You Really Got A Hold On Me

Getting Better

Staying at the hospital wasn't fun in any sense of the word. More than anything I just wanted to get back home. But I was surely but steadily getting better. 

I was confined in my itchy white gown to a bed of the same colour. I was starting to get sick of white by now. Doctor Robert had ordered me to take it easy, I can't see myself getting used to this one-handed thing. But I suppose I should be grateful that I broke my left arm and not my right as I was right handed. 

It would have been the opposite case for Paul, him being a leftie.

Paul.

It was the morning after Abby had told me Paul was coming down. He was coming down today. He'd probably be in the van driving down right now actually. Although I was looking forward to seeing him - well I wasn't thrilled about what my appearance would be like - I still felt awfully guilty about the whole thing. 

I didn't want to be the reason he and the boys would miss out on this opportunity. However Abby had reassured me that he loved me too much to care if it was a broken arm or a broken finger. 

Dad had called work yesterday evening to say that he wouldn't be coming in because he wanted to stay with me. I had tried to persuade him to go, that I would be fine, but he stood his ground. 

Breakfast was flavourless and lacking, bland and uninteresting. But I swallowed every mouthful all the same because Dad was nearby. I told him that Paul would be coming down and he replied, and I quote, "He's a good lad." I smiled at that.

Visiting hours had long since begun and I eventually persuaded Dad to go home and get some sleep because he looked exhausted. He gave in when I told him Abby would be along soon - and she would be bringing Paul.

I twiddled my thumbs and read my book Dad had brought from home for me - Alice in Wonderland. Try as I might I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering over the leafy pages to the clock on the opposite wall. 11.00, 11.10, 11.30. 

Abby said they would round at about lunchtime. God timing was passing unbearably slowly, every minute longer than the last. 

A nurse came to check on me with a powdery scent and a well meaning smile. I thanked her once she examined my arm, to check my progress I suppose. 

When it was edging on 12.30 I kept telling myself its still early, don't worry they'll be here, but niggling thoughts in my mind started to enforce the seeds of doubt. Abby couldn't forget could she? Maybe Paul was just late or something. Yes that's it.

The minute hand brought the clock to a quarter to one and finally I head the creak of the door to the room.

My head turned towards it and looking as if he'd just run to get here, peonies in hand, Paul stumbled in, a few strands of his quiff had fallen out of place. He ran a hand through his hair and breathing heavily his chestnut eyes met mine. Oh god I had missed seeing him face to face. I wasn't even standing up and I felt weak at the knees. 

His recent absence seemed to magnify my feelings - I felt like I was seeing him for the first time all over again. 

When he saw me he made a beeline for my bed and I saw Abby behind him. She beamed upon seeing me and I returned an equally large smile. 

Paul's face however was plastered with worry. He approached me quickly and I smiled weakly at him. 

"Michelle" he breathed. That was the first thing he said.

He pulled up a chair beside my bed and just looked at me for a moment.

"I'll just leave you alone for a bit" Abby said and left as soon as she had come. She probably wanted to give us a moment of privacy.