Fourteen Days(5)

To his left, next to the wall, he noticed the bin overflowing with rubbish, with his discarded pizza box from earlier sticking out of the top. Drying his hands with the tea towel, he walked over to the bin and attempted to compact the rubbish with his fist. After straining for several seconds, he gave in and decided to change the bag. Securing the black bag, he yanked it from the tall, metallic container, trying not to pull a muscle in his back. The last thing he needed was another two weeks laid up. Once out, he tied the pull-string in a knot and carried the bag out through the back utility room and then outside, leaving it propped up against the back door. I’ll put it in the garage tomorrow. No point rushing. Friday’s bin day… I think.

Wiping his hands on his tee shirt, he locked the back door and headed into the kitchen.

Nicky was in the hallway next to the stairs, removing her coat.

“You’re home?” Richard said, puzzled.

“It’s after five, babe,” Nicky replied. “I’m always home at this time. Lost track of time bumming ’round I bet.”

He smiled and then joined her, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ve had a very productive day, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” She hung her coat over the banister. “Doing what?”

“I did the dishes. I took out the rubbish. I even did a little vacuuming. What do you think of that?”

Her face lit up with gratitude and surprise. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you clean since we’ve moved in. Well done. Let’s hope you collapse more often.” She beamed and then dropped her car keys onto the stairs.

“Have you been home already today?”

“No, why?”

He shrugged. “That’s weird. I could have sworn I heard you come home about fifteen minutes ago.”

She shook her head. “No, not me. Probably next door. These terrace houses have thin walls.”

Nodding in agreement, he picked up her bag and placed it in the cupboard under the stairs.

They walked into the living room and sat on the couch, with Nicky exhaling, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted.

“Tough day?” he asked, leaning in close.

“Not really, just felt long. Couldn’t wait to get home. How’ve you been? No funny turns or dizzy spells?”

He shook his head, “No, nothing. Uneventful, like my day.”

She gave a playful, sad look, as if to feel sorry for him. “Oh, my poor baby. Don’t worry, only thirteen more days to go.”

Leaning back, he smiled and reached for the TV remote control. “Great. I’m sure the days will fly by.”



As Richard lay in bed with Nicky reading her book beside him, he thought about the events of yesterday. How could he have fainted in front of everyone like that? Him. The boy who giggled when Tammy Wolford fainted in school assembly. The man who hadn’t taken a single sick day since his first job in Worcester. How could he let things get so bad? After all, he was used to a little pressure, a little lack of sleep to get the job done. His whole adult life was based on demands, on deadlines. Everything from finishing his degree to getting TSH up and running. This was him. Richard Gardener. And Richard Gardener didn’t get sick. He didn’t crack under pressure. He thrived on it.

Sure, it worried him a little. Who wouldn’t be a little concerned? But he wasn’t dying. Not any time soon. He felt great. The best shape of his life. Doctors don’t know everything. Yesterday, Richard just had a bad day at the office. That’s all. Doesn’t everyone?

And now he was stuck at home for two weeks. Forced at gunpoint by his doctor and senior manager Leah—a woman who couldn’t run a team if her life depended on it, let alone hand out medical advice. Two whole weeks of sitting, watching TV. Fourteen tedious days of eating junk food and sleeping late, achieving nothing of meaning and accomplishment.

Absolute hell.

Nicky slipped an old shopping receipt into her book as a bookmark, set it down on the bedside table, and turned off the lamp. “Good night babe,” she said, leaning over to kiss his lips.

Nicky closed her eyes and nodded off.

But Richard had way too many thoughts flying around his head to sleep.

And tomorrow was yet another day of boredom and contemplation.

This holiday stinks…





Chapter 2


    Day 2: Wednesday


Richard was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his corn flakes, watching his wife race around the room looking for something. “What are you looking for?”