I could feel cold salty water up my legs, stinging me.

Grabbing the laptop, I took myself up and out of my bed and I climbed on top of Shane’s rubber mattress and closed the curtains around me. I lay back. Trying to imagine lying completely still. All. Of. The. Time. Shane’s view, as near as it was to me, was so different. I clicked open the Word document.

Suggestions for My Wi-Fi Interceptor

Fuck.

Morto.

He had left me a kind of mix-tape, with links. Jesus.

1. Exit Music for a Film – Radiohead (OK Computer)

2. Gavin and Stacey Christmas Special

3. Sylvia Plath reads Daddy – YouTube

4. Links to Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (For your kids)

5. Iron and Wine – Upward Over the Mountain (Early stuff’s the best)

Really sorry we didn’t chat or get to know each other better.

But happy to share my Wi-Fi. And here, have a bigger screen. That phone will screw up your eyes, at least that’s what my mam used to say.

All very best, Shane x

Fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck.

I bawled.

Chapter 17

For some hours, like with a text from a lover, I stimmed on the list.

Michaela Sherlock skittered onto the Ward, howling gently, face white with mottled red spots.

‘Mammy, Mauuuummmmmy.’

Margaret Rose tried to move quickly, but she hadn’t time to close across the curtains without making a scene. ‘Sssshhhhh, ssshhhhh, Jesus, will you get a grip of yourself, Mic … Mic … ssshhhhnow, Christ, get a grip of yourself. Stop this now. This is no way to be behaving in a place … like this.’

‘Nick’s with that Bernie wan, Mammmmy,’ she screamed, breathless.

‘Yes … yeah, I know. Did ya run the whole ways here?’

Michaela nodded.

‘You knows about it? Why ja not tells us?’

‘Why? Why would I tell you that? Would it have been a nice thing to do?’

‘Nice?’ Michaela said and threw her hands up in the air.

‘Well, would it have helped you? Yar sister? No. So why? So why should I have gone and burdened ya both?’

‘Well, just, it’s a shock is all …’ Michaela looked softer at her mother.

‘Look, Mic, ya have ta remember … yar father made his own choices, and now Nick’s making them too. That’s life, love, and to be honest, I have nothing ta add. Ya canny make choices far others, ya can only control yarself.’

‘What?’ Michaela exclaimed, thinking on her mother’s words.

‘We can only wait. And hope she’ll see sense.’

‘I know, Mammy, but I’m so filled up with worry now.’

‘Don’na worry … see yar worrying now because ya know … look … Nick’ll be back. She loves ya too much … but you badly need to rub some cold water on yar face, and tidy yarself up …’ Margaret Rose urged her daughter towards composure as her own face danced with rage.

‘Are ya all right, Mammy? Yar gone awful red?’