Page 50 of The Suitcase Swap

Mike gave a third and final knock, and was somewhat surprised when the door opened.

Sophie stood wrapped in a blanket looking like a furry caterpillar. She blinked up at him owlishly, her eyes glazed, her cheeks a florid pink. A sheen of sweat coated her face, but she shivered as she pulled the blanket tighter. ‘Mike?’ She licked her dry lips. ‘What – why?’

‘Sophie, are you sick?’ Without waiting for a response, he reached out and put a palm on her forehead. His hand was chilled from the rain, but it felt to him like she was burning up. Sophie leaned into his hand like a cat, but didn’t answer him.

He shook his head. ‘Come on, back inside. Let’s get you settled.’

She let him herd her back into the flat. Mike stripped out of his wet jacket and hung it up while toeing off his shoes. He wouldn’t help her by dripping all over her.

‘Sit on the couch,’ he said, heading for the bathroom. Once inside, he grabbed a towel and dried his hair as best he could before going through the drawers and cabinets. No thermometer. He frowned. No medicine, either, except for a few antacids and a bottle of eye drops.

He hung up the towel and headed back into the living room. Sophie was sprawled on the couch, using a paper towel to wipe her nose. An empty box of tissues sat on the table next to a disturbingly large pile of used tissues and a mostly empty glass of water.

Mike sat on the edge of the couch and put his hand back on her forehead to see if she felt different now that his handwasn’t impersonating an ice lolly. Still hot. ‘Sophie, do you have any cold medication?’

She mumbled and had to say it twice before he caught it. ‘No.’

‘When’s the last time you took something?’

She squinted at him, thinking hard, a shiver shaking her body. ‘Don’t know.’

‘Have you eaten?’ He wasn’t feeling good about the answer.

‘Not hungry,’ Sophie rasped, right before she covered her mouth with her blanket and started coughing.

Mike brushed some of the sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. ‘Okay, I’m going to go down to the shop and get supplies. Are you allergic to anything?’

She shook her head, her lips curved down into a miserable pout.

‘Good. I’ll be right back.’ He stood up, grimacing at the idea of putting his wet jacket and shoes back on. Not that he had another option. ‘Do you have keys? That way I can let myself back in without getting you up.’

Sophie waved in the vicinity of the table before burrowing unhappily back under her blankets.

It took Mike a few seconds to find the keys. Then he moved quickly, tempted to run down to the store, though he kept the urge in check. He wouldn’t be much use to Sophie if he slipped on the wet pavement and broke his bloody hip.

Once he was under the florescent lights of the shop, he grabbed a pack of lozenges and a box of tissues. He had to ask for a little help from the assistant to figure out what medicines to get – the packages and names were different from what he was used to at home. Then he paid for them before rushing back to the flat.

He let himself in, grabbing Sophie’s glass and refilling it with water. ‘You’ll need to sit up for a moment to take the pills. Then I promise you can lie back down.’ Sophie dutifullyeased herself up, but that was all he got for a response. He handed her the glass of water and two pain relief tablets that the assistant had told him would hopefully work for her fever.

She tossed them into her mouth and drank half the glass of water before shoving it at Mike. As soon as it was in his hand, she collapsed back onto the couch, shuddering under her blanket. Mike spent the next few minutes getting her sorted – used tissues in the bin, new box on the table, along with a small plastic bin for the next round of tissues. After washing his hands thoroughly, he checked her cabinets and fridge. He found an empty box of camomile tea, a little honey but no lemon, juice, and a mostly empty fridge.

He frowned at that. Had she been sick like this the whole time, then? He was starting to think she had been. Mike wasn’t sure why she hadn’t called her son, or even him. Had she been loath to ask for help, or too out of it? He’d find out later. In the meantime, he picked up his phone and started ordering things from a grocery delivery app. The store had some things, but he didn’t want to go back there and leave her, and it wouldn’t have everything he wanted anyway.

While he waited for the order, he checked her room. If she’d been sweating and feverish for two days, she’d probably spent a lot of that in bed, and likely hadn’t had the energy to change the sheets. She’d managed to get into her pyjamas at some point, the clothes from their disastrous – and then glorious – tea date strewn on the floor. He put those in the laundry basket, stripped her bed and put on fresh sheets.

After that, he checked on her again. She still looked sweaty and miserable. He refilled her water and then got a damp flannel, folded it and pressed it to her forehead. Since Sophie was stretched out and cocooned in blankets, there wasn’t much room on the small couch , so he sat on the coffee table and held it there.

About thirty minutes later, she’d cooled down a bit and wanted to get back into her bed. He helped her to her room, stepping out when she got in there because she wanted to put on a pair of clean pyjamas. That didn’t entirely go to plan, and Mike ended up having to help her get them on. Then he got her back into bed and tucked in, asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

By then the grocery order had arrived. Mike put away the juice and a few other things he’d got her, including ginger ale and some fresh fruit, but left out the tea, honey and lemons. At that point, he rolled up his sleeves and went back through the cupboards looking for a pot. It was late, but he had no idea what her sleep schedule had been like, or if she’d wake up hungry soon. If he started the soup now, it could simmer and be ready for when she resurfaced. He diced up onions, carrots, garlic and celery, sautéing them while he started prepping the chicken.

After he’d added in the broth, he left it to simmer, once again washing his hands before going in to check on Sophie. She snored softly while he put his hand on her forehead, rechecking her temperature. Cooler, but still warm. At least her fever was responding to the medicine. He opened the packaging to the new thermometer, placing it on the bedside table along with another new box of tissues.

He’d done all he could at that point, so he went back to check the soup. He stirred it, dropping down the temperature to low. Then he went to the couch, grabbed the TV remote and started looking for something to watch to keep him company during what was likely to be a very long night.

Chapter Fourteen

When Sophie woke, she spent a few moments wondering what possible reason there might be, from an evolutionary standpoint, for people to have bad breath. She was positive hers was wretched. Her tongue felt somehow both gummy and thick, like it had been tarred, feathered and topped with a thick duvet cover. Everything ached, she couldn’t breathe through her nose, and even though she hadn’t opened her eyes yet, she was considering going back to sleep.

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