History. Not a problem.’

‘I’m sorry. He seemed OK. You all right?’

‘I’m better than all right. So, I saved your life, did I? That makes us even.’

I hadn’t even known about Megan until my wife Cyn was dying and told me about her. Cyn was pregnant when we split and put the child out for adoption without telling me. Fair enough-back then I would’ve been the world’s worst parent. Megan had tracked Cyn down when she was close to the end. She was keeping bad company and I took her clear of that. I hadn’t exactly saved her life, but I’d stayed in her corner ever since. So we’d each been there for the other, and the feeling was good.

‘The thing is, what’s to be done with you? What’s the drill?’

‘They’ll keep me hooked up like this for a while, they say, checking on the ticker and other things. Then they’ll get me moving. A week at the most in the hospital and then out.’

‘Jeez, that’s quick. What’ll you do then?’

‘First thing-have a decent meal and a drink.’

‘I’d have guessed that. Then what?’

‘I don’t think I’m supposed to fly for a bit. I like this place from what I’ve seen of it, and I have to stay in touch with the doctors and the physios for a while. How long can you stay?’

She shrugged. ‘A week, I guess, ten days.’

Megan and I never pressed each other for details.

‘Maybe you could line me up a furnished flat to rent for a month. Somewhere near the beach. Use it yourself to start with.’

I told her where my cash card was and the PIN. She gathered her bag and the discarded jacket and vest. ‘I’ll get right on it. Anything you want now?’

‘A Sydney paper.’

I walked the corridors, did the exercises, took the medications.

Progressively, drains, canulas and the heart monitor were removed. They x-rayed and ultrasounded me and pronounced me fit to leave the hospital.