The directions were straightforward. Carol smiled her gratitude and set off towards one of the modern wings. Her normal brisk pace slowed as she neared her destination. By the end she was dawdling, pausing to look at the vibrant abstract paintings that hung on the corridor walls. Outside Chris’s door, