Chapter 11

" 'ello?" I croaked into the phone. I had no idea what time it was, if it was night or day, or even what day it was

"Um, Emily? Is that you?" But I recognised James' voice.

"Yeah, it's me..." I said with a sniff.

"What's wrong?" He asked urgently.

"I'm a bit.. sick." To underline how sick I was I launched into a coughing fit.

"Just a bit? You sound awful."

"Okay, maybe more than a bit," I conceded unhappily. "It's driving me mad, I've been like this for four days already. Missed two shifts. And this fever won't break." Speaking was exhausting, I had to speak slowly because of the effort of it. The clock on my TV said 6pm. I'd been dead to the world for six hours.

"You've had a fever for four days straight? You need to get yourself to a doctor. Why am I telling you this, you're a nurse." James sounded exasperated.

"I know, I know, I've reached the same conclusion... I'm going in tomorrow morning. Did you call about something?"

"Oh yeah, just wondered if you got that invitation to the Christmas party yet?"

"Yeah, I got it.. yesterday, I think."
"Good. Listen, go back to sleep, or at least just rest. And call me when you've been at the doctors tomorrow? Really, you don't sound good." I smiled a little to myself when I heard the concern in James' voice.

"I will, James." We said our goodbyes and I returned to my hazy, feverish state of just existing. I felt so drained even that seemed like too much of an effort.

Loud, incessant knocking brought me slowly back to life. At first I couldn't understand where the sound came from. Was it outside? Some of my neighbours? Was the TV on? No, it was too loud for that. Eventually I realised it had to be someone trying to knock my door down. I scrambled to my feet, swaying on the spot for a minute and then lurched unsteadily towards the door. On the other side was James, wild-eyed and pale, phone in hand.

"Bloody hell, Emily, I thought you were dead." He sounded almost angry, I'd never heard him like that, and it made me take a step back.

"What? Why?" I mumbled, a bit confused, raising my eyebrows innocently at him. He came inside and shut the door behind him, then shot me a stern look.

"You said you'd call me after you'd been at the doctor's."

"I'm sorry.. . I forgot, I fell asleep, I was so exhausted..." I rambled apologetically.

"And you look like death, too," he grumbled, a bit milder.

"Nice seeing you too," I said sulkily as I landed heavily on the sofa and looked up at him unhappily. James had taken off his jacket and sat down next to me on the sofa. He didn't seem angry anymore, but disappointed, which was a million times worse.

"I was worried," he sighed. "What did the doctor say?"

"He thinks it's a bacterial respiratory infection, maybe pneumonia. Was given a tonne of antibiotics. And an entire week's worth of sick leave."

"That sounds bad," he said sympathetically. "How are you feeling?" He looked at me searchingly. I had a pillow on the armrest and was slumped over it, curled up in my pyjamas.

"Exhausted. Dizzy. A bit cold," I whined. He sat a bit closer, put his hand on my forehead, it felt cold.

"God, you're burning up. Have you taken anything for that?"

"Not since this morning. I think it's on the kitchen counter." James got up and wandered into the kitchen, found a pill and a glass of water which he placed in front of me.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Um.. not for a while. Not today, I think." I said, slightly startled at the realisation. He didn't say anything at this, just went back to my kitchen and browsed my fridge. I took my paracetamol and slumped back down on the sofa. Through half-closed eyes I could see James walking towards me, then kneel down in front of me so I could see him.

"Listen, I'm going to go to the shops, ok? Get you some food and things, you have to eat. And you need more paracetamol. I'll take your keys, be back in a bit. All right?" He ran a hand gently over my hair in paternal manner.

"Okay, " I said weakly, looking gratefully at him, then closed my eyes. I could hear him rummage around a bit, putting on shoes and jacket again, the rattle of my keys and the door slamming behind him. Then I was out like a light.

When I woke up again I spent a minute trying to figure out who was in my kitchen. Then I remembered James had come by, how he'd told me about getting food and had taken my keys. Clumsily I sat up, my joints aching and feeling stiff. Immediately I launched into a coughing fit that made James look around.

"Hey, " he smiled. I grumbled back and rubbed my face groggily. I felt less feverish, but clammy. "Good timing, food is just about ready." Slowly I got out of the sofa and padded into my kitchen. He'd made pasta with my favourite tomato and basil sauce. How did he even remember that I'd mentioned that once?

"Aw, you did the dishes as well?" I said, looking at what had been a sink full of dirty dishes.

"I have OCD," he shrugged. "Go sit down, I'll bring the food over." I smiled gratefully at him as he came over with a bowl and a glass full of apple juice.

"Aw, thank you. For everything," I croaked, picking the bowl up into my lap. He got some for himself and sat down to join me. Eating was an effort, but it also made me realise that I actually had been quite hungry. James flicked through the channels on my TV, passing over a few channels that had reruns of Top Gear on them with a sigh, finally landing on a Mythbusters. Probably because he knew I watched it sometimes. We didn't talk much, mainly because I didn't have the energy to. I slumped back down on the sofa again, trying to watch some TV, but my brain felt fuzzy, and my body heavy. I registered vaguely that even though I didn't feel much better, at least I felt safer with James around.

