The Sweetest Ring (Part One)

When is the last time you can say 'happy new year' to someone? No one tells you these things. Like, if you see an old friend in February, does it still count to wish them a warm 2011? Will they find it socially acceptable or just look at you like you've just killed a puppy? Again, no one tells you these things. Sharon didn't take my wishes very well, even on the 11^th day into it.

'Don't be silly, Dylan. New year was two weeks ago. And what are you doing here?'

Steve had been called up to see Sharon in her office, so I just followed him as he made an in depth point about Battlestar Gallactica. I'm not interested it whatever that is, but it wasn't busy outside and I could have done with something to do.

'Just thought I’d come up. I thought it might be something that we both could do.'

'No, it isn't. This concerns Steve and no one else.' Sharon glared at me.

'Oh, right.'

The last time Sharon wanted to see Steve on his own was on Christmas Eve, when a customer complained about getting hit by a snowball. Steve never owned up to it, but who else looks like 'he could have been in Status Quo or something.'? I traipsed off downstairs and tried to make myself useful, circling the full perimeter of the car park and picking up the odd rusty trolley. It was just when I was right at the bottom of the car park when my phone bleeped. The text message read:

'Get 2 my car now.'

It was from Steve. I rushed towards his light green skoda where he was sat inside, biting the end of his keys. He ushered me inside, his face all flustered and red.

'Get in, quick.'

'I told you, I'm not listening to another of your cousin's demo's.'

I don't care if they were nearly signed once, 'George Best Testicles' won't go anywhere and sound like a whales fighting.

'No, no. It's Mary.'

Steve backed out of the parking space, marginally missing a large car with an angry mother inside it and sped off towards the exit.

'What about her?'  I said, clicking my seat belt.

'She's in hospital.'

We parked up on the vast car park, about a hundred yards from the actual building. Steve threw his spare change at me and told me to pay for a parking sticker and headed for the entrance, walking in that weird I'm-trying-my-best-to-jog-a-bit kind of way. When I got to the entrance Steve was nowhere to be seen, so I rang the bell at reception.

'Yes?'

A short haired woman of about fifty appeared at the desk.

'Yes, hello. I'm looking for Steve, he's just come in.'

'What ward is he in?' She asked plainly.

This had the potential for so many jokes, but now was not the time. There's no humour in hospitals.

'No, sorry. I'm looking for Mary. Mary Walton.'

'Not Steve?'

'Well he's here to see her too.'

'What ward is she in?'

'I don't know.'

'Well what has happened to her?'

Shit. I really must research things before going into hospitals and asking for things. Steve hadn't told me what happened to Mary, or what ward she was in. He was to busy shouting at other drivers on the road. So in a fit of panic, I just made something up.

'She's...broken her neck.'

'Right...'

The woman scanned her list. It felt like the time to add a bit more.

'And her arm. She's a wrestler, you see.' I smiled a little bit.'

'Mary Walton. She's on the C ward. Third floor.'

'Thank you.'

I don't like hospitals. Sounds obvious but some people must like them. Doctors and nurses for instance. You must like them enough to work in one all the time. Mind you, you could say that about my job. If someone said to me that I like car parks, I wouldn't like it.

I reached the third floor and pushed open the double doors. The smell of sanitiser and stale air hit me straight away as a nurse asked my to turn off my mobile phone and wash my hands. Mary was in the end bed, reading a small book with a dark cover. I slowly walked over to her and whispered hello. People always whisper in hospitals. Why do we do that? It's not as if anyone’s concentrating on anything, apart from the odd crossword.

'Dylan! Wow, nice to see you.' She smiled through glazed eyes.

Her voice was a little croaky and her face was pale, matching her smock.

'Steve's just...on his way.' I sat down. 'Car park...' I grinned, rolling my eyes.

'Ah, right.'

'So, what happened?'

'Wrestling.'

Yes! What a guess!

'Right...' I said gently, tilting my head.

'Yeah, I jumped of the top ropes and did my back in. Going to need surgery, I think.'

'So you didn't win in the end?'

'Oh, yeah. Sick Vicky got the pin.' She grinned.

'Brilliant!'

This wasn't brilliant. What's the use of having an amateur tag team wresting championship belt when you don't have to strength to lift it up?

'Did you even get to do your finishing move?'

'The Scary Bomb?'

'Yeah.'

'No.'

'Oh...'

That put a downer on things. And a downer is the last thing you want in a hospital. I realised after a few moments of silence that I didn't know her enough to have a decent conversation. She wouldn't be interested in the weather in her condition, or what I got up to at the weekend. That's the problem with ill people, they're never interested in others.

'Wonder where Steve is...' I said, looking back on my seat.

'Probably got lost in this place.'

'Yeah...'

Another conservation killed off. I tapped my foot on the floor a bit and looked around. Mary didn't look like she was in the mood for chatting. In fact, I can safely say it was the one time that I've ever considered her to be boring.

'What you reading?' I tried.

'Oh, this?' She said, picking up the little black book. 'It's about woman who have sex with animals.'

OK, she's boring any more.

'I'm sorry?'

'It's a novel. Animalize, it's called.'

'Good read?'

'Yeah, I'd say it's up there with Ozzy's biography.'

Of course it is. In fact, that's what they said on Richard and Judy's book club. 'Ozzy's biography is just as good as that one about girls sexing it up with monkeys and that.'

'What animals have sex with...'

Steve interrupted my question. Quite frankly, a question I would have loved to find out, bounding in and ignoring the Please Wash Your Hands signs and rushing over to us.

'Mary! Mary!'

'Steve, you made it.' Mary smiled.

'What's happened? The woman said was a broken neck and arm! What? What's happened?'

Steve's head looked like a ribina berry and he sat down of the bed, squashing Mary's legs.

'I'm fine, I’m fine! Steve, get off!'

'What happened to you?' I asked.

'I couldn't find the ward!'

Probably because he didn't ask. Apparently, running into hospitals and shouting 'Mary!' just doesn't work any more. He threw himself down on the plastic chair next to me and then stood up again, demanding answers.

'What happened? Was is wrestling? That Sick Vicky didn't pull a fast one on you, did she? I've never liked her!'

Steve would be the first to admit he get's caught up in the plot lines of amateur wrestling. Last week he hit a referee with his sponge finger.

'No, no. We're tag team champions. I just hurt my back. Might need surgery.'

'Oh god, surgery. That can be OK.'

'I know.' Mary replied.

Steve lent over Mary's face and dabbed her forehead with his handkerchief. He's probably seen it on those TV dramas.

'Do you want some grapes?' Steve asked.

'What?'

'Grapes? Dylan says it's the best thing for hospitals.'

He's right. I have said that in the past.

'No.'

'OK. Fluff your pillow? I can...'

'No, no. It's fine. Just sit down, Steve.'

Steve slowly sat down, took a deep breath and slid off it, putting one knee on the floor.

'Mary...'

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue box. He pressed it open to reveal a silver ring.

'Will you marry me?'

End of part one.