His sleep was broken several times during the night, but he found that by sipping water and tweaking the oxygen pipe’s position, he could settle down comfortably and drift off again. At least once he woke with a firm erection, which he felt embarrassed of, but also somehow reassured by. Though he could not remember what he’d been dreaming about, it seemed like a good sign which somehow made him feel fit and healthy despite his body’s moment of crisis.

He rose back to full wakefulness as it started to get light. He was aware of people moving about, and decided to take himself to the bathroom to get ready for the day. The nurse who found him sat in his bedside chair, dressed but still on his air line, seemed a little surprised but pleased with his progress as she explained the morning routine. After he’d eagerly eaten everything they brought him for breakfast, another young doctor visited him and listened to his chest again.

“Well, Mister Osborne,” she said as she finished and folded her stethoscope, “I read the report from the doctor you saw on this ward yesterday, and I’d agree that you’ve recovered well. What I’d like to do now is take you off the oxygen, then let you take a walk with one of the nurses. We’ll see if you can manage some stairs, then we should be able to let you go before lunchtime.”

He felt relieved to lose the canula, and once he was left alone at his bedside once again, he thought of Marcie. He found his mobile phone, switched it on, then found he’d missed two text messages from her. She’d sent one to wish him good night, then another this morning, saying that she hoped he’d slept well. He replied, passing on his news and apologising for not responding earlier. Just a few moments passed before his phone rang.

It was her, of course, and she seemed eager to hear the details of how he’d found the night in the hospital. She seemed genuinely pleased to know that he would probably be discharged later that morning.

“Look, here’s my plan,” she explained, “I’ve just got into work myself, and as I said, I’m right next door really. I brought the car in, just in case. They know I was sitting with a friend in the RVI yesterday, and they’ll be fine letting me leave when I need to. Just give me a ring when you’re ready to go, and I’ll come and pick you up from the ward, if that’s what the hospital want.”

Once again, Ben felt hugely grateful for her confident pragmatism, on top of everything that she’d done yesterday and her offer to take him into her home. He reassured her that he would take it steady, and phone her again as soon as he could. Next, he used his phone to contact the Armstrong Trust’s office. He didn’t know Rhona the matronly office manager that well, but she seemed genuinely shocked to hear that he was in the RVI. She promised to pass a message on to Harry, his supervisor, but she wouldn’t hear of him fussing about anything else now. She told him to take care of his health, get plenty of rest and not worry at all about missing anything at work. She asked if he had anyone to help look after him, and he mentioned Marcie’s name.

“Well, she’s welcome to ring me herself if it’s too much trouble for you,” Rhona told him. “Now, stop wasting your time with me, and get back to looking after yourself.”

A little later that morning, his short walk with an older ward nurse went well. She was unsure of letting him take the long two flights down to the ground floor, then climb all the way back up unaided, but she seemed pleased with his performance when he achieved this slowly but surely. She found the doctor who’d seen him earlier as soon as they were back on the ward, and she listened to his chest once more.

“Fantastic!” she pronounced, “There’s no wheezing at all. Mister Osborne, I have no doubts about letting you leave us right now. Don’t forget, though, you’re not fighting fit yet. Those lungs are scarred, and another asthma attack is a very real possibility. Avoid overexerting yourself, and definitely avoid anything like the dust that caused this in the first place. Make an appointment with your GP as soon as you can, and look out for your appointments with the pulmonologist and allergist coming through. I’ll leave the discharge paperwork at the desk, and you needed a sick note for your employer too, right? Give me thirty minutes, then one of the nurses should be able to let you go. Do you have someone coming for you? Good. Well, I’ll wish you all the best.”

As she left, Ben wondered at how the hospital doctors he’d met all seemed so rushed, but he was still fundamentally relieved by what she’d said. He checked with the nurse that his friend could come to the ward to pick him up, then once she had left too, he phoned Marcie. She answered quickly, and seemed enthusiastic to hear that he would soon be ready to leave.

Ben gathered his things together, then went to wait for his paperwork at the end of the ward by the nurses’ desk. He was watching the lift when Marcie stepped out of it, wearing her hair and trousers as she had the day before, but in a white blouse today, under a short, tailored jacket, with a satchel over her shoulder. She seemed surprised to see him waiting for her, but she smiled broadly as she approached. She held out her hands as he rose to greet her. Ben found himself reaching out instinctively toward her. They grasped each other’s elbows as he leant down to peck her cheek.

The close contact was very welcome, even as Ben breathed in the feminine scent of her light citrus perfume. Then she moved, but Ben realised too late that she was trying to kiss his other cheek in the Mediterranean way. His misjudgement meant that his lips slid across the edge of hers. He pulled back awkwardly as she made a nervous laugh, but her hands still held his arms.

“I’m glad to see you up and about,” she said by way of a greeting, “You’re looking well!”

