Various periods of Hathaway's life, as told through cups of tea
James cracks his knuckles, before standing up and stretching. He needs to move, and he is desperate for a cigarette. Lewis is very much engrossed in the file he's reading, but James still thinks he needs to announce his imminent departure.
"I'm going out for a smoke" Robbie looked up from his desk briefly and waved James off.
"If you must lad."
"I must."
Upon leaving the office, James headed down the back stairs and out of the fire escape, fingers already twitching towards his coat pocket. The case they were working on was a frustrating one. For once, it was just your run of the mill murder, seemingly without the usual mystery and complexity that Oxford seemed to encourage. But they had absolutely no leads. No witnesses, no murder weapon and no apparent motive. Joe Smith was well known and well liked in his local community and no one knew of any reason why someone would want to stab him.
It was getting to Robbie, James could see that. They'd been trawling through statements and reports for the last four hours, and it was safe to say, his inspector's least favourite activity. As he takes a long drag on his cigarette, he finds himself wandering around the corner, and sees the little coffee kiosk is open. Its one of those hidden gem kind of places, that every one raves about, and seems to keep completely arbitrary opening hours. A final drag, and a glance down at his watch and his mind is made up. There's no queue, and he still has about eight minutes before his smoke break will be considered more like 'taking the piss'.
Six minutes later, and he is plonking a cup of expertly brewed tea on his boss' desk, grinning as Robbie looks up sharply.
"I thought you were having a smoke break James."
"Multitasking is an admirable skill in a sergeant don't you think?"
"Cheeky sod. Hang on, is this from that place the Gurdip couldn't stop talking about last week?"
"No flies on you sir."
"Well, you are the type to try hipster tea James, its not a stretch." James doesn't dignify that with a response, instead shrugging his coat off and sitting back at his desk. He turns back to his work but not before he sees Robbie take a sip of his tea and widen his eyes with surprise before smiling and taking another sip. The inspector looks back down at his paperwork with a new vigour and James unlocks his PC, a smile of his own on his lips.
Mission accomplished.
James is just getting dressed as he hears her key in the lock. Its a rare time when the end of his wife's run of night shifts, coincides with one of his rest days. He heads down the stairs to see her stood in the hallway, peeling off her rain coat with disdain, hair plastered to her face. Only now, does the sounds of rain hammering against the windows register with him and he moves to take the coat off her to dump in the sink.
"Its grim out there."
"You do have the air of a drowned rat about you."
"Hey!" She smiles tiredly at him. "A tired drowned rat." she concedes, and he chuckles slightly.
"Go and have a warm shower, I'll start on breakfast. We have bacon." Chrissy needs no second bidding and he watches her head upstairs fondly before going to start cooking a fry up.
He's just finishing the scrambled eggs as he feels two arms slip around his waist.
"Pretty sure this is why I married you." He pats her hand a couple of times and then wriggles slightly.
"Good to know I have my uses. But if you don't let go, we're going to be eating burnt toast." Chrissy pops the toaster up and starts buttering the toast.
A few minutes later, everything is on the table ready, and his wife is staring at it all longingly.
"Start Chris, it'll all get cold, I'll just make the tea." He reaches for the teapot as he flicks the kettle on, and soon has three teabags in there, and a couple of mugs on the table. He sees that she has fixed him a plate as well, and smiles a little to himself.
Before long, they are both sitting back, empty plates in front of them. She picks up her mug and sighs a little before smiling at him over the rim.
"Well I'm glad this week is over."
"Bad shift?"
"Not bad, just busy. Full of idiots that didn't really need to be in A , annoying me at three am." She shakes her head. "They can be surprisingly demanding, and after four nights, my ability to be sympathetic to their bruised fingers is greatly diminished."
"I can imagine. Since we're both on leave for a few days now, what do you want to do today?"
"Honestly? I want a nap." She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. "Sorry, did you have plans."
"Not at all." He grins at her, eyebrow raised. "I think I could probably go back to bed."
"James I mean it, I want to sleep." He looks at her, all mock outrage, hand on chest. "I don't know what you're trying to imply madam."
"You are a massive pain in the arse."
"That's why you married me. That and my breakfast cooking abilities apparently." He squeezes her hand back. "Go on, go up to bed. I'll just wash up and I'll bring a cuppa up with me."