James' voice, and his hand on my shoulder, gently roused me from my sleep.

"Emily. Wake up. Let's get you to bed, it's more comfortable for you."

"Mno, leave me alone. Too much effort," I mumbled, not opening my eyes.

"Emily, come on," he said sternly, taking hold of my arms and hosting me up into a sitting position, then practically lifted me up from the sofa. I wobbled to my bedroom with James' arm around my shoulder, dragging my feet heavily. Crawling into bed felt wonderful and horrible all at once, the bed was so comfortable but the sheets were cold. James sat down on the edge of my bed, tucking the duvet around me. The walk had made me marginally more awake and I looked up at him.

"I talked to Cathy earlier," James began, looking a bit insecure. "From your ward?"

"... what?" Was all I managed to reply, wondering how that could've happened. Cathy was a nurse in the same ward as I, and probably who I'd consider my best friend from work.

"Your phone kept ringing when you were sleeping just now, I thought she might be worried about you, so I picked it up. Hope that was all right?"

"Oh... No, I don't mind. I bet she was worried," I admitted.

"She was." James paused a while, looking intently at me. "Emily, why didn't you tell me they wanted to admit you to hospital today?" There was the disappointment again, it made me flinch. Cathy must've told him about it.

"I hate hospitals," I said childishly.

"Emily, you're a nurse," he retorted, looking amused.

"Yeah, but... there's one thing being a nurse in a hospital. Being a patient in one is quite another!" I looked stubbornly at James. He wasn't convinced, so I decided to change tack. "You said it yourself - I'm a nurse! The hospital is full of nurses. Waste of time, being in the hospital."

"Why do you think the doctor wanted to admit you?"

"They took blood-tests.. They weren't great, some infection markers were a bit... really high. He wanted to give me antibiotics intravenously for a few days, I guess."

"Maybe you should've listened to him, then?"

"It's just pneumonia!" I argued feebly. "I'll be fine." I knew how utterly unconvincing I was.

"You know, as amazing as you are at taking care of others, you really are rubbish at taking care of yourself," James sighed and ran a hand over my temple and cheek. I closed my eyes, and to my surprise I felt tears run down the side of my face. Sobbing was too much effort, all I could do was let tears leak out of my eyes. I was crying because my body was aching, my head was throbbing, I felt weaker than I ever had before, so weak it was actually painful.

"I know," I squeaked. "I'm just so... exhausted, James. I've never felt this awful. I don't even have the energy to think straight."

"Move over a bit," James said quietly, and when I did he laid down and wrapped his arm gently around me. For a while he said nothing, just kept his arm around me and ran his hand slowly up and down my fever-warm arm. "It's just... strange seeing you so lethargic. I'm used to you taking care of everything and everyone."

"I'm sorry..." I whispered when the crying stopped, and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

"I'm staying here tonight," he said. I looked at him and opened my mouth, but he cut me off. "Don't even try to argue with me, you don't have the energy for that anyway." I closed my mouth again, realising he was right. "If I go home I'll just lie awake and worry about you all night anyway, so there's no point. I'm better off here. And frankly, so are you."

"Don't you have somewhere to be tomorrow?"

"Just a meeting up at the BBC. It'll just be a few hours, I can go straight there from here. And I said no arguing."

"All right, then," I sighed, giving in. "James... Thank you," I finished weakly.

"Do you need anything?"

"I guess it's time for more antibiotics. And probably some paracetamol." James got up from the bed and immediately I missed the safety of having him close, watching over me. Her eturned with a glass of water and boxes of medication and sat down on the edge of my bed again. I took my pills and laid back down on the bed, looking up at him. "You know, you would have made a good nurse," I observed.

"Oh god, I would've killed people by the thousands," he frowned.

"I said "nurse", not "the black plague"..."
"Keeping you alive is the only thing that matters to me, really. That's why I'm making an effort."

"You're doing just fine," I mumbled drowsily, patting his arm and closing my eyes.
"You know. Having the dreaded lurgy like this.. You're properly British now."
"I've achieved my life's ambition then," I smiled, already half asleep.

"I'll just be out in the living room," James said quietly. "Shout if you need anything."

When I woke up again everything was quiet, and dark. Even the traffic outside was quiet, it must be late. My heart was racing hundred miles a minute, and I had a painful knot of anxiety somewhere in my diaphragm. Had I been dreaming? I couldn't remember. The quietness was unsettling, I didn't like it. The only light came seeping in from the living room. Quietly I padded out of my bedroom, not wanting to wake James if he was asleep. He wasn't, he was lying under a blanket on my sofa, reading a book. He looked at me over the top of his glasses and put the book down.

"You okay? Need anything?"

"I... don't know. No, I don't think so," I said hesitantly.

"No, you don't need anything, or no, you're not okay?" He peered at me searchingly.

"Both. I think." I suddenly realised I was shaking, both from cold and anxiety. James took his glasses off and got up. "I just... woke up scared," I said feebly.

"Go on, back to bed, you're getting cold," he said quietly and ushered me back into the bedroom. I crawled back under the covers, still shivering. James sat down on the bed and put a hand on my arm. "Bad dream?"