“And I’m very glad to see you. I’m so grateful for everything…”

“Please stop,” she interrupted him, dropping her hands. “We’ve established that now. You don’t need to keep saying it. I’m glad that I can help. That’s the end of it. Are you ready to go now?”

Ben explained that he needed a discharge form and the note for his work. He went to the desk to check for them, and a nurse went to find out where they’d got to. While she was gone, Marcie asked him if he’d had enough sleep and enough to eat. He said that he’d been comfortable in the night, but confessed that he still felt tired and hungry. Marcie assured him that she could help put those things right. She explained that she could take the rest of the day off from the library with her flexitime, and that her boss had already hinted that she might be able to claim it as carer’s leave.

The nurse came back with some printed sheets for Ben, then said he was free to go, smiling at Marcie. He thanked her, and asked her to thank the rest of the team if she could. Ben got his jacket out of his bag, folded up the paper to put into it, then Marcie insisted she carried it as they set off for the lift. She checked that he was okay with a short walk to the car as they stepped out into the fresh spring air. Ben paused on the hospital’s threshold though, taking a deep breath in, feeling as if he were making his first steps on an exciting and mysterious new journey. Marcie smiled questioningly up at him, having come sharply to a stop beside him, so he tried to reassure her by saying, “All’s good. Let’s go!”.

As they slowly walked from the hospital through the maze of university buildings, Marcie explained that she’d not had much time to get her flat’s small spare room ready for him. She had hoovered and put up the camp bed, but there were still a lot of her books in there. She admitted that she had only managed to fit the bed in by putting its end under her desk, and now the door didn’t open fully either. She didn’t know how long Ben might be staying, but she promised that she’d make more space for him by moving her stuff out if he needed it for more than a week. She remarked that he was a big man too, so she hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed when he saw how little space there actually was.

“I know you’re bored of me thanking you,” Ben said, “But I am still very grateful to have somewhere to go that’s safe and clean. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve lived in tight spaces, on ships and boats sometimes, and I’m used to living out of a shoebox. As to how long I need to stay, I’m afraid I just can’t tell you that. But I promise, if it goes on longer than a few nights, I’ll pay you rent. You should get a fair rate for a lodger in Jesmond.”

They were just crossing a footbridge over the dual carriageway as they spoke. “Let’s not worry about that now. It can wait until later,” Marcie said. Then she pointed out the building they were about to pass by. “Hey! Did you know that’s where I work?”

As Ben looked at the sign over the door, he explained he only knew the university buildings for the gigs, bars and parties he’d been to. He must have walked past this plain modern building often, never realising what it was. Then Marcie asked him if he’d managed to get in touch with his own work, to phone in sick. He said that he had, but he’d not spoken to his supervisor directly, nor really talked about how serious it might be. She told him not to worry, that there was plenty of time for all that later too.

They’d cut onto a road of what might once have been residential houses, taken over for more university offices now it seemed. Marcie pointed out a small purple Ford Ka, proudly saying it was hers. Once they’d got in and she’d started driving, it took them barely five minutes to reach the residential terraced street that Marcie’s flat was on. “It can be a nightmare finding somewhere to park here, but it’s easier at this time of day,” she observed, reversing into a space confidently.

She took Ben’s bag as well as her own, then walked them towards a blue front door, set back from the road by a tiny patch of untidy greenery. “Here we are! Number 33. Did I say it was ground floor? We’ll need to get you your own set of keys too.” She unlocked the door and stepped in, dropping the bags to the floor and slipping her shoes off automatically. Ben followed her in, squatting to untie his own shoes.

“Oh, thank you!” Marcie said, “I’m afraid I’m not that house proud. That’s the door to my bedroom, at the front,” she said, indicating a door that was ajar, though not opening it to let Ben see inside. “Straight ahead is the room I made up for you. You’d better go ahead and peep in. I don’t think we can both fit in there now!”

Ben stepped forward, pushing his way around the door to see the space that Marcie had prepared for him. It was bigger than some box rooms that he’d seen in Tyneside flats like this, but one wall was filled with shelving units, mostly crammed with books. There was a broad desk under the window, looking out onto the untidy shared backyard. And squeezed into the footwell of the desk was a camp bed, as she’d promised, made up with a white duvet and a pair of pillows at the end behind the door. There would have been just about enough space for the two of them to stand between the radiator and the bed, but there wasn’t room for much else.

Ben noticed a framed travel poster hanging over the radiator, with a stylised urban sea view in bold colours over the word Napoli. He also noticed that one row of slots in the wall unit was empty, and the surface of the desk was clear apart from a small houseplant, a weeping fig, he thought. He guessed that was all the space that Marcie had been able to clear for his things when she’d got the room ready for him. He breathed in deeply, smelling clear air and fresh laundry.

