Wait, I’ve got an idea.” Her face brightens. “You print me out the words of all the carols and I can relearn them by Christmas.” “Of course. Good idea. I’ll give you a printout,” says Nick. He’ll give her the printout he’s already given her and that she’s discarded in frustration three times now, sitting up in her hospital bed, wailing, “I can’t learn these sodding carols!”