As he is making the tea, he finds comfort in the sounds of his wife moving around upstairs, getting ready to get into bed. He hears the drawers open as she gets her pyjamas out, and the squeak of the floorboards as she walks into the bathroom. He'd never have imagined that those sorts of sounds could bring him such...peace. Until he'd met her, he'd assumed that domestic bliss was just never on the cards for him. But now he has it, he'll cling to it with everything he has.
As soon as he walks in with the two cups of tea, he can see that she is absolutely dead to the world. He's not surprised, his sleep patterns might be up the creek, but at least when he's awake all night, he's not having to practice emergency medicine on top of it all. If James is honest with himself, he has no idea how she does it.
He quietly puts the tea down on the bedside table and then creeps out of the bedroom, changing in the bathroom so as not to disturb her. Before long, he's in bed next to his wife and she turns over, bringing an arm to bring him closer, still clearly half asleep.
"J'mes?"
"Yeah. Tea's on the side love."
"Hmmm. In a minute. Cuddle now." He hugs her back and slows his breathing to match hers, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, as she tucks herself in closer.
"Love you" he says quietly as they fall asleep together.
James has to concede that they may have misjudged the weather a little bit when he and Robbie had planned to take Sam to the park. The five year old had been in his element, running around and jumping in puddles and getting thoroughly muddy in the process. They were lucky it hadn't rained, but it had been bitterly cold and after a few hours, the adults had needed to admit defeat and go home. James' knee was starting to ache and Robbie had started to mutter about being unable to feel his feet. Sam, was completely unaffected of course. Right up until the moment he's slipped over in a puddle and got soaked in cold muddy water. It had signalled the end of their outing, and they'd all happily walked back to James' house.
As soon as they'd got in, James has invited Robbie in, on the proviso that he turned the heating up while James went and got Sam into fresh, dry clothing. The novelty had quickly worn off for the little boy and he'd been moaning the whole way home, begging to be carried. James had relented, realising that if he carried Sam, they weren't limited to the five year old tiny stride and they could get home into the warm that much quicker.
With Sam freshly in much less muddy clothes, James joined Robbie at the kitchen table. The older man smiled as Sam tried to climb onto his lap.
"I not muddy any more Unca Robbie. Wanna sit on you."
"Sam… Leave Uncle Robbie be, he's-"
"-Ah its no bother James. Come on kidda, up you come." Robbie hauls Sam up onto his lap with a groan and Sam points at his watch.
"What this button do?"
"It lights up the watch so I can see it in the dark."
"Let me see." Robbie presses the button and predictably, in the light of the kitchen, its barely noticeable. "It not very good." He says, with disappointment. Robbie chuckles and cups his hand over the watch.
"Press it again." Sam does so and sees the green light light up.
"Oooh there's the light!" he shouts before looking back up at Robbie. "Wassa time Unca Robbie?"
"Four fifteen Sam" James claps his hands together and stands up.
"Time for tea. I think I've got some biscuits somewhere."
He listens to Robbie and Sam's chatter as he begins the time honoured ritual of making a cuppa. He absent-mindedly notes that he needs to buy some limescale remover as he fills the kettle, flicking the switch and rooting around in the cupboard for the largest couple of mugs he can find. While the kettle boils, he finds half a packet of shortbread and some custard creams and puts them on the table. He pours two cups of tea, a sugar each, and puts Robbie's desired level of milk into one of the cups.
"Sammy, do you want some warm milk or some juice?"
"Want tea."
"Tea isn't for kids Sammy."
"I want tea like you and Unca Robbie!" James frowns briefly and then has an idea. He finds a little espresso cup in his cupboard and pours some of the still hot water from the kettle in. He dunks the teabag in just enough so that the water has some colour to it and then pours in the milk. Finally he stirs in a tiny amount of sugar and puts it on the table.
"There you go, a Sammy sized tea." He points at the seat next to Lewis. "Sit there so that Uncle Robbie can enjoy his tea without you wriggling about on him."
"I not wriggling."
"You need to be sitting still and sensibly to drink tea Sam. Its hot, you could get hurt."
"Aye lad. Me and your dad are sitting carefully aren't we? That's what grown-ups do with hot drinks" Sam looks between them and then launches himself off Robbie's lap and clambers up onto the chair next to him, reaching for his tiny cuppa.
"Remember Sam. It can be hot so you need to be careful." Sam nods and solemnly take a sip, before swallowing and grinning up at both the adults.
