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"What's wrong, William…?" She spoke into her phone, hearing strange snuffling sounds come from the other end. "William…?"
"Nob well."
"Oh… Are you at the fortress?"
"Yeb," sniff, sniff, "no wor fo be. Tell Beaice," sniff, sniff, snort, "tha she 'n charb. Cub soom. Ples."
"I'll get a taxi. See you soon."
Snifflings were her answer. And a loud sneeze that almost blew her off of her feet, as she stood listening on her phone. That loud noise garnered a strange look from the others that she shared the open-pal office with. Down in the bowels of Thames House. The headquarters of MI5.
A note was shoved in the taxi driver's hand and she ran across the gravelled drive. Pressing the intercom buzzer. Waiting for the usual challenge.
"Frenb or foe?"
She swallowed a giggle at the snotty version of his usual question.
"Friend, William. A friend who brings gibs, sorry, gifts!" She heard some unintelligible mumblings and snfflings, before the door was buzzed open.
"Do you have a cold?"
"Yeb. No. Flu!" His one, stuffed up word was followed by another two loud sneezes. "Dob cub too clobe or you'll cabch ib oo!"
"Don't worry, us women can't catch man-flu!" She paused as he huffed, which made him sneeze. A loud, dad-sneeze. Followed by several sniffings and wipings of his red nose on an already sodden handkerchief. "And, unlike some others, I had my flu jab, William. So I'll be fine. Doubly so! Come on, Mr Lurgies, lets get you back up to bed. I've got some paracetamol here," she raised the carrier bag with the big, dark blue 'Boots' logo on it. "I just need to fetch you some water… and maybe some medicinal whisky too?"
"Yeb pleasss."
"Go on, you get to bed, I won't be long."
"Thab oo."
More snifflings followed him up the creaky stairs. She fussed around the kitchen, emptying out her bag. Placing the medicines to one side and the tubs of fresh chicken broth into the fridge. She knew that he'd grumble at shop bought and not freshly made food. But, as he had pointed out to her, she was no cook. Something that she already knew. She shoved the box of paracetamol into her pocket and took the two glasses of liquids and herself upstairs and into his bedroom. Sitting down on his bed, where he was all snuggled up in his duvet, looking very red of nose and cheeks.
"Poorly ill, William…"
"Es…" he sniffed.
She waited until he had rearranged himself, sitting up, helping him, by fluffing up his pillows and rearranging them behind him.
"Here you go. Water and tablets first. Then you can have some whisky."
"Thab ooo."
A loud sneeze followed the swallowing of the two tablets.
"Hmmm. I'll go and fetch a box of tissues."
Another loud sneeze followed that.
"Maybe two boxes of tissues…"
He sniffed and sighed and she watched as the tall, strong, bright as a button head of MI5 crumpled in upon himself as he lay back down again. Hiding in the pillows and duvet, until just his red, sniffy nose stuck out. Resting on the edge of the duvet. His red eyes were hidden behind their lids and he let out a long, low sigh.
"Poor baby. Poor, ill baby. But don't worry. I'm here…"
"You're heb."
"I'll look after you."
"You'll loob afer meeb."
"You get some sleep now, William."
"You'll stayb?"
"I'll stay."
"Goob."
Another big sigh, as he snuggled down. Smiling and sighing some more, as she stroked his hair. Smoothing down his dishevelled hair so that he didn't look like a baby owl chick, with his short, grey hair all over the place. Making him look more like himself and not like a poor, pathetic wretch, who she could imagine crying out in despair a sad refrain of 'Oh woe is me! I am so poorly and ill. I need to have every single inch of my body kissed better, or I will perish!' to her.
She pre-empted that imaginary wail, by kissing his now neat and tidy hair, his cheeks, his closed eyelids, his furrowed brows and the tip of his nose. She sat there on the edge of the bed, humming whatever tune was today's earworm to him, as she watched his forehead lose its crinkles and cronkles and for his breathing to settle into that of one who slept. She stayed a-while. Listening to the bunged up, congested, loud snorings. Trying not to laugh at the noises, before she crept downstairs to heat up the chicken broth for her poorly patient.