Night Shift – Part 2: Saturday in Town

The café on Dame Street was bright and crowded, with mismatched chairs and a window that looked out on the river. The coffee was terrible. Kwame drank his black, grimaced, and drank it again.

"Told you," said Aoife, laughing.

"I'm honouring our tradition," said Kwame. "Bitter, and then something sweet."

He took a bite of the lemon cake she had ordered for both of them. Then he looked at her across the table with a seriousness that made her heart skip.

"I haven't slept properly since Tuesday," he said. "But I've never been so awake."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's a confession," said Kwame, and smiled.

They walked afterwards along the quays, the river grey and wide, the gulls wheeling over the water. Aoife told him about her childhood in Galway, the summers at her grandmother's farm, and the boy she had loved at fifteen who had moved to Australia and never written back. Kwame told her about growing up in Kumasi, the long walks to school, and the moment he knew he wanted to be a doctor: when his little sister had broken her arm and he had held her hand while the nurse set it.

"You held her hand," said Aoife softly.

"I was terrified," said Kwame. "But she wasn't. She said I was brave, and I believed her."

"You are brave."

"I'm tired," he said, with a rueful grin. "Bravery is for people who've slept."

They stopped at a bench by the water. The sun came out, catching the ripples on the river in silver.

"Can I ask you something?" Aoife said.

"Yes."

"What do you want? Not from the ward. From us."

Kwame was quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands.

"I want to take you to dinner properly," he said. "Then maybe to the cinema, and fall asleep halfway through a film, and you'll tease me about it for a year. And I want to be honest with you when I'm too tired to be charming."

"That sounds like a good life."

"It sounds like a good start," said Kwame. "What do you want?"

Aoife looked at him, the sun on his face, the lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the steady kindness in his voice.

"I want to stop being the nurse who makes the tea," she said softly. "And start being someone you look forward to seeing on the other side of a shift. Someone who doesn't need to be useful all the time."

"You're already that person," said Kwame.

"Then kiss me," said Aoife, "before the gulls start giving us a bad review."

He laughed, and then he leaned in, slowly, asking with his eyes first. She nodded, and he kissed her, warm and unhurried, the taste of lemon cake and bitter coffee on his lips. Her hand found his, and they stayed like that on the bench while the river sparkled and the city went about its Saturday.

"Green?" he asked, when they parted.

"Green," said Aoife, breathless and smiling. "Very green. Now buy me a proper coffee, and promise you'll sleep tonight."

"I promise," said Kwame. "But only if you sleep too."

"Deal," she said, and they walked on along the river, side by side, with nothing to page them.