In the corner of the Ward, under the bright German bulbs, Margaret Rose began washing her hands like the plastic noticeboards told her. She scrubbed up to her elbows and linked her hands and scrubbed under her fingernails, using her elbow to turn off the silver tap lever, and dried off with paper towels. Jane stood behind her, crying now, and so Margaret Rose removed Jane’s fingerless gloves and followed the same procedure on her with determined vigilance. Then she combed Jane’s hair and Jane went out on the corridor to see if the bus driver had arrived, immediately forgetting why she was out there, returning promptly to ask.

Margaret Rose began the prayers. Our Father Who Art. As many decades as she could. All the mysteries.

Our Father Who Art in Heaven (once).

Hail Mary Full of Grace (times ten).

Glory Be to the Father (once).

Repeat.

I would not die in here. Not a chance. I would decide my death date. I’d put a hefty bet with a Chinese bookie.

And to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning. Is now. And ever shall be.

That evening, I went mad with Google. I’d tire myself out in the great vantablack hole of it. Letting Go. The Acceptance Gap. Seek Safety. Death is always a surprise. The amount of sugar in a custard cream. If someone dies right beside you, do you feel it? The average IQ of a nurse. The average IQ of a student nurse. Why do nurses wear watches on their tops? The amount of sugar in soda bread. Ordering apple drops online. What lighting a match would do to an oxygen machine. Hiding tattoos for your wake. Best make-up. How did Yorick die? Gravediggers. Do they really jump down on graves? Saved by the bell? How many? When? Is it a good idea to place a bell in a coffin? The weight of the soul.

Amen.

*

Shane lasted through Monday night. In silence. The vigil holders had left, but had promised to return early on Tuesday morning.

Hegs had a restless night tossing and turning until the early hours. So by morning, they goosed him up out of his bed coaxing him all the while, then they sponged him down with a big yellow sponge you’d use to wash a minivan and dried him with Shane’s large Liverpool FC soccer towel. You’ll Never Walk Alone. Walk On. Walk On. With Hope. They took his blood pressure five times until they swapped machines and took it one last time, dismayed at the numbers.

Jane, with a face of etched concern, began searching for a minor charm for Hegs also, not of the magnificent mitten power, but something, a miraculous medal maybe, and after some success she perched a plastic glow-in-the-dark cheruby thing at the end of his bed. It had pretty yellow buttocks, polished and bare, and its wings were outstretched and out of proportion like Batman on the top of a Gotham building.