"Don't know," I shrugged. For a while I looked at him, fiddling absentmindedly with my duvet. "Stay here with me...?" I asked quietly, ashamed. I felt stupid for wanting him to stay, like a child being scared of monsters under the bed and refusing to sleep alone. To my surprise he didn't say anything but just crawled in under my double duvet and wrapped an arm snugly around me. "Thank you," I said feebly and leaned my forehead against his for a moment.

"You're welcome," he whispered back, caressing my arm. The feel of having him close, his body next to mine, his arm around me, hearing his slow breathing was soothing, Slowly my sensation of dread receded and my heart calm down. Soon I felt myself relax again and drift off to sleep. When I woke up again during the night I expected to be alone, thinking James would leave and go back to the sofa when I had fallen asleep. But he was still there, one arm around me, sleeping heavily.

When I woke up again the bed was empty. I squinted against the light, sat up by leaning on my elbows, gauging how I felt. Surprised I registered that I felt a bit better, not as lethargic and weak as the day before. I looked at my nightstand, looking for my phone, wanting to check the time, I felt incredibly disoriented. Under my phone was a hand-written note. "Went home for a quick change of clothes. Have meeting at noon, shouldn't last longer than 2pm. Coming by later to see how you are. Stole your keys as you are not going anywhere. Please be alive. If you are - eat something! James."

I smiled at the note, and then checked my phone. It was 12.15. Except for the few hours I'd been awake while at the doctors and when James had been here, I'd been asleep for a day and a half. I wobbled into the shower, and stayed there for half an eternity. After the shower I dug out another pair of comfy pyjama pants and a t-shirt from my wardrobe, and padded into the kitchen. Even though I felt better than before it didn't take much effort before I was exhausted, even the shower had worn me out slightly. James hadn't bought me just dinner but also more bread, juice, Pepsi and even a tub of ice cream. You perfect man I thought as I made myself a few sandwiches, making a mental note to dive into that tub of Ben & Jerry's later.

     
   James found me slouched on the sofa under my duvet watching TV when he dropped by at 3pm.

"Hello! You look a bit better today!" He said happily as he sat down, looking at me searchingly.

"I feel better, too," I smiled. "Had a good day?"

"Yeah, we actually got some things done. Andy says "get well soon ". Did you eat?"
"Yes, dad," I teased.

"You're definitely better," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I was just about to get some ice cream that you were fantastic enough to buy for me. Want some?"

"Yeah. But I'll go get it, you relax. I've been sat on my arse all day." He disappeared into my kitchen and returned with two big bowls of ice cream.

"I could get used to being a patient," I smiled at him as I accepted the bowl.

"Think you'll be all right for the Christmas party?" James asked.

"Oh god, I hope so, it's two weeks away. I'm not planning on being sick that long! I feel better already and I've only been on antibiotics for a day. I'll be fine." James stayed for much of the afternoon, we just watched TV and talked. I started to nod off a bit, getting more tired and shivery. James noticed and sat closer, feeling my forehead.

"You're getting a fever again," he mumbled.

"I know," I sighed sadly and leaned against his shoulder. He slipped an arm around me.

"Poor baby," he said, somewhere half between teasing and sympathetic.

"Time for paracetamol again. And maybe bed soon," I sighed, feeling the energy drain out of me. "James, you don't have to stay here just to watch over me, though. I mean... You have no idea how glad I am you came by yesterday and stayed over, I was actually in a pretty bad shape ..."
"Yeah, you were. You kind of scared me," he said, squeezing me slightly.

"Thank you so much for helping me out, taking care of me, and for being there," I said, squeezing him back. "But I'm a bit better now, the medication has started to help a bit. And I'm sure you have other and more fun things to do than stay here and babysit me." He looked down at me searchingly, looking sceptical.

"You sure you'll be all right?"

"Yeah..." I nodded. "I'm a big girl, I should be able to take care of myself. Even if I am a bit sick. I have food and stuff now, thanks to you. I'll be fine." I already felt bad for having caused James to waste an entire day just sitting around watching me sleep, more or less. I was incredibly grateful that he worried about me, that he'd showed up and insisted to stay. Having had him around was an incredible comfort, and made me feel safe. If I was completely honest and selfish I wanted him to stay. But I felt guilty about it.

"Hmm, all right," he said hesitantly. He gave me an extra squeeze and got out of the sofa. He went to my bedroom and found my tablet boxes again, and handed them to me.

"See, you would make a good nurse," I smiled and accepted them, and took my antibiotics and paracetamol.

"Sure you'll be all right," he asked again.

"Yes, I'll be fine James," I said as I got up. I followed him to the hallway and he got his shoes and his jacket on. He gave me another searching look. "I'll be fine!" I maintained.

"Okay.. Please call me if you're not, all right? I'm not that far away." I smiled at him, and pulled him in for a hug.

"I will, James. And thank you again, for everything. You're... such a good friend," I mumbled into his hair as I hugged him. My instincts told me not to let go, but I had to - I had said he didn't have to stay.

"Just get better, all right? I'll call you tomorrow." He squeezed me and then walked out the door.