"Aaaaaah." He sees Robbie look away in an attempt not to laugh and so James, with a knowing twinkle in his eye takes a sip of his own tea and does exactly the same thing, causing Sam to squeal with laughter. Robbie can't help but laugh and James looks at them both with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"You're as much of a child as your bairn."
"No, I just appreciate a good cup of tea."
They soon retire to the living room to sit on the sofa, James with his left leg up on the coffee table and Robbie with a cushion at the small of his back. Sam has gone and got his comfort blanket and is half heartedly pushing some toy cars around the carpet as the days escapades catch up with him.
Sure enough, as the credits roll on the quiz show they were watching, James turns to Robbie and sees that the older man has his head tipped back on the sofa, snoring slightly. Sam is curled up in a ball near his feet, toy car still in his hand. Smiling fondly, James carefully gets up and lifts Sam onto the sofa next to Lewis, relieved when the little boy stays asleep.
James goes into the kitchen and sets about making dinner, ensuring that there's enough for Robbie too. He'll let his friend sleep, its easy to forget Robbie is seventy two, he hasn't changed that much in the two years that they've been back in touch.
An hour later, when he hears Robbie talking to a clearly newly awakened Sam, he flicks the kettle on once again.
James squints at the clock as he wakes up, seeing that its two am. He hears a soft voice downstairs, and he wonders who could be talking. Sam is on a night shift so it must be Holly or Ben. His bladder calls him to the toilet and he fumbles in the dark for his walking stick before heading to the bathroom.
Once he limps into the living room, he sees Holly sitting on the sofa, Ben lying next to her. The ten year old is asleep, but its clearly not a particularly restful slumber. His grandson has been ill the last few days, with some virus or another, and its no easier to see than when Sam was a little boy.
Holly looks up at him and gives him a tired smile, her hand still rubbing her son's shoulder. He points to the kitchen and whispers to her.
"Tea?" He gets a grateful nod in response and makes his way into the kitchen. He flicks the kettle on, reaching for the first two mugs he lays his hands on and sticks a couple of decaf teabags into them. As he leans against the worktop, he finds his thoughts drifting to the last few days. They are all on tenterhooks whenever Ben gets ill. A fever ups the likelihood of him having a seizure by a considerable amount, and its a constant worry. Thankfully, he hasn't vomited, so at least they know he's got the full dose of his meds in his system. Its not a guarantee of anything though, and as such, any illness of his leads to an uneasy waiting game.
He brings the tea back through, putting it down on the coffee table as quietly as he can, before heading back to the kitchen to retrieve his stick. Once settled, he motions towards Ben.
"How long have you been down here?"
"Er...an hour? Hour and a half?" She rubs her eyes. "He came into my room crying that he felt too hot."
"Poor little sod. Have you had any sleep?" She shrugs, looking down at her son.
"I think I got a few hours before he woke me up. He's been asleep for about twenty minutes. I wanted to take him back to bed but if he wakes up, I'm not sure he'll go back to sleep again." She takes long sip of tea and smiles at him. "Thanks for this. Been craving a cuppa for the last forty five minutes, but I had an irrational fear that as soon as I left the room, he'd have a fit." James nods, its not an unfamiliar feeling to any of them. Even though his epilepsy has been controlled for a number of months now, its a hard fear to let go of. They've been here before, a period of normality before it all goes wrong again and its back to the doctors for medication changes.
"No problem, tea, I can do." He looks at his grandson, and drains the last of his tea.
"Hol, go back up to bed, I'll sit with him. I'm awake now anyhow."
"Its fine I'll-"
"Don't be silly, you're knackered, I don't mind." Holly frowns at him but any argument she was going to give, is thwarted by a yawn.
"Okay. But don't try and carry him upstairs." He rolls his eyes at her and she swats him on the shoulder. "I mean it James."
"I promise." She squeezes his shoulder and smiles at him.
"Thanks for this."
"No problem. Get some rest."
Five minutes later, she returns with Ben's duvet and the blanket from James' own bed. She drapes it over the ten year old and hands the blanket to James. He'd moved over to the sofa, thinking that at least if he fell asleep, he'd be close enough for Ben having a fit to wake him up. He takes the blanket off her, smiling softly and tucking it around his legs.
"Night James."
"Night Holly, see you in the morning."
