Grabbing his phone, he opened the front gate, the black, wooden entrance opening automatically. Having forgotten his keys this morning, he mused about how useful technology was and how inconvenient the world would be without it.
He entered the driveway and front garden, the gate closing behind him. The usual sight greeted him, except the small pond filled with water lilies was utterly frozen. All the evergreen foliage kept it looking alive rather than completely dead like the university grounds.
Moving up to the door, he opened a plastic case that covered a smoothened indent, placing his thumb and unlocking the door with a click. Entering the house and closing the door, he stumbled slightly, grabbing the stair post for support, his body wobbling for a time before subsiding.
His eyes widened, ' Fuck. I don't think I've ever been this bad. Oh shit, I hope it's not one of those superbugs or killer diseases. Just my luck to die to one after Hakeem mentioned them.'
"Are you ok, Mark?" Amelia shouted from the kitchen, "You're taking a while to come through? Don't you want your tea and paracetamols?"
Gaining strength, he pushed himself through the dining room and past the archway into the kitchen, greeted by a mortified Amelia.
"Jesus, Mark! You... look like shit; you looked fine this morning. It's not very often you get sick, either." She sighed, "Unfortunately, we only have two painkillers left, so you'll have to make do with that and the tea."
"You're joking." He complained, taking a breath, "I think... I just need to rest. Some shut-eye will do fine. I've got a footy game tonight, too. Don't wanna let the boys down, so I suppose they'll have to do."
He grabbed the two tablets, throwing them into his mouth as he took a sip of the herbal tea. Massaging his forehead, the throbbing like a hammer smashing a nail into his head, he remembered Mr Turner.
"I actually just helped and spoke with our neighbour, Mr Turner."
"Oh? Mr Turner? I've been meaning to pop round sometime with your father. He did a lot for us - your father and I - when we first got together. A lovely man." She regrettably sighed, "He must be so lonely since his wife died. Now that you've mentioned it, I'll go over in a few hours."
"Well, that's what he wanted me to ask. He said that I should tell you guys to go round and visit at some point. If I remember right, dad had a few beers during the summer, watching the Euros."
Her eyes lit up, a big smile plastered on her face, "Is that so? In that case, I'll try to visit before I pick up Alice later with Frank. And you're right about the Euros; they were... loud. Is he still all well? He's not still smoking is he?"
Taking a sip from the tea, Mark sat down and leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes and resting.
"I didn't see him smoke one, but from the way he joked about being alive after all the cigs, he's ever smoked... I doubt he's quit. Couldn't smell it on him, so honestly, I'm not sure.
"Always the same." Amelia tutted, "He is too stubborn for his own good. It is a miracle he's still alive after all these years. I-"
"I forgot, but he did mention he had a throat infection." Mark interrupted, apologetically smiling, "It's a bit dark to say it... but it could be downhill from here."
"Wow. That was a bit dark, Mark. He'll probably be fine?. And a throat infection, you say? Is he sure it isn't cancer? Has he gone and checked at the doctor's? I do worry for him; it's like he doesn't care about his own health and well-being."
"Are you sure you're not being, I don't know... a bit too pessimistic?"
"Nonsense!" She playfully snapped, "If you are pessimistic, you expect the worst in everything, so you are never let down. Then, when something good happens, you are ecstatic."
"Mhm. You've said this before. I vividly remember it."
"Exactly!" Amelia spoke, enthused, "It's a good way of thinking. Anyways, we sidetracked. I'll speak to him about it when I visit. And, considering you still look like death, once you've finished the tea, just leave the mug on the table, and I'll plop it in the dishwasher. Go and get some rest."
Finishing his tea, naively hoping for instant relieving results, yet disappointed when it never came, he walked upstairs, downcast. His steps were slumberous and dragged, as if weighed down by the Devil's sins before reaching his door. He opened it and entered, the familiar warmth and comfort of his room greeting him. Everything was clean and recently dusted; clearly, Amelia's doing.
'Wow. She really never rests when she's home.'
Despite his room being turned upside down to be cleaned, almost to the point of sterility, decimating the local germs by the trillions, it still felt the same. A comely room, nice enough to meet Mark's relatively low specifications. Grabbing a remote, he switched on the forty-two-inch television, sound and light blaring into the darkened room.
He turned it on and switched it to a background volume, acceptable for his headache as he flipped from channel to channel to see what was on. With nothing interesting, he decided to listen to a twenty-four-seven news channel. He occasionally did this, helping him get to sleep, unsure whether it was a placebo.
"Tensions are rising between the State of Aaban and Afghanistan recently, with what has been described by local authorities as an orchestrated attack by freedom fighters in Central Afghanistan. Unconfirmed reports have stated these fighters have demanded the capitulation of the nation to Aaban, lending credence to the state being involved. What can be confirmed, however, is the casualties. One hundred and five dead, including thirteen children - some as young as three - with over 500 wounded in this most recent bombing. This is now the fourt-"
'Terrible.' Mark thought, his eyes closed and his face on his pillow, 'Thirteen children's lives snuffed out, just like that. Some of them are younger than Alice, crazy! At least this stuff happens there than here.'
He spent a while getting comfortable and set an alarm for six in the evening, just in case. It was a decent amount of sleep, only barely under seven hours. Longer than a nap, he hoped he would wake up refreshed and at least feeling better than he did now. If his head didn't hurt even half as much as it did, currently, he was certain he could play. It also didn't help he really wanted to have some time with Elise after the game either. Additionally, Elise also wanted to see Alice, and he would feel bad if he didn't go. She did tend to spoil the girl, but then, who didn't? Who could resist a cute five-year-old? Thinking this, Mark slowly found himself drifting into a peaceful sleep, completely forgetting he may find himself in his usual lucid dream.