Stevie: How’re you doing, sweetheart?

Ridley: I’m...ummm...I don’t know. I don’t know. 

Stevie: We’re here for you, okay?

THREE DAYS LATER

Dr Roberts: Mrs Fryres? 

Stevie: Yes, Doctor?

Alistair: Is everything alright?

Stevie: Your father and I thought we’d leave you and Orwell alone for an hour or so...is that alright?

Ridley: Of course.

Stevie: Do you want anything?

Ridley: No...thanks, Mum. I’m okay.

Stevie: You’re sure?

Ridley: Really...it’s okay. Maybe you could bring Orwell some of his colouring pens and some paper? It’s not going to be much fun for him here.

Orwell: Umm...well...I...

Alistair: It’s okay, go on.

Orwell: I painted you a picture.

Ridley: You did?

Orwell: Uh-huh...it’s not very good though.

Stevie: Of course it is, don’t be silly.

Ridley: That’s very kind of you.

Orwell: It’s at home. Grandpa said I couldn’t bring it...it wouldn’t fit in my bag.

Stevie: Is he...alright?

Dr Roberts: Well, from the outside there seem to be no injuries of any kind. It’s quite remarkable, to tell you the truth. The crash he was in...well...

Stevie: I know...

Dr Roberts: We’re going to keep him in for a few days to monitor him, just make sure everything is as it seems.

Stevie: Okay. And his husband? What about Mason?

Orwell: I want to see him.

Stevie: They’ll let us in in a minute...

Orwell: No...Dad...Mason.

Stevie: Oh. I see. Well, Sweetheart...I’m sure you’ll get to see him soon.

Orwell: How soon?

Stevie: I would like to see my son now, please.