Sam finds them when he comes in, James sleeping with his head tipped back and Ben curled against him, hand in James' pyjama shirt.
On his way back from the bathroom, James decides that he really wants a cuppa. He makes his slow way into the kitchen, passing the living room and seeing Sam sitting at the computer and Holly sitting marking her students essays. Hoping they won't question what he's doing, he heads to the kettle, putting his walker to one side.
It takes a little bit of effort to get the mug out of the cupboard, there's one with a larger handle that he'd discovered was a lot easier for his stiff hands to hold. Sam had got hold of a kettle tipper not too long ago which meant he didn't need to try and pour a kettle of water. Thankfully, there was enough water in the kettle that he didn't need to fill it up. He pressed down the button and set about trying to get the teabags and sugar into his mug. They'd started buying sugar cubes rather than granulated because he could just about pick them up. After a couple of attempts, he'd got the teabag into the mug and stood waiting for the kettle to finish, leaning against the worktop to take the pressure off his leg.
If he's honest with himself, he should have seen all this coming. But it was easy to assume that the slight shake that developed in his hands when he was in hospital, was just the result of being ill. Easier still to assume that the pain in his hands was caused by having to hold on to the handles of a walker while he tried to get his stamina back. After all, pneumonia wasn't something to be trifled with at his age.
But nine months later and he can only really use his thumbs, arthritis well and truly setting in to his hands. The slight shake has developed into full blown hand tremors, that hampers anything he tries to do, and means that he has to rely on his family much more than he wants to. He's found some ways around it; Sam had got some foam handles to make cutlery easier to grip, and he's learnt that holding his elbows closer to his body can dampen the tremor somewhat. Everything is getting harder to manage and he doesn't want to add to Sam and Holly's worry, so he'll try to muddle on as best he can.
The kettle finishes boiling and he positions the mug under the contraption, tipping the water over the teabag and letting it fill up. He limps to the fridge unsteadily and grabs the milk, holding it close to his body in an attempt to pour the milk into the mug and not onto the worktop. He's mildly successful and mentally congratulates himself as he puts the milk back.
He manages to hook the fingers of his left hand into the handle, using his thumb to try and keep it steady. He realises his mistake a split second too late as he puts his right hand around the mug and picks it up. His hands shake violently and the tea sloshes over the side and onto his left thumb. He tries to pull his fingers out of the handle but the shake stops him extricating them quick enough and the whole mug tips over and washes over his hand.
"Ow! FUCK!" he shouts. Someone will definitely have heard that.
"Dad? You alright?" Sam shouts from the living room, clearly waiting for a response.
"Yep. Fine." he hisses through clenched teeth before realising that won't be enough to ease his worry. "Yeah. I'm fine." He shouts, but its not enough and Sam appears at his side thirty seconds later.
"Christ what happened?"
"Spilt the tea, its fine, don't worry." Sam clicks his tongue and moves James' sleeve up, out of the way of the reddening skin on his hand.
"That needs to go under the cold tap. Go on, I'll clean this up."
"I don't think-"
"Which one of us is a qualified fireman?"
"How many water burns do you deal with in house fires Sam?"
"A burn is a burn Dad. Just run it under the tap. Please." James does as he's told, but its clear that his hand isn't going to stay still enough under the flow. Sam takes hold of his arm and holds it, the tremor abating as he can relax his arm into his sons grip. "There you go. How does it feel now?"
"Sore. Not agonising though. I'll be fine." Sam briefly takes his hand from water and looks at it, grinning at him.
"You'll live. Its gonna need a dressing though." James huffs in annoyance. All this over a cup of tea. His hand is put under the water once more and Sam speaks again.
"What were you thinking?"
"I wanted a cuppa."
"I'd have made you one Dad, you didn't need to do it yourself."
"You were both busy, and besides, I should be able to make a sodding cuppa without injury." he says, frustration colouring his voice. "I've only been making tea for over fifty years after all."
"How were you going to carry it into the living room with the walker?"
"Was going to drink it in here. Sit at the kitchen table." He watches his son take in the scene, and then suddenly think of something.
"Was it the kettle tipper? Did it go wrong?"
"No it...it wasn't that." James sighs, he's going to have to come clean really. Sam is going to keep pressing otherwise. "I over filled the cup, and it spilt over the side. Then I couldn't get my fingers out the handle, whole thing went over. I should have filled it less."
