Script quote across the upper back

You asked why I never took the day shift when Mum's hip went, so here is the answer, written down because I can't say it out loud without my voice doing the thing. Nights on Ward Seven are mine now. Sister Okafor gave me the keys to the linen cupboard and told me I was the only porter she trusted with the lift at three in the morning, which is the nicest thing anyone has said to me since your wedding.

Last Tuesday a boy came up from A and E with a broken collarbone and nobody to ring. He was seventeen, sat on the trolley with his coat zipped to his chin, and kept asking the time as if it might change if he asked often enough. I found him a blanket and the good pillow from the side room. Somewhere around four he told me his little brother was still out on the estate, and that he'd take any beating going if it meant the kid got home clear. I didn't ask what that meant. I just sat with him until the tea went cold.

I'm not telling you this to be a hero. Your nan would have clipped me round the ear for the sentiment. I'm telling you because I finally understood the old words she stitched on that cushion, the ones about giving everything up for the people you love. It isn't a grand thing. It's a chair pulled close, a shift swapped, a cold cup drunk without complaint.

Come and see me on Sunday. Bring the good biscuits, not the ones from the petrol station. I'll be asleep by ten, but I'll wake for you.

Love, Dad