❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ iii.x

Act Three, Scene Ten

→ ❝ never come back! ❞

             Three weeks soon passed and Michael was permitted to leave his bed at last. For as long as her weak arms allowed her (which was never more than a few hours), Carol would wheel Michael around the hospital grounds in his chair, and they often talked about insignificant things or moved in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

             New Years Eve 1925 had been relatively forgettable. The family remained apart for the evening (even Polly was nowhere to be found, causing Michael to worry about her drug habits), and Carol had managed to smuggle in a bottle of champagne for the two of them to share, alone in Michael's hospital room. The kind nurse – whom Carol had come to know as Annie – was offered a glass of champagne, and gladly downed it in one go while Michael and Carol cheered her on before finishing her shift for the night. Alcohol was on the long list of things Michael wasn't allowed, but one glass wouldn't do any harm. Carol, on the other hand, was fast asleep by half past eleven after finishing almost the whole bottle to herself, and Michael spent the crossover into the New Year stroking her hair as she snored gently, cuddled into his arm on the bed. The mattress was nowhere near wide enough for the two of them to lie comfortably, but Michael wouldn't have chosen to spend his New Year celebrations any different.

             Carol had taken all the pictures from the walls and hidden them in a trunk at the end of Michael's bed, underneath the four pairs of blue pyjamas that she had brought for him to wear. The room was admittedly more dull without the decoration, but staring at her mother burning in hell all day didn't bring Carol the satisfaction she hoped that it would, and got old rather quickly.

             The January days went by with little fuss. Despite his growing health, there wasn't much that Michael could comfortably do in his condition, so when they weren't walking outside or speeding down the empty corridors on Michael's wheelchair, they were sat inside Michael's hospital room at the table or squashed together on the bed. On the especially rainy days when no umbrella could protect them from the downpour, Michael had attempted to teach Carol how to play cards, and had ultimately failed. Gambling was not (and never would be­) her strongest suit.

             It was unusually warm for a January morning, and Michael and Carol were sat at the table doing their own business over a cup of tea and slice of cake (the hospital staff had grown to love Carol, and did favours for her solely due to her sweet demeanour and not the family she had married into). Michael was reading over a weekly report, while Carol was busily making her way through Ozma of Oz, desperate to finish the full saga before the summer rolled around.

             "If the Nome King made you into an ornament," Carol mused, interrupting Michael's reading, "What do you think you'd like to be?"

             Michael looked up with a cocked eyebrow, smiling to himself, "You do read some unusual books, Carol," he laughed, continuing after thinking for a moment, "But I suppose I'd be a painting, that's kind of exciting."

             Nodding contently at his answer, Carol returned to her book. For a while, the only sound to enter the silence was the rustling of pages and the clink of cups and saucers. The creak of the door opening shocked Carol, who shot her gaze to the intruder immediately. It was a kind and familiar face that Carol enjoyed seeing.

             "Mr Gray-," Annie said to Michael as she entered, smiling at Carol.

             "Yeah, send him in," Michael interrupted, placing his report down on the table. Carol closed her book, marking it with a scrap of paper that Michael had absentmindedly doodled over, getting ready to leave and allow Michael and Tommy to talk in private.