"You should have asked me to do it." James isn't about to argue his point again, so he changes tack.
"You know, my hand it really quite cold now." Sam turns the tap off and inspects his hand, before leading him to the table and getting him to sit down.
"Well, you're lucky its not blistering, bit of burn cream and a dressing and you'll be good to go." His son leaves the room to go to get the first aid kit, and presumably tell Holly what has happened. He moves his thumb, feeling the tight pull of his skin. The tremor starts up again and knocks his hand against the table, and he can't hold in the hiss of pain it causes.
Sam comes back in the room and sits next to him taking his hand and applying the burn cream all over it. He tries to relax but its not working and his hand starts shaking again. He's grateful that Sam doesn't comment, and just wraps the dressing around his hand despite the trembling.
"There you are, good as new." He nods, but the frustration bubbles over and he can't help but mutter angrily
"I was just trying to make a fucking cup of tea." At least he can't make a fist any more, otherwise he'd probably have punctuated that point by hitting the table.
"We'll figure something out Dad. There's plenty of people out there with the same problems, there'll be stuff we can do."His emotions must show on his face because Sam carries on. "Look, how about you go and sit down in the living room, and I make us all one? I'm sure Holly wouldn't say no." All at once the fight goes out of him and he agrees, standing up and carefully reaching for the walker. He's relieved to note that he can still hold onto it despite his burn, and makes his slow way to his chair.
Ten minutes later and he's sat in his chair, as Sam hands him over a half full mug of tea. He's put it in his work travel mug so that the sides aren't too hot. Its also got a large handle that he can finds just about hold on to. He smiles slightly, trust his son to try and find a practical and immediate solution to the problem.
"Thanks Sam." He notices Sam hovering nearby and so he takes a sip. Its not perfect, but he didn't spill anything and Sam seems to relax a little, having seen him manage to drink.
And so it is, that forty minutes and one burnt hand later, James finally gets his tea.
James clumsily pauses his audiobook on the tablet as Sam catches his attention. He puts it down on the chair side table and shifts a little in the recliner as he pushes the headphones off his head. They slip off the side of the chair and Sam bends down to retrieve them, putting them safely with the tablet.
"Dad, do you want a cuppa?"
"That would be lovely Sam, thanks." He feels around for the recliner controls, managing to sit himself up a little bit more on the second attempt. The chair has been a god send, despite how much he'd not wanted to admit it was necessary at the time they got it. But a few months later, he has to admit that its made it so much easier to get up and down independently, even if he needs help to walk more often than not.
"How is the audiobook?" Holly asks, setting aside her marking, and smiling over at him.
"Its good so far, its a murder mystery set in Finland."
"Oooh very scandi-noir." She sits back a bit and raises an eyebrow. "Have you figured it out yet?"
"No. Its very devious, full of red herrings and twist."
"Sounds good, I might have to listen after you've finished." He nods.
"Absolutely, I think you'd love it." She sighs and looks forlornly at the marking. "When is the deadline for that Hol?"
"Monday."
"Well then you've still got tomorrow, I think you've done more than enough."
"Yeah. I think you're right, all the essays are blurring into one." Sam comes back in, shouting up the stairs.
"BEN? TEA'S READY." James grins as his grandson comes bounding down the stairs, taking two teas off his father and handing one over to Holly, before sitting on the floor with the other one. Sam puts the last one down where he was sitting, and then comes in with a tea with a straw in for James.
He gratefully takes the mug and brings the straw to his lips, the tea instantly warming him. After the incident six months previously where he'd burnt himself trying to make tea, Sam had made it a mission to come up with a solution. He'd managed to find a mug designed for tremors with wide handles that he can get his stiff fingers into. But crucially, it moves with the tremor, steadying the liquid inside and allowing James to drink without mishap. His son had also managed to find some weighted cutlery and tableware so that he could eat on his own, for which James was unbelievably grateful. He'd accepted his limitations a lot easier now that he didn't have much choice, but the thought of needing his families help to eat dinner scared him more than he'd care to admit. As if on cue, an alarm goes off beside him to remind him to take all his medication and Ben gets up and turns it off for him.
"I'll get them Grandad, I'm due mine as well."
