The pain in Sullivan's throat woke him the next morning. He woke up feeling very calm, which was very odd. He opened his eyes and remembered the incident of the previous night; the reason for his strange groggy form and tranquil nature, and the dull pain in his arm.
"Oh - hello."
Lady Felicia, who must have been sitting beside him, leaned over and realised that he was awake. His mortification deepened.
"I must confess - I rather hoped you wouldn't wake up until Mrs McCarthy came back." Lady Felicia admitted bashfully. "I've been told I'm a rather dire companion to the ill, and I honestly have no idea what to say to you."
Something about the Countess' perfectly frank nature made Sullivan feel better. She didn't seem insistent on fussing over him; at least not at this moment.
She was perched on the chair by the bed, dressed to perfection as usual, with a book open on her lap. She obviously wanted to say something, but kept deciding against it.
"What are you reading?" Sullivan croaked.
"Oh this," Lady Felicia said, turning the book over in her hands,"This is one of mine, I was just checking over it. It sounds so narcissistic but there is something wonderful about seeing your words in print."
Sullivan stared at her, suddenly struck with childlike adoration. "You write books?" He asked, still croaky but breathless and excited, and not at all mockingly.
"Yes, I do." Lady Felicia said, smiling in spite of herself, "It keeps me occupied, though I've been told by many people they're not very good."
"Can I read one? Please?" Sullivan was genuinely keen, asking for this honour as a kid might beg for sweets. Lady Felicia found herself blushing at this unexpected praise.
"Well of course you can. I'm delighted you'd want to." She laughed.
"Thank you." Sullivan said, still earnestly thrilled.
Lady Felicia laughed. "For all that enthusiasm, I'll get you signed copies."
There was another awkward pause.
"Is there anything I can do for you now?" She asked.
He looked at her, his face pale and blotchy and his hair a mess. "I know this sounds stupid and probably childish but..."
"No, go on."
"Could you - please - could you read to me for a little bit?" He asked, eyes big and pleading, "You don't have to if you don't want to but -"
"Oh no, no, of course I'll read to you! I'd love to, I'd be honoured!" She beamed, flicking back through the pages until she reached the beginning of the book. "We'll start at the beginning and see how we go, shall we?"
For the first time in weeks, Sullivan found himself properly smiling.
Sid had been walking up the stairs with Mrs M when they heard Lady F's voice, and had to stop in shock. She seemed to be in the midst of some terrific argument, shouting and shrieking and making all manner of bizarre sounds. In panic, they dropped all they were holding (a strange multitude of laundry, a breakfast tray, a bottle of whiskey, a scarf and a tube of toothpaste) and bounded up the hallway to see what on earth had happened. Sid, having much longer legs than his companion, arrived first, and by attempting to put his shoulder through an open door found himself sprawled across the bed.
Mrs McCarthy arrived at the door about a second later, panting like she'd ran from Hambleston, rather than the top of the stairs. Sid managed to life his head high enough to get a glimpse at Sullivan's face, which seemed to be perplexed but nonetheless amused.
"You're on my legs." He said, his voice hoarse and rough as sandpaper, but... humorous.
"Holy mother -" Mrs McCarthy gasped, leaning against the doorframe as her chest heaved with the exertion, "I thought - we thought- such a noise - like a banshee- what is going on?"
"We were reading." Lady Felicia said, looking very annoyed at this very dramatic interruption. Sullivan started trying to wriggle his legs out from underneath Sid, who didn't seem to plan on moving.
"Reading? Reading? You call that reading! People have won academy awards for lesser annoyances!" Mrs M managed to detach herself from the doorframe, "And I- Sidney Carter, will you get off that man in the bed!"
"I've done me shin in," Sid groaned, "Oh, my poor shin-"
He rolled over, leg in the air, moaning pitifully. Sullivan giggled.
"Oh its awful sore-" He lamented, rolling over clutching his leg, which he'd stuck in the air to make sure everyone could see it, probably to garner sympathy. It did not work.
