After a few seconds, he says, “The trouble is that the detached retina is in my good eye. The right one. My left is very long-sighted and blurred normally so I usually wear contact lenses to correct it. Without my right eye, I’ll be as good as blind anyway.”

“I don’t understand.” Endof whines, pushing his head into my leg. I pet him gently, still staring at Laurie.

He sighs. “The operation isn’t a hundred percent guarantee of success. It may damage my good eye irreparably, and then I’ll be blind.”

“But it’s worth trying,” I say passionately. “You’ll lose your sight anyway if you don’t have the procedure. You’re an artist. Don’t you want to take that chance?” He’s not making sense to me, but I’m not sure how to get through to him.

“Take a chance on an operation that has gone wrong before,” he says hotly. “What if I have the operation and end up being one of the ‘failure’ statistics? Then I go blind, Mags? Maybe I shouldn’t take that chance. Maybe this is as bad as my eyes will get?”

“This is bad, though,” I say, gesturing at him. “You suffer from constant headaches. Your balance is starting to become affected. You’re in pain all the time. How is that better than taking a chance?”

“Because if the operation fails, I will lose everything,” he shouts. For a few moments, the only sound is the sawing of our breaths. “And what am I without my art, Mags? Tell me that? What use am I?” he says bitterly.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” I growl. “You’re everything, Laurie. You’re funny and clever and kind. You’re like sunshine to be with, and only a tiny portion of that is connected with your art. Without your art, you’re still you. Laurie. And he is a man worth knowing.”

A spark kindles in his expression, but then he turns away, killing any light. “And what if the worst happens, Mags? What do I do then? I’ll be an unemployable blind man. Hardly a good prospect.” His voice is precise and cold. The voice of a man who is not reachable. A man who is his own island again.

“You’ll always be a good prospect,” I say stiffly.

“I’ll be alone and blind with nothing,” he says with a quiet emphasis dulled by hopelessness.

“You will never be alone. I’m here—”

He interrupts me with a harsh laugh.

My heart starts to pound heavily. “What’s so funny?” I ask slowly.

“Mags, what are you actually saying here? That you’ll be with me? You?” His tone is filled with disdain.

I rub my chest, feeling like he’s just punched me. But I persevere. “Yes, me. You have me.”

“For how long?” He gives a humourless laugh. “I’ll tell you, shall I?”