Page 48 of Must Love Christmas

After their grueling physiotherapy session, Simon was almost too tired to get excited. Almost.

“How soon?” he asked, marveling again at how strong she was despite her petite frame.

“At least a week.” The physio handed him a clean towel, then gestured to his chair, which was already starting to feel like an extension of his body. “You need to be able to get yourself in and out of this, and ideally be able to move for short distances using a walking frame.”

“I’ll be just like Nana,” he said to his mother, who sat beside him in the bustling physiotherapy room. “She gets about all right with her frame.”

Ma smiled, the creases round her mouth turning up instead of down, which was their neutral position. “You two can hold races on the pavement outside the house. The whole street’ll be placing bets.”

Simon chuckled as he used the towel to wipe sweat off the back of his neck, but said nothing. The moment of truth would arrive soon enough.

Catriona sat on a nearby rolling stool and shimmied herself closer to Simon using her feet. “First order of business.” She secured a new form onto her clipboard, then flipped her long sandy braid back over her shoulder out of the way. “Where will you be going once you leave here?”

Okay, so the moment of truth had arrived. “Well…”

“He’ll be coming home with us,” Ma said. “Back to Liverpool.”

“That’s fine,” Catriona said as she jotted a note. “England has a different NHS to Scotland, but he can transfer to a physiotherapist in your system. It’ll just involve a wee bit more paperwork. Now, does your home have stairs?”

“Yes,” his mum said. “But we’ll arrange the ground-floor bedroom for him so he’ll have the kitchen and a bathroom all on the same level.”

“Perfect.” Catriona made another note.

“That’s Nana’s room,” Simon said to his mother.

“She’ll take your room upstairs.”

“But Nana can’t—”

“It’s already settled, Simon. She’s agreed.” Ma leaned over to place a warm hand on his arm, her tiny garnet pendant swinging at the end of its gold chain. “The family would do anything for you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.He turned to Catriona. “I’ll be going back to my flat here in Glasgow.”

His mother straightened up, hand flying to her chest. “What? Why?”

Catriona glanced between them. “Are you sure?”

“No, he’s not sure.” Ma’s voice pitched up. “He’s not thinking clearly.”

“I can speak for myself,” Simon said, “and I’ve never not been thinking clearly. Tell her, Catriona.”

Catriona looked loath to get involved, but she said, “It’s true, Mrs. Andreou. Simon’s illness has had no cognitive effects. He’s able to make decisions.”

His mother’s shoulders drooped. “Can we at least discuss it?” she asked him. “Please?”

Simon turned to Catriona. “When do you need to know?” He wasn’t going to change his mind, but he knew a blanket refusal without hearing his mother’s side would hurt her feelings.

“Tomorrow or Wednesday if possible,” Catriona said, “to give the occupational therapist time to do a home visit and recommend accommodations and adjustments. Things like taking up rugs and other trip hazards, installing grab rails in the bathroom—”

“We’ve already got those,” Simon said. “A wheelchair user was a former owner.”

“Brilliant.” She jotted another note. “You said, ‘we,’ so I assume you don’t live alone?”

“I live with my, erm, friend.”

“A close friend?”

“It’s Garen. You’ve met him.”

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