He stepped back into the corridor, smiling at Marcie. “I hope it’s okay,” she said nervously. “I know there’s not much space, but I did try to warn you.”

“It’s perfect,” he said. “It’s a safe niche where I can breathe easily. This is a lovely flat, and I couldn’t want for more. You’ve made it very welcoming and cosy, with the plant. And I like the view over Naples.”

“Go through there, and you’ll see the living room too,” she prompted, seemingly pleased with Ben’s reaction.

He pushed the door open and went into a restful room with a low soft-looking sofa, a small dining table under the back window and yet more bookcases. There was a hint of lingering incense in the air, so Ben guessed that Marcie burnt joss sticks. He also saw the colourful touches of her taste, with the seemingly antique rug on the floor, the woven blanket throw and embroidered cushions on the sofa, candlesticks and other ornaments among the books, the bright sunshine orange paint on one wall, and more artistic framed posters. He admired one large one that had been given pride of place on the orange wall above what must have once been a fireplace. It had a gold background around a pair of stylised figures, a man stooping to kiss a woman whose eyes were closed. Bursts of flowers seemed to complement the dreamy look of what might have been bliss on her face. Then he noticed that beneath it there was just a set of shelves topped by a small hi-fi, where he would have expected the television to be.

“This is a lovely room,” Ben remarked sincerely as Marcie stepped in behind him, “But you don’t have a tele?”

“Oh, I didn’t think to say! Is that a problem? Do you watch a lot of TV? Will you get bored?”

“No, don’t worry!” he tried to calm her, “I really don’t mind. I was just surprised. Like I said, I think your flat is really lovely. I think it’s warm, cosy and thoughtfully done, and it shows your character.”

“Thank you. But I don’t miss the TV. If I’m on my own, I usually just read in the evenings. Oh, that makes me sound like a terrible intellectual snob!”

“Don’t be daft! I can see you’re a reader. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with so many books.”

“It’s an occupational hazard of being a librarian,” she joked, then her face dropped and she put her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Ben! I’m so sorry, that was so tactless!”

“Don’t worry,” Ben said earnestly, realising what she’d just thought as he reached to briefly put his hand on her arm in reassurance. “I still don’t really understand what’s happened, or what it means for my future. It is scary, but if we can find ways to laugh about it too, that’s got to make it easier.”

“Oh Ben, thank you. You’ve had such bad news and everything must feel so up in the air for you, but you’re being so brave about it all.”

“Don’t be daft. You’re the one to be thanked. You’ve done so much for me in the last twenty-four hours. If I’m coping well, it’s all thanks to you. And now you’re letting me stay over in your home.” Then he added, trying to lighten the conversation, “So you this is actually yours then, you’re not just renting?”

“Well, with the size of the mortgage, it’s more accurate to say the bank owns it. But yes, it’s mine. I could put the deposit down with some money that my father left me when he passed away.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. When did that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Actually I was only seventeen. It was a big shock to my mum. I wanted to go to university, but I stayed with her in Manchester, so I did my first degree there. Her name’s Vera, by the way, and my dad was called Marc. His money was ready for me, but I didn’t use it until I moved up to Newcastle for my library job and my PhD. I’ve been here over five years now.”

“I was a bit older when my mum passed away,” Ben confessed. Marcie’s echo of his expression of sympathy from just a moment earlier was deeply sincere. “I’d finished my NVQ and was already living up here. Dad seems like he’s coping okay though. He’s getting on with running the family farm on his own now, and his sister is nearby, as well as his own mother, old Granny Pat. Perhaps the farm is a prop, in a way. Whatever today brings, you can be sure that the cows will still need milking first thing tomorrow. Oh, and he’s called Dave. My aunt’s Grace. My mum’s name was Daisy.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to touch old wounds,” Marcie said, laying her hand on his arm now, “It’s a strange coincidence that we both lost a parent when we were still quite young, but we can talk about it later.” Then she dropped her hand and said breezily, “But I want to finish the grand tour by showing you the kitchen and bathroom! Then I bet you’re ready for some lunch.”

As Ben had expected, a door from the living room led into a narrow kitchen that ran down beside the backyard, and the bathroom was behind that, in what he knew would have been an extension to the original flat. A smart grey-tiled floor ran through both rooms, between the parallel ranks of cream kitchen units and worktops, then under the door into the bathroom. At Marcie’s invitation, Ben moved past the sink under the window and the cooker opposite to pop his head around the door. He saw the room beyond was surprisingly bright and spacious, with frosted windows on two walls, as well as a white bath and the matching suite. He noticed a shower over the bath at the end nearest the door behind a glass panel, and other details like the heated towel rack, a large wicker laundry basket and some neat wooden cupboards, one of which he suspected hid the boiler.

