Ron checked his watch, another old habit. If anyone tyrannised Ronald Grimes, it was Father Time. For his whole life, whenever he needed to go somewhere, he was agitated about being late. As soon as he arrived, he began to fret about getting away to the next thing. In what sliver between arrival and departure, Gordon wondered, had Ronald Grimes ever found release from the clock?

‘Why do you keep checking the time?’ Gordon asked.

‘Drinks at four.’

‘Drinks?’

‘They bring a trolley. Scotch, wine, beer. You’re allowed one. Well,’ Ron chortled, ‘I am.’

On cue, a drinks trolley nudged Gordon out of the commode. A man whose name tag said Nick poured a nip of whisky into a plastic cup and bore it on a tray to Ron.

‘Oh, that’s good. Bugger!’ Ron began the laborious process of levering himself out of his chair, which was holding on to him like a deep-sea squid. ‘Highlight of my day, but I get so excited, the thought of that first sip gets me going.’

Ron shuffled towards the bathroom, taking a detour to reclaim his commode. Frontal rose to help, but Ron brushed him off with a rude familiarity that unnerved Gordon.

‘You talk sense into him,’ Ron said to Frontal.

‘About?’

‘About calling the JPA, what else? He doesn’t even have to do any training—they’re desperate!’

After Ron had nearly yanked himself off his feet sliding the bathroom door shut, Frontal regarded Gordon with silent satisfaction. People used to say you couldn’t trust a man with a beard. Gordon had no issues with beards—how could you, these days?—but he could never trust a man who trimmed his beard with slide-rule accuracy, a precise line around the cheeks and under the jaw, the moustache equally maintained. Wasn’t the whole point of a beard to dispense with shaving? Why would anyone grow a beard and shave every day?

Jada appeared at the door and shared some small talk with Frontal. When she left, Frontal explained: ‘Overseeing nursing homes takes up a surprising amount of council time. You’d be stunned,’ he added, placing a characteristically high estimation on Gordon’s emotional investment in how Frontal spent his time.

The conversation was interrupted by a volley of swearing from the bathroom. Ron was either dying or having difficulties.

‘You okay in there, Mr Grimes?’ Frontal asked.

‘Fuck off!’