‘Ah, fuck off, crazy woman,’ he said, laughing nervously. ‘Who’s going to highlight your hair when you’re dead? That’s really sick, you know, you shouldn’t be talking like that, it’s dangerous … What’s with all these insane requests?’

‘Look, just make sure it’s a cremation and make sure not to allow any of those knob-ends I know and hate, near the place.’ I had to say it, I was afraid now, and it was all coming out arse-ways, but if I threw it into the air, he’d have to remember some of it. ‘It’s just, I don’t want everyone looking at me.’

‘Sure, y’know … I’ll send invites, will I?’ he laughed. ‘Are you sure you’re eating? Promise.’

‘Yes … invites, invites are a great idea. Yeah, of course I’m eating, it’s just the drugs for my chest, and they knock stones off you.’

‘Christ,’ he said, and thrust his head forward into his hands. He began pressing his index fingers into both dry temples, two dots of red nail varnish on his thumb. ‘Ah, here, Sinéad, no one sends fucken invites to a funeral, they’ll think you’re a diva. This hospital is playing with your head.’

‘I’ll be dead, I don’t give a toss what they think.’

‘I do … I do care about you. About it. Jesus, can we stop this morbid conversation. Is it him?’ He nodded over at Shane.

‘Maybe. Yes. It’s so intense, you know, just watching him. And no fucken prayers, I’ve had enough prayers in here, none, nothing … I’ll come back and haunt you, I mean it.’

‘I’ve no doubt you’ll do that anyway.’

He began laughing hard now.

‘I love you,’ I said, desperate. ‘I do, you know … love you so much.’

God, it was awkward.

He tapped his fingers off the nightstand and looked upwards and then he bit his lip. I tried to appreciate this was coming out of nowhere. I rubbed his hand, to settle him, and connect. We were never heavy on public displays of affection.

‘This isn’t like you. You sure you’re OK? There’s nothing you’re not telling me?’ he said, and he thrust the arm away, blowing hard out through his nostrils.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, just so run down.’ I paused, ‘I do really love you, look, fuck it, I need you to hear this …’ You can’t even block out hearing things. And if you do, some part of you will remember, like a twitchy leg or an itchy nose.

They say drowning is awful.

I tried to tell him.

I think I’m drowning.

I am. I’m drowning.

Save me.

First my eyes watered, then a most ferocious throbbing at the back of my head, under my arms stung, my windpipe closed in like a lump of toffee had jammed in it, and my nose worked but it was a pinhole and trying to take in the air as I desired, well, the nostrils couldn’t do it. The pressure was tremendous.

Alex rang the bell quickly and roared out. I hadn’t seen urgency like this since he split me up from the swans. The pressure was getting worse. Ten. Pain. 10. All over. Pressure.