Donnie’s phone buzzed on his bedside table. Again and again.
He slapped his hand around, trying to grab it in the dim, early-morning light. A recipe book and a couple of pens rolled off onto the floor. He put his finger in something squidgy that he suspected was the core of an apple he’d eaten the previous evening and forgotten to clear away.
“Donnie?” came a shrill voice through the speaker.
It was Maisie. Donnie peered groggily at his phone. It blinked 06:28 at him. What alternative universe was this, when his hard-partying friend was awake before him, especially on a work day?
“Donnie, Will’s in hospital!”
What was she going on about? Donnie was suddenly, horribly aware of how alone he was in the bed: no warm body at his back, no sleepy breath on his neck. Will hadn’t stayed over.
I didn’t invite him to.
“In hospital? What do you mean?” He sat up abruptly and ran a hand over his face, trying to wake up more quickly.
“Looks like he collapsed in the parking lot behind the shops this morning,” she said. “Abi was walking his dog and found him there. Called 999 because he looked so ill. I think he broke his leg or something. And there was blood all over his head.”
But… oh shit. “When was this?”
“About six.”
Six a.m.? Maisie never got up before Last Minute O’Clock, even when she was breakfasting at Donnie’s. “How do you know all this?”
“I had a date with one of the guys who works at the supermarket. He lives in that flat on the end of the parade. I was creeping back to my car at some godforsaken hour, because Ty’s on early shifts this week, and I saw the ambulance.”
“Oh God, Maisie!”
“Hush, love, it was all over in fifteen minutes. No sirens, no flashing lights. I saw Will being helped into the van, with Abi explaining where he’d found him, how many times he’d been sick, where Will said the pain was—”
“Been sick? The pain?”
“He was conscious, Donnie, don’t panic too much. Abi asked the paramedics and they said they’ll do all the tests to see why he’s sick, and get him on a drip, and he can have visitors later today.” She took a breath after the tumble of news. “You could probably go and see him after work.”
After work? He was going right now and to hell with work! Not that he wouldn’t take a quick detour and pop a note on the door of the surgery, explaining why it wasn’t open this morning.
“Gotta go,” he said, swinging his legs out of bed. Maisie barely had time to say “Let me know!” before he’d disconnected the call and was running to the bathroom to get dressed.
Donnie made his way onto the ward as quietly as he could. It wasn’t strictly visiting hours, but luckily one of his brothers’ girlfriends was on duty, so she let him through. She didn’t seem to think the patient Will Cartwright was in any serious danger, which was sort of reassuring.
Will stirred in his bed by the window. “Donnie?”
“Hi, Will.” He sat carefully down in the chair beside the bed.
Will was on his back, his hair flattened on the pillow, his face stark white. His eyes were dark, sunken pools of weariness. There was a drip attached to his arm, a monitor clipped on his finger. The sheet over his left foot was slightly more padded, where his ankle was heavily bandaged. The neon lines on the screen at his headboard blipped along steadily but for a second Donnie was afraid to take his gaze away, in case they plunged down when he wasn’t looking.
“Donnie. I’m so glad to see you.” And then Will smiled and didn’t look so dreadful after all. “What’s up? You look like you’re the patient, when I’m the one with top-up fluids.”
It was a pathetic joke. Donnie had been in hospital a lot of times in his life, not often for himself, but with brothers and sisters who had various accidents and falls. And there had been that time he set fire to his eyebrows, creating crepe suzette flambe.
“Do they know what happened? Maisie said you collapsed in the road out back.” He couldn’t decipher the look that flashed fleetingly across Will’s face.
Will shook his head. “They’re taking tests. They don’t think it was anything sinister. Probably just a lapse in the blood sugar levels, something like that.” He saw Donnie looking at his foot, and winced. “Only a serious sprain, not a break, thank God.” His cheeks pinked. “I stupidly stumbled into a dustbin after parking the car behind the surgery.”
“And your head?”
Will lifted a hand to the large white bandage on his forehead. “This? Just a graze from when I… fell over.”
“Collapsed,” Donnie repeated.
“I’ll be right as rain,” Will said, too heartily.
“You vomited, too.”
