it. Only, for instance, Cheryl and Nate are most likely gonna get married in the future, yeah, so does that mean she's got to tell her mum not to come, or tell us not to come? Or if we go – us and her mum – you'll be feeling the same as you are now about seeing her, or most likely ten times worse because you've put it off, so it's gonna basically ruin the day for us and maybe for Cheryl an' all."

"I told you, it ain't never, it's just..."

"That's what I thought. So if it ain't never, why not meet her now? And then, however it goes, it's out of the way, innit, like the hospital." He pauses. "What do you think?"

"I think I need to get ready for work."

"You've got hours." He tears another piece of bread, spreads butter on it, and puts it on my plate. "I'm only trying to work out what's going to be better for you. Not for Cheryl, or her mum. You, Brendan. Alright?"

The pale butter is softening on the warm soda bread.

"I know," I say.

"What is it that you're worried about, if you do see her?"

"I'm... Far as she's concerned, I'm the man who killed the man she loved. What's she gonna think of me, Steven? How's she gonna look at me?"

"Well, whatever Cheryl's told her about what happened, she knows that Cheryl still loves you. And her letter – I don't know her, right, but it seemed like she doesn't blame you, she just wants to see you. It was a nice letter."

"It was. It was a nice letter. I dunno though, it's all the past, y'know, I start thinking I've got away from it, then something comes..." I eat some of the soup, and some of the bread. "Guess you're right though. Get it over with, might be better in the long run."

"It's Friday she's coming to England, you said?"

"That's what Cheryl said, yeah."

"For a week, and she's going to London in the middle, but she's gonna be in Liverpool at the beginning and the end, because that's where the ferry port is."

"Well remembered."

"It's been stuck in me head, ever since you told me."

So he's been thinking about this, mulling it over in his mind, all in among his own concerns about going to the hospital.

"Okay."

"I wonder how long she's in Liverpool for. I mean, just the day she arrives, or longer?"

"Well we can't do the weekends, can we," I say, "Because I'm already driving to Manchester and back with the kids, and I ain't fitting that around a daytrip to Liverpool. Maybe it won't work out at all, and we're wasting our time worrying."

"Yeah. That would be ironic, that."

"Ironic, yeah." I smile at him.

"Might as well ask her, anyway," he says.

"I'm not asking her. I'll ask Chez."

"Gonna phone her now, then?" he asks.

"I'll text her."

:::::::

I do it while Steven is clearing up.

She still want to meet?

Obviously that doesn't go down well with my sister. She messages back straight away, Who's SHE? You mean Mum?

Yes. Sorry. In a rush pre work.

Right. Yes, we spoke at weekend. You after meeting her after all?

Can you ask her which dates she could do? I'll come to Liverpool if we can find one that works. Daytime. Not Sat/Sun.

Will do. You're doing the right thing Brendan, I promise. X

:::::::

I'm upstairs at work when I get a reply from Cheryl.

Mum says this Fri 10th or next Fri 17th. She could have done this weekend but that's out for you. Let me know. X

As soon as I can get away, I go down the back stairway and go and see Steven in the kitchen.

"Alright?" I say to him.

"Yeah. We had a big load of orders as soon as ordering started, but it's gone nice and steady since then. And, Brendan, Amy's just phoned me."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, they're all fine. But, you know it's half term, the week after next?"

"I'll take your word for it..."

"Well, she's phoned to say that the school is finishing a day early, cos it's an inset day, the Friday before is. And she asked if we want to have Leah and Lucas on that day, cos her and Simon are working, and so's Mike."

"The seventeenth, that'll be, will it?"

"Um... Yeah, I s'pose it will. Amy said she'll sort something out if we can't have them, but I've said yes. Is that alright? See, I couldn't say no, Brendan, because d'you know what Amy said? She said we can fetch them from school ourselves, yeah, when they finish on the Thursday. Because we're allowed now."

His eyes are shining.

"Course, yeah."

"And I know we've got work an' all, but I'll talk to me sisters, because out of them and Sam and Danny, there's got to be someone who can either come and babysit for us on the Thursday and Friday nights, or we can drop the kids round to them for a sleepover and pick them up in the morning."

"Yep. We'll make it work."

"I'm made up." Then he remembers: "Did you hear back from Cheryl yet?"

"Yeah, just now. Sharon's given her the dates she can do. It's this Friday, the tenth. Or next Friday, the..."

"The seventeenth." He puts down what he's doing, and comes over to me. "That's, like... Of all the days, why did it have to be the same one? What are we going to do?"

"Guess I'll tell Cheryl it's this Friday or nothing."

"Is that alright?"

"It's... soon."

He wipes his hands on a teatowel before he links them round the back of my neck.

"It'll be alright." He kisses me, softly. "And you know what I think?"

"No, but you're gonna tell me."

"I think it's better. Because it's Valentine's day on Tuesday, so if you weren't gonna see Sharon till the Friday after, you'd be spending the whole week getting wound up about it, and we most likely wouldn't be able to enjoy it."

"Enjoy Valentine's? We'll both be working that night, Steven, not romanticising."

"But we'll be together, won't we. So I don't care, even if it's a funny sort of Valentine's."