Chapter Nine
Freddie
If life were at all fair, after the dreadful start to his weekend, Freddie imagined Taine would’ve reached out to him—at least once. A series of charming texts would’ve followed throughout the day, all culminating in an invitation to dinner. He hadn’t even gotten a brief “here’s my number, so you have it” text.
His phone didn’t beep once. Freddie wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t.
Maybe a bit.
He’d only met the man a few times. There was no reason to be even mildly put out over the silence. His mood, however, remained slightly dented throughout the rest of the morning and into the afternoon.
It plummeted further when Genevieve—Dr Genevieve Williams—sent him an emergency text. The kind that meant a patient had taken a turn for the worse. Time for Nurse Bunny to hop to it. He dredged up a smile from somewhere deep inside and went to inform the elder Whittles about his trip ending earlier than anticipated.
His tad followed him out to the Mini Cooper, still scratched up with hateful words. Comforting arms wound around him. “You seem down, cariad. Is it more than the vandalism?”
“I’m fine.” Freddie turned up the brightness on his smile.
“You usually are.”
The arms around him tightened briefly. They stepped back from each other after a moment. Freddie couldn’t help a wince at the knowing sympathy in his father’s eyes, a gaze that meant to offer comfort.
It served to make Freddie even more tired than he’d been, weary over the fact that his smile hadn’t been enough. The drive to the hospital outside of Cardiff seemed to drag for hours and hours.
It might not be Monday yet, but in his soul, Freddie knew the draining workweek had started early for them. One of the nurses on duty handed him a file when he walked down the hall. He already knew exactly where to go.
Little Katie Brown was a bright three-year-old girl who before her chemo had had curly red hair that made her blue eyes stand out even more. Cancer in the young always seemed extraordinarily unfair; his heart had hurt just looking at her medical file, never mind having to work to keep her spirits up—and her parents’.
The parents.
Angry, helpless, impotent in the face of their worst nightmare.
Freddie had seen many of his colleagues burn out in their careers simply from dealing with the families of their patients. He held on by the skin of his teeth, hoping to make at least one person’s path easier. His job might not be what cured cancer, but he could work to smooth their journey.
“Fweddie.” Katie waved at him from the hospital bed, which always seemed so large it swallowed her up in the crisp white sheets. Her parents had brought in her favourite unicorn quilt to cheer up the room. “Hello, Fweddie, I got pudding.”
“Delicious. What flavour, love?” Freddie turned up his smile and bounded over to the bed to sit gently beside her. He took her tiny, frail hand in his. “Can I have some?”
“No, silly. I eated it all up.” She sounded inordinately proud of this fact. Given how much chemo affected her ability to eat, it wasn’t overly surprising. “Got a new hat. It’s got kitty ears.”
“So I see.” Freddie leaned up to kiss her pink knit hat covered head. “You get some rest, Katie-cat. I’m going to have a chat with your mum and da outside.”
Leaving Katie with her brothers and grandparents, Freddie stepped into the hall to speak with the Browns and Genevieve. The latter had made it to the hospital a few minutes before him. They both tended to get called in on the harder cases—the lost causes. They were both too stubborn to give up.
Many long hours followed their initial consultation with the Browns. Genevieve had him searching for specialists who would be open to trying newer treatment methods. Little Katie’s cancer had come back with a vengeance, and surgery or a dose of chemo wouldn’t do anything to put a dent in it.
Freddie found a moment at four in the morning to grab a cup of tea and a stale scone from the nurses’ station. He barely managed to choke down half of it. The lump in his throat made swallowing difficult.
He dumped more sugar into his cup, stirring it woodenly. Something had to keep him going. It wouldn’t do to disappoint Katie.
He would end up letting her down. She’d never know it. No one would see fit to blame him.
I will.
I do.
I always do.
Though relatively young in his field, Freddie had always been almost mystically astute at reading a patient’s odds of survival. A sixth sense? Maybe? Nothing they did would help Katie. He doubted she had more than a few weeks to go.
I’ll still fight to give her every moment I can.
“Go home, Freddie.” Genevieve took one assessing look at him and snapped the order out without hesitation. “Rest. See Bitsy. And for the sake of my blood pressure, get your car taken care of. If I have to look at those words again, I might go into such a rage that I give myself a heart attack.”
“Will do, Gen,” he answered on autopilot. He tried to smile; his mouth refused to obey. “Let me know if anything changes.”
The drive across Cardiff from the hospital to his flat went by in a blur. Freddie realised he might be more exhausted than he’d initially thought. He repeatedly yawned on the way up to his flat.
He stopped.
And he stared.
In neon pink, the words on his car had been painted on his front door in terrible penmanship. A note shoved partially under the welcome mat from his landlord indicated the damage would be fixed in the morning. The vandals had been apprehended, for all the good it would do.
I need a new place to live—preferably without the gay-bashing wankers, to quote Graham.
Bitsy met him at the door, rubbing against his leg and meowing for her treat. He lifted her up into his arms and carried her into the kitchen to put out her favourite snack—tuna. She happily hopped onto the counter to indulge.
After forcing himself to eat something more substantial than a scone, Freddie collapsed on his couch with a groan. He turned on his telly to watch Doctor Who, since the DVD set was still in his PlayStation. Bitsy climbed up on his chest to doze with him. He started to drift off while the doctor ran through time with his companions.
He glanced down at his right wrist to read the quote tattooed there. “Courage, dear heart.”
I’m going to need all the courage I can muster.