"Thanks Ben." The seventeen year old heads into the kitchen and quickly comes back with a small cup full of tablets and hands it to James. He doesn't fail to notice that Ben holds onto the cup a couple of seconds longer then needed, to make sure he's got a good hold of it. Not long after, all the meds have been taken and Ben takes the cup back into the kitchen, returning with a plate of bisciuts. His grandson takes a few off the plate and puts them on his over chair table, pushing it within reach of him. James wastes no time in getting hold of a Hobnob, although he stops short of dunking it in his tea. Holly is cycling through the channels on the TV and she finds an old comedy film that she sticks on as background noise as Ben starts to tell them about his day. James feels himself dozing off as he lets his families chatter wash over him, and he doesn't try to fight it.
An hour or two later, he wakes up to a gentle shake of his shoulder. Sam is looking down at him, having moved the little table out the way.
"We're all about to turn in Dad. Its eleven pm." James glances blearily around and realises that the room is dim, only the lamp beside his chair still on. He nods, fumbling for the recliner controls as Sam picks up his mug of cold tea and takes it into the kitchen. He rubs his eyes shakily as the chair starts to help him stand and reflects that he really need to start heading to bed earlier on days like these. Its almost too much effort now, and its only previous experience of spending the night in his recliner that has forced him to go to bed.
No sooner is he standing than Sam comes back into the room and takes his arm, Ben comes around to support his other side, and they help him towards the stairlift. Its a well practised routine at this point, and he suspects they know before he does when he's too tired to use the walker sensibly.
Before long he is in bed, and of course, now he's settled, he's wide awake. Ben has said his good nights and headed off to his room, and Sam has just brought his upstairs walker into the room so he can move when he gets up in the morning.
"You alright Dad? Warm enough?"
"Fine thanks. That sleep has finally caught up with me, I don't even feel tired now." Sam raises an eyebrow at him but grins all the same.
"Me and Ben were practically holding you up, but okay." He goes to leave the room. "Do you want your tablet?"
"If its not too much trouble, sorry I should have mentioned it earlier."
"Its no trouble, I'll be back in a few minutes."
James listens as Sam pads back down the stairs and he feels a wave of gratitude wash over him. He knows exactly how lucky he is to have a family that will happily look after him. He still wishes none of this was necessary, he'd love to be able to look after himself, but he has got a lot better at accepting the help.
Sam comes back in to the room with his tablet, and his tremor resistant mug, complete with long straw.
"I give it ten minutes before you're asleep again, but just in case, I thought you'd like a decaf."
"Thanks." He expects his son to leave the room then, but instead, Sam sits on the edge of his bed.
"I was thinking about Uncle Robbie today." James smiles softly.
"Me too. I think about him a lot." Sam nods slowly, seemingly weighing up his words.
"He made me promise to look after you, you know? That last time we saw him before...Told me you'd be a stubborn bugger when you got old." James chuckles a little bit at that. It'd been sixteen years since his old friend had made James promise that he'd let himself be looked after. As usual Robbie had seen the problems brewing years before and tried to impart his advice in a firm but kind way, as was his nature. Of course neither of them had known then exactly how much help he'd end up needing, but he'd eventually realised that refusing the help was more of a burden on them than just letting himself be looked after was.
"Wise man was your Uncle Robbie." He sighs a little. "Well he wasn't wrong was he? And I'm sorry it took me so long to accept it all."
"I'd hardly blame you for that Dad," Sam says, putting a hand over James' own stiff one. "There's been a lot to adjust to, it'd have been weird if you'd just been fine with it all."
"Would have been easier, but I suppose I never did do things the easy way."
"We're doing alright though, aren't we?" Sam says with a trace of uncertainty in his voice. "We're muddling through." James rests a trembling hand over Sam's own, squeezing best he can with his thumb, trying to convey the reassurance that he's not sure his words will manage.
"We're doing fine Sam, more than. I couldn't ask to be looked after better." Sam nods at that and then gives him a slightly watery smile.
"Good, don't fancy Uncle Robbie haunting us." James chuckles, shifting a little in the bed.
"Go on, off to bed with you mate, you're knackered."
"You're okay? You don't need anything?"
"I'm fine Sammy. Got my audiobook, got my cuppa, I'm all set. Go and get some rest." Sam bends down to hug him and James wraps his shaking arms around his son, reciprocating the squeeze he gets.
"Night Dad. Call if you need anything. I love you."
"I love you too. Good night."
The tea goes cold on the stand as ten minutes later, James falls asleep.