But it was the quietness. There was something beautiful about the quiet stillness of the hospice. And the low lights. And the silent patients. Everyone waiting for the inevitable.

It was the end of the day. Birdie was alone and the woman was dozing and waiting for her daughter to come with chips. Gussie was sleeping and the place was lovely and quiet and still, and the ward was full of curtains and they all moved gently in the breeze. A draught that came from the open door at the far end.

That’s how it was. Lovely. And alone. And Gussie. And the beautiful woman and the chips-daughter in the low light. And everyone waiting. And Birdie alone.

Birdie was staring at the curtains and thinking how like the rhythm of the sea they are. How like the waves of the sea they are, billowing lightly in the blue breeze. And suddenly she saw him. He came from behind a curtain at the far end of the ward. From an empty cubicle. There was no one in there. Just an empty bed. She knew that.

And there was no bedside lamp glowing inside those curtains. But the curtains moved. And opened. And she saw him there, standing still and waiting and gazing right at her. Neither hard nor soft. Neither angry nor kind. And she was not afraid of him any more.

Wasn’t she blessed to be alive? That’s what Birdie was thinking. Wasn’t she blessed to be able to sit up in a chair, as her comatose son struggled to breathe on one side of her, and the beautiful daughter on the other side tried to land drops of fizzy orange onto her beautiful mother’s tongue.

And it was almost over. The end felt near. Close. And the night seemed pure.

That’s all she could say to describe it. The night was pure. The universe suddenly seemed very simple. And the man behind the curtain was not going to harm her again.

She cried. It was a moment she could not explain to anyone. Not even the Vet.

From then on there was luminosity and stillness in the dying body, which even the priest remarked on when he’d visit.

‘Isn’t he very peaceful?’ says the comical priest.

Yes, Father.

And the nurses got everyone to hold Gussie and rub his feet and his legs, and his arms and his chest, and his belly and the cheeks of his face. So much touching!

It should have ended there, but it didn’t.

BIRDIE

1

BIRDIE DECIDED to go to Dublin. It was Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? Well, it was the day before the snow.

It had been threatening all week, although the slanting November sun was blinding her eyes at the railway station. And the train pulled off under a pure blue sky.

She could hardly see out the window with the sun that day.

Cheerful is how Birdie described her condition. At the ticket office. Showing her free pass. Cheerful.