Page 93 of The Unseen
Rhys turned in surprise when Quinn entered his hospital room. He was already dressed in his own clothes, ready to be discharged. He still looked pale and sick, but there was no longer any reason to keep him. Mrs. Kent had informed Quinn that she’d brought him some clothes and shoes, since he could hardly go home barefoot, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but she couldn’t visit him today since she had a doctor’s appointment.
“What are you doing here?” Rhys asked. He tried to sound nonchalant, but Quinn could see he was pleased to see her.
“I’m taking you home.”
“I’m all right, really.”
“I know, but I am still taking you home. I will make you dinner and keep you company until it’s time for bed.”
“Will you read me a bedtime story?” Rhys asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I feel like a toddler.”
“Can’t you just graciously accept?”
“I’m not very good at accepting sympathy.”
“Don’t I know it. How about accepting company?”
“That I can do. Can we have some wine with dinner?” Rhys asked, blessing her with a wry smile.
“Absolutely not. You can have something starchy to soak up the bile in your stomach and a cup of sweet black tea.”
“So no sticky toffee pudding then?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Nope. Aren’t you off to Berwick on Saturday?” Rhys asked as he followed Quinn out the door, carrying the plastic bag filled with his possessions.
“Yes, we’re leaving first thing Saturday morning.”
“Quinn, really, go home. You have much to do, and I’ll be all right on my own. I’ll have some tea and toast and put myself to bed.”
“Keep walking, mister,” Quinn said. She hailed a cab and held the door open for Rhys. He tried to pretend he was well, but he was still weak and unsteady on his feet.
“Please don’t tell Mrs. Kent I’ve been released. Not yet,” Rhys pleaded as they alighted from the taxi in front of his house. “If the pills and booze don’t kill me, she will.”
“Don’t be uncharitable. She worries about you.”
“I know, but I already have a mother, and she gave me such an earful, I kind of wish I’d died.”
Mrs. Kent poked her head out the door. “Rhys, how are you, love? I’ve been looking out for you since I came back from the doctor. Shall I come up? I made some soup.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kent. Perhaps tomorrow,” Rhys replied, pasting on a fake smile. “Dr. Allenby has a fun-filled evening planned for me.”
Mrs. Kent threw Quinn a suspicious look but got the message and retreated back to her flat.
Rhys tossed his coat on a chair and sat heavily on the sofa, leaning his head against the back and closing his eyes. Despite putting on a brave face, he still looked like death warmed over.
“Toast and egg or pasta?”
“Can’t I have some meat?” Rhys complained. “I’ve had nothing but broth and mashed potatoes for two days.”
“No, you can’t. You’ve just had your stomach pumped.”
“Fine. Toast and egg then. Will you make me some soldiers?” Rhys asked, clearly trying to annoy her since she wouldn’t relent.
“Only if you really want me to.”
Quinn put on the kettle, and went to work on Rhys’s bland supper. He came into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and propped his head with his hands. He looked miserable.