Ben admired how compact, well ordered and clean it all seemed in both rooms, saying as much aloud. Then he got on with trying to help Marcie with her preparation of some simple soup and bread rolls for lunch. As it worked out, he was more of a hindrance, getting in the way and having to ask where everything was. Marcie didn’t seem to mind though as she happily stirred the pan and warmed their bowls. It gave him a chance to see how she organised her tidy kitchen too.

As they sat at the small table in the living room with their lunch and glasses of water, Marcie apologised that the view wasn’t better. Ben had to agree, looking past the houseplants on the windowsill to the cracked concrete of the small yard, relieved only by a few weeds and some abandoned children’s toys. He confirmed that she shared it with her upstairs neighbours, then asked how well she knew them.

“It’s a young family who moved in recently, actually. They have two boys, five and three years old, I think, and a baby girl. Don’t worry, you don’t hear them much. I think these flats were actually built quite well for that. I was glad when they took it over from a rather awkward old man who used to live there. I was hoping we might be able to agree to do something about the yard now, as it happens.”

“Well, if I can and I’m still in the neighbourhood, I could help with that,” Ben said.

“Thanks. You’d be more use than my old boyfriend, I’m sure,” then she covered her mouth again, and Ben saw her cheeks blush. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that you’re my new boyfriend.”

Ben laughed, “No bother,” he said. “But you mentioned there was someone on the scene. Do you want to tell me about him?”

Marcie sighed, then explained, “His name is Richard. Professor Richard York. His parents must have thought that was a great joke when they named him, and he still finds it funny.” Ben looked at her blankly, so she explained, “It’s a joke about Richard of York, King Richard the Third, who Shakespeare wrote a play about? You’ve not heard of him? Well, why should you have? He’s just another dead white male thug.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“No, he’s very much alive, unfortunately. I said he was married, didn’t I? Well, it must be one of the oldest cliches, right? Having an extra-marital affair with one of your students.”

“That’s awful. He sounds like a creep,” Ben said, then feared he might have been too judgmental.

“Well, I was a willing accomplice to his crime, if you want to see it that way. I was a grown woman when I met him, and I could have made my own choices. But I was naive, of course. I’d just finished with someone my own age, but he seemed to have got stuck at about thirteen. His name was Jason, a useless computer scientist who’d been on my master’s course at Manchester. After that unsatisfactory relationship with such a waster of a youth, perhaps I over-compensated when I looked for someone with more maturity.”

“So Richard is older, then?”

“Yes, he’s forty-seven now, and his kids are teenagers. Perhaps I thought he might leave his wife, or perhaps I just enjoyed being flattered and treated like a lady. Well, it seems we’ve got nothing in common now, but I’m kind of stuck with him.”

“Only if you want to be, right?”

“Yes, you’re right. But it’s complicated, because he’s one of my PhD supervisors, do you know? He’s supposed to guide me, and he’s the one who helps to decide if and when I pass my course.”

Ben felt shocked. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but it almost sounds as if he’s blackmailing you. If you don’t keep the relationship going, he could fail you or drop you from the course. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I guess it is. When you put it like that, it sucks, doesn’t it? And don’t worry about speaking out of turn. Let’s agree that we’re going to be the kind of friends who are honest with each other, okay? Seeing you in hospital… Well, let’s just say it made me feel that life’s too short to play games.”

“Okay, it’s a deal,” Ben agreed. “You certainly saw me at my most vulnerable, I guess.”

“Hey, and if we’re being honest with each other, you’re going to need some more changes of underwear pretty soon! And because we’re still not sure about how risky that dust at your place is for you, I was going to volunteer to go around there again this afternoon and pick up whatever you need, for a week or so, let’s say.”

“Are you sure? Can you afford all this time off your work?”

“Again, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it. And if you want to know the details, I’m on contract for three days a week, but we have a rota of shifts, morning, afternoon and evening, seven days a week. We all take turns at the unpopular times, but I can be sure that I’ll be in everyone’s good books if I trade a Tuesday afternoon slot for a Friday evening. In theory the rest of my working week is for my PhD, but it probably doesn’t work like that for any postgrad students. It’s normal to have idle weeks, then work around the clock to get a paper out, or for the final push with the thesis I guess.”

“I’m not sure I understood all of that, but I think I get it. It’s kind of the same in my work. Once you’ve got a contract to take out a big tree, you just work until it’s done. And if it’s next to a main road, you might have to start at six AM on Sunday to do it. That’s kind of why I’ve been sawing cedar for nearly a week straight, and I guess why my lungs are shot to hell.”

“Hey, you mustn’t blame yourself. I’m sure it’s just one of those things. Remember, take it one step at a time. Did you say the next thing is to see your GP? Just do that, then we’ll see what happens after that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pop to the bathroom.”

“I’ll tidy the dishes,” Ben volunteered, but just as he’d started, he heard the doorbell ring.

“Could you get that?” he heard Marcie call, just a few feet away from him, behind the closed door between the kitchen and the bathroom.