‘You’re in Hospital to rest and get better … that’s all … I’m not cross, but you’re wasting energy, and I’m so worried, but you’ll be right as rain in no time … you’re in the right place.’

I grimaced.

‘Ah, here, there’s no need to sulk about it.’

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

‘I’ve been Googling respiratory illnesses,’ he said.

Shit.

‘Do you know it’s a major killer … even more than cancer?’

I’d been Googling too. Animals that freeze or play dead:

LEMON SHARKS PLAY DEAD WHEN FLIPPED ON THEIR BACKS. When faced with imminent death, certain species of duck will play dead. It’s called tonic immobility. Pigs and other farm animals can fall into a trancelike state. Snakes are good actors. The baby brown snake, or Storeria dekayi, will freeze if approached by a menacing predator — or scientist intent on a closer look. And the snakes stay in character, remaining stiff and lifeless even after prodding. (National Geographic)

He apologised for the nails, as the more he painted, the more his hand shook. I reassured him quietly that they had cheered me up – and they had. They were summery, and I accidentally, for the briefest moment, looked forward to the summer for the first time in ages. Then I looked down at my body; black coarse hair sprouted out of my ankles and I remembered again. This was the way it happened, forgetting, remembering.

‘I want to be cremated, OK?’

‘Ah, now, I didn’t really mean that you look that much like death … I just don’t want you to lose any more weight. I was joking. Sorry.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Shit, you don’t have one of those eating disorder things, do you? Where you … you know … puke? Fuck. I never thought, maybe …’

‘No,’ I said, interrupting him sharply.

‘Oh, no … sorry, just Paul’s daughter has one, and well, you’re similar, you know … you fit the …’

‘Fit the?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Fit the what? Go on, you started.’

I gripped my two thumbs with my index fingers, smudging the polish.

‘Fuck, now look what you made me do.’

‘You know, type A, determined like …’

‘Right,’ I said, calming down. This was a compliment.

Wheeze.

‘I want to be cremated.’

‘Fuck, Sinéad. Where did that come from? Jeez, what drugs you on?’

I ignored him, breathing through a huge pressure. ‘Well, no one knows anything, when things can go … wrong … I mean, it’s a conversation we all should have. So I just thought. Like if I were to die suddenly you need to make a hair appointment immediately. I’m a state,’ I said, as I grabbed a fistful of my brassy yellow hair in my hand, ‘especially the roots, and to be honest, if Chloe has time, she should think about toning it too, you know, before laying out my body, they’ll all be gawping in. I’m orange, tone them down, now I’m not fucking joking, if I die, make sure you get them to dye it. It’ll take time, but it’s worth it. Give her three hours to do it, someone should stay with her though, no one likes a client who can’t talk back, otherwise they’ll stay orange, don’t rush it. The medicine has played havoc with my hair, and my nails, Sarah will need to do them, not you … no offence.’ I knew being laid out would mean Gawpers. ‘Oh, and don’t forget a tip, I usually give a fiver, but you know, this is different circumstances, so, well, I’ll leave it up to your discretion.’ Round our way, they love if you’re laid out at home and they get a cup of tea. They clatter the cup off things to show their presence, and walk upstairs and have a good look around your house, check if you’re wearing a wig, or if the corpse has glasses on. My granny was laid out with ridiculous frozen-ice-blue eyeshadow, and she looked like Ivana Trump and not at all like herself.