“Probably a dose of food poisoning or something.” This time, although Donnie tried to keep his expression clear, Will’s eyes widened with alarm. “Oh, my God, no, it’s nothing to do with any of your cooking!”
Donnie’s heart sank. He recalled how Will always ate so very enthusiastically. Donnie assumed he didn’t have to worry about his weight so he’d never thought to question it. But they’d had a hot curry earlier in the week, and also Donnie’s ‘special’ chilli—which was what he called any meal that didn’t turn out exactly as he planned. And Will was really, really keen on extra garlic in everything.
“Please. Donnie.” Will gripped Donnie’s hand where it lay on the bed. “Don’t worry about it.” A sudden thought obviously struck him because he yelped. “Oh my God! Mrs Eddington!”
“That’s who you were on your way to meet? I mean, six is very early, just to open up. But I know you make calls outside surgery hours.” Mrs E was one of Will’s more demanding clients, with a large menagerie of assorted lapdogs, with at least one of them ill at any one time, usually several. She fed them too many treats, pampered them too much, and was fond of sleeping with them all in her bed. Donnie had often given thanks—though it was a cruel thought—that she was widowed.
“Where’s my phone? Donnie, will you check?”
“Leave it to me,” Donnie said. “I’ll call her and explain.” Will’s expensive phone was on his bedside table. Luckily his fall hadn’t broken it. Donnie could see three missed calls, and they were all from Mrs E.
“Dammit, and the diary is full this morning. Plus, I said I’d meet Henry at lunch time, to talk about what he needs to supervise the pet show. And Eric said he’d be in at twelve forty-five with a detailed flowing cashcast thingy—”
“Cashflow forecast,” Donnie murmured automatically.
“But I don’t know when they’ll let me out. They keep saying because I hit my head when I fell, I need to be kept in for observation.”
“You must rest until they say everything’s ok.” Donnie took a steadying breath. “I’ll handle the surgery.”
Will did what they call in movies a doubletake shot. “You’ll…?”
“Will, I’m not going to perform surgery on pets. I’m not going to prescribe medication. I won’t even use the consultation room. But I’ll contact today’s appointments, explain the situation, and ask them to call again in a few days. If it looks like you’ll be in for a while, I know where to call and book a locum. And if there’s an emergency with a pet, I’ll refer them to the vet in the centre of town. You’re on good terms with her, she won’t mind covering.”
“I’m only on good terms because you spent time charming her and her practice manager when they dropped in to say hi.” Will was gazing at Donnie with a rather stunned expression.
“Well, to be fair, you had your hand up a Doberman’s arse at the time. You couldn’t exactly come and shake hands.”
Will started to laugh, winced, and calmed down. Donnie perched more comfortably on the visitor’s chair and started jotting some To Do notes on his phone. Realising Will had gone quiet, he glanced up in alarm—but Will just sat there with a small smile. He seemed content to watch Donnie work.
Donnie didn’t mind. It was so good to be back with Will, and neither of them mentioned that argument in the car. He felt relaxed again in Will’s company, and even while he was worried sick about Will’s collapse—whatever Will tried to brush it off as—and apprehensive about contacting Mrs E and the rest of the day’s clients, he could feel a swell of purpose and resolve. It was like when he first set out the ingredients for a recipe, when he first read the steps and started to imagine the final product. Things may not often turn out as expected, but at the time… well, that was when he felt most confident.
Being in charge of the surgery was the same as being in charge of a baking project. Right?
Beside him, Will took a long, careful breath. Donnie glanced at him quickly. “Are you okay? Should I call a nurse?”
“I’m fine.” Will gave a soft laugh. “Listen to me, I’m talking like Donnie Watson now. But, Donnie?”
“There’s another task you’ve thought of?”
Will’s expression was inscrutable. “That’s not to say you couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“Do all the things I do. The surgery, the medication. You could be as good a vet as I am if you wanted.”
Donnie wasn’t sure what that was all about—he’d never said he wanted to be a vet, had he?—but there was no mistaking the sincerity in Will’s voice. “Lucky I’m not planning on it anytime soon, isn’t it? Now I must go, my ten minutes’ grace is up, and Leonora is glaring at me from the nurses’ station.” He stood, leaned over, and kissed Will gently on the cheek. “And I’ll be back tonight.”