Chapter 70

"OK, you know, we still could do with a real drummer," Hope said, setting the keyboard on its stand. "Yvonne's still willing to play bass if we want. Lorraine and Elspeth are good enough to play keyboard when I'm on the violin — or even just normally, really."

Aiden's announcement that afternoon that he wasn't happy with continuing had been a bit of a shock. That the other members of the band had all made themselves incommunicado to allow the trio some privacy meant that it remained unresolved.

"Look what happened when we invited you into the band. We all ended up sleeping on the floor together," Shawna said, biting near to the knuckle. They all paused for a moment, worried, but the laughter overtook it, and they started to play.

Things went well through 'The One and Only, ' and Shawna and Marcus tried to find somewhere to join in with 'Angels', though with little success, which worried them all. 'Highway Star' flowed from the outset, right through to the second bridge, where Marcus' finger work got a little ragged towards the end.

"Hang on," he muttered, frustrated with himself, sweat beading on his brow from the concentration. "I'll get it in a second."

The second attempt was even worse, and this time his hand started cramping before he'd even reached the fast section at the end.

"Why don't we try something else," Hope said, after watching him try it a third time. This time his playing had not even been close for most of the song.

"Damn it!" he snapped. If it hadn't been strapped over his shoulder, the girls both realised he'd have thrown the guitar.

"Let us take your mind off it," Shawna said, soothingly, stepping up behind him, looping the strap over his head and slipping the guitar away. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Hope snatched the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted it up as well, capturing his arms with it and stripping it off to the floor, admiring the hard ridges of his chest and stomach for a moment.

She reached out, running her hands up his sides. "Oh, god, you're hot, Marcus."

"You're looking pretty good yourself," he said slurring his words and then giggling for no obvious reason.

"No, I mean you're burning up."

Shawna frowned and pressed a hand against his forehead. She shared a concerned look with Hope.

"How are you, honey?" Shawna asked, worriedly watching as he stumbled forwards and pitched face first onto the couch. "Shit..."

"What are we going to do?"

"We need to get him to the hospital."

"How?" Hope asked. "We can't carry him. We sure as hell can't get him into a car."

"Ambulance?"

"Hang on, I'll phone the surgery." She was gone a few minutes while Shawna got cold flannels to press against his forehead, feeling useless as he mumbled unintelligibly, eyes unfocussed.

"Doctor Ninan says she'll be out in a few minutes," Hope told her, coming back. "In the meantime we're to lay him down and try to keep him cool." It seemed to Hope a little useless under the circumstances.

On the couch, Marcus writhed slowly, still muttering every now and then.

By the time the doctor arrived, he'd begun vomiting, and the two were in tears when they opened the door. She took a few minutes investigating the cut on his arm and a few other things, and then looked up.

"How long has he been out of sorts?"

"Its... We've had a rough couple of days," Shawna said. "I'm not sure, really. He was walking and talking OK until about four o'clock. Then his music started to go a bit... off."

"Is it his arm? Is it infected?" Hope asked.

"I think it's probably just a gastric bug, especially if he's been under a lot of pressure lately," the doctor explained, calming them a little. "He's been sick which clears the worst of it out. Keep him cool — even if he complains that he's cold and he gets clammy. Give him some cooled, boiled water at regular intervals, but just let him sip it. If he gets worse, or he starts to hallucinate, call an ambulance. If he doesn't hold the water down, call me."

"He's going to be OK?" Hope clasped at her arm.

"He should be fine. You'll have to ease him back onto food afterwards, though. Nothing until he says he's hungry. That's not likely to be until the day after tomorrow, I'd guess. Then soups for a day or so, and then nothing heavy for about a week. No meat, no bread, no potatoes, no pasta. Rice and vegetables are OK, but no tea or coffee."

She turned round to see Shawna hurriedly scribbling notes down, and smiled.

"He's lucky to have friends like you two around. Will you be able to stay with him?"

"We live here," Hope pointed out, absently, stroking his hair.

"Oh. Will he be able to stay here with you then?"

"He lives here, too."

"Oooookay." She paused, looking at the pair of them, reading more into their concern than they were saying about their relationship. "He's very lucky, then."

She smiled and left.