"You're squashing him, you great lummox!" Lady Felicia crowed, swatting at Sid with her book, "Heavens' sake!"
Mrs McCarthy decided to put her feelings into words, seizing Sid's collar and heaved him off the bed, onto the floor. She then seized Lady Felicia and hawked her out into the hallway, where they started a rather vicious, muttered argument, one that got both fainterand louder as the women raised their voices walking down the stairs.
Sid pulled himself back to his feet. Sullivan, lying pale and very weak looking, stared at him from the pillows.
''Are you alright?'' He asked, at the same time as Sid remembered why he was coming in to see him and said, ''Wait here.''
Sullivan waited, having gained enough lucidity to question what on earth Sid expected him to do otherwise. Whatever they'd injected him with last night (a situation that sent an involuntary shudder of many emotions, mostly horrifying embarassment) had done such a number on him he couldn't even lift his head off the pillow when he heard Sid returning.
''Here,'' Sid announced, brandishing an indescernible mass of burgundy fabric, ''Found this to stop you feeling the cold.''
''What is it?''
''Dressing gown.'' Sid unravelled the bundle and shook out the robe, ''Keep you warm. I found it the other night - Mrs McCarthy bought it for me when I had a bout of scarlet fever but I never wore it 'cause I'm always too hot in bed. That's why I only ever buy pyjama bottoms, 'cause I'm always too hot, and they sell 'em seperately so it'd be a waste of money to buy the top 'cause I'd never wear it. 'Cause I'm always too hot.''
Sullivan opened his mouth to protest at this bizarre aspect of frugality, but couldn't quite find the words to reply. Sid set the dressing gown on the bed and gestured at it again. ''You can put it on, if you want.''
''Don't think I can,'' Sullivan mumbled, ''Can't sit up or anything.''
''I'll help, c'mere-'' Sid clambered onto the bed and, with the dressing gown over one arm, slung his arm around Sullivan's neck and pulled him forward. He didn't manage a response, just a slight exhale of alarm as his head lolled backwards. Sid (somehow) managed to manouver his arms into the sleeves while leaned into his neck, marvelling at how warm the man's skin was. He could feel Sid's pulse beating against his cheek, feel him grunting slightly with the exertion, and probably, had it not have been for the strange tranquility overpowering him, he would have blushed warm enough to burn him.
''There we are,'' He smiled, gently leaning Sullivan backwards into a sitting position propped up against the headboard having stuck a pillow behind his head, ''I'll get it untwisted now.''
He fussed over Sullivan, pulling at the garment and arranging it around him neatly as the other man lay there, only pausing when he started readjusting the cuffs.
'"Bloody hell - not to be rude mate, but have you shrank?"
Sullivan looked down at his skinny wrists, poking out of the oversized dressing gown. The garment dwarfed him; he looked like a child wearing their parents clothes, rather than a fully grown man.
"I don't think so." He said, somewhat confused.
"I thought you were the same sorta size as me." Sid pondered. He took Sullivan's bony, fragile feeling hand and started examining his wrist.
"Yeah, you were, you wore my jacket. But now- Christ, you're tiny."
"Oh thanks, that's good to know. What are you doing?"
Sid was beaming, with his thumb and middle looped around Sullivan's stick-like wrist.
"Everyone knows that if you can put your fingers like that around someone's wrist, it means your gonna go to their wedding. Dint you play that in the playground?"
"No." Sullivan replied, somewhat incredulously.
"Are you coming to mine?"
"Carter, this is daft -"
"Oh come on, try it!"
Sullivan rolled his eyes, but closed his finger and thumb around Sid's wrist.
"See? That means you're coming to my wedding, hooray!" Sid celebrated.
Sullivan couldn't help but laugh along with him. Sid, sitting cross legged now on the bed beside him, chuckled in a way that suggested he was thinking of something else.
''What is it?''