"Yes?" Shawna stared out the door at Richard Travers' slightly apprehensive expression.

"Is Marcus in? I've tried calling him a few times, but..."

"He's in," Shawna said, cutting him off. "He's been ill."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes and no," Shawna reluctantly stepped aside at Hope's silent urging, allowing him in.

"He's been feverish since Tuesday tea-time," Hope explained, taking his coat. Richard took a moment to stare at them both, seeing the worn expressions on their faces. The room itself was darkened by drawn curtains and smelt heavily of sweat and the vague hints of sickness and antiseptic.

"Have you guys called a doctor?"

"Yes!" Shawna snapped, and he backed up a step in the face of her anger.

"Look, Shawna. I keep saying things that upset you, right, but that's not what I'm here for. I promise you."

"Think about it, Sho," Hope added, turning back from the coatrack. "He's trying to get on our good side one way or another. He's not going to deliberately upset us."

"So I should just let him say what he wants? I don't do that for Marcus, and he has an excuse."

"See, that's what I wanted to talk about," Travers said, but Hope was deep in thought about something, so he was forced to turn back to Shawna. "Can I sit and talk to you guys about it?"

"You think if you convince us we'll convince him?" she asked, gesturing towards a seat. "Don't hold your breath."

He moved round the sofa and saw that Marcus was laid out there, pale skinned and sweating despite being dressed in just a pair of shorts.

"What did the doctor say?" he asked, turning to sit in one of the armchairs.

"He's got a gastric bug. He'll likely be like that until tomorrow. He's been drinking today, thankfully, so it seems like he's getting better."

"That's good."

"You do care," Hope said, seating herself on the arm of the sofa by Marcus' head and dabbing at him with a damp flannel. "That's why I don't understand why you're pushing for this 'treatment' for Marcus."

"It'll make him better," he said, shrugging as though it were obvious.

"It won't," Shawna argued, seating herself on the floor where she could grasp at Marcus' clammy hand. "It'll make him someone else, or it won't work at all."

"He doesn't need curing of anything anyway," Hope added. "He's found a place for himself. He's got friends and prospects."

"But he still has troubles, doesn't he?" Travers countered, leaning forward a little. "Shawna said it back there. He says the wrong thing sometimes, and even though he has a reason, it's not an excuse. This place stops that."

"But it takes away all the right things you can say." Shawna pushed her hands back through her hair, trying to stifle a yawn. "It ingrains a limited set of 'acceptable' responses to everyday situations, but it doesn't do anything beyond those superficial lessons. It can't change who he inside. It can only suppress it."

"I like the Marcus inside," Hope added, folding the flannel back on itself to expose a fresh surface. "I printed something off from the internet the other night, last time we spoke. I think... You don't know this Marcus. You only know the boy you, um..."

"Left behind," he offered.

"I didn't want to make it sound like an accusation. You knew him, and he could have done with some help then. He got that help — "

"From Nick," Shawna couldn't help adding under her breath.

" — and now he's not the boy he was. He still needs help, but of a different sort."

Hope slipped off the sofa's arm to the floor and rummaged through the mess on the coffee table until she pulled out her folder. She rifled through it quickly and tugged free a piece of paper that she passed across to him. He took it hesitantly.

"You're trying to help him because you want to make things better, to heal some of the rift between you. That's great. I think that's a good thing for Marcus. You're doing it partly from guilt, and that's not a bad thing. It means you feel guilty about what you did. But you're trying to fix what made you feel guilty in the first place, rather than the gap between you and Marcus, and the guilt is your problem, not Marcus'"

He sat back, obviously trying to digest what he'd been told, and Hope held her breath. If Shawna had said it, with her hostility, he'd have dismissed it out of hand, but she'd deliberately played the middle ground, trying to connect with both sides.

She was brought out of her reverie as Travers sat forward.

"You both look exhausted," he observed.

"He's been... It's been tiring," Shawna acknowledged.

"How about... I've got some stuff to read." He waved the sheet¹ that Hope had given him, and pointed to the folder from which it had come. "If you'd like, I can sit here for an hour or so and let you guys catch some sleep? I know you don't have any reason to trust me or anything, but... I really do want to help."