''Nothing.'' He smiled.
''No its not, tell me the joke.'' Sullivan insisted.
''S'not a joke, really... Just that you called me Carter there.'' Sid said, acting like he'd revealed a big secret.
Sullivan was flummoxed. ''Carter's your name.'' He said, ''That's what I call you.''
''Most of the time. Except ever since you got 'ere, you've been calling me Sid.''
There was a pause. ''I have?''
Sid snorted. ''Yeah you have. Whether you did it without thinking, I guess you have been a bit unaware of what you've...'' He trailed off, blanching in horror at what he'd just said.
Sullivan swallowed. ''Look - about last night. Sid, I'm so, so sorry about it, I never-''
''Whoa whoa whoa, don't apologise! It wasn't your fault!'' Sid interjected.
Sullivan was bright red and tears were threatening to spill. ''No it is- I just - I don't know what happened I -''
''Listen,'' Sid ordered, leaning forward to hold Sullivan's shoulders, ''It doesn't matter. We're just gonna focus now on getting you feeling better, alrigh'?''
Sullivan sniffed, but managed a nod.
''That's right,'' Sid soothed, clapping him on his pointy shoulder enthusiastically, ''Cause you gotta be fighting fit for my wedding, seeing as you're coming to it now.''
Sullivan managed a teary laugh. ''When is it?'' He asked.
''Don't know yet; giving my carefree bachelor lifestyle, probably not that soon.'' Sid confessed, ''But we still need to fatten you up for whenever it is. Fatten you up anyway, you're like a skeleton here.''
It was true. Mrs McCarthy might have bought his dressing gown a size too big for comfort, but Sullivan was getting lost in all that fabric. HIs hands had grown so thin he could see the transucent veins, his upper body had felt fragile as eggshells when he dressed him and his cheeks were totally hollow amidst th grey ghostly palor of his face. Long story short: he looked awful. Sounded it too, his voice all croaky after last night's screaming.
''Think Mrs M dropped your breakfast tray when she heard Lady Felicia's performance.'' He recalled, ''Sorry 'bout that, by the way. She has a habit of inflicting her novels on people who can't get away.''
Sullivan's bloodless features lit up a little.
''Oh no - I asked her to read.'' He said, ''I was really enjoying it. No one told me that she's a real life author.''
Sid stared at him in worried amazement. Whatever meds the doctor had him on, they were strong as diamonds.
''You don't have to be nice about it.'' He reassured, with a look of confusion, ''We all know they're bloody awful.''
''Wha- don't be so mean! That one she was reading me was really good!'' Sullivan protested. ''Granted, the actual way she read it was a bit melodramatic-''
''Understatement of the century.''
''But the story was good and she had a nice style of prose, so don't rain on her parade like that.'' Sullivan finished.
''Oh I am sorry, Mr Bookworm.'' Sid replied sarkily.
''Bet I've read more books than you.'' Sullivan retorted.
''Wouldn't be hard.'' Sid agreed, ''Don't think I've read twenty in my life.''
''Philistine.''
''Better to keep your head in the real world.'' Sid countered.
''But the real world is total shit!'' Sullivan retorted. The absolute conviction and belief in his voice, even though he was still smiling, struck Sid like a lorry and he found himself fighting off tears.
''It ain't all bad,'' He mumbled, ''Really ain't.''
Salvation then arrived, in the form of Mrs McCarthy. She was bearing the heaviest laden breakfast tray Sid had ever seen. The overall appearance was so shocking, it was impossible to decipher what any of the food was. He could swear he saw a whole roast dinner peeping out from behind some buttered crumpets. Every possible variation of every cuisnie seemed to be somehow balanced on that tray. Sid loved his food, but even he realised in an instant that he could never manage so much food in one sitting.
Obviously Sullivan knew the same thing. He stared at the monstrous meal and his skin took on a rather vibrant green hue, before he quietly announced; ''I think I'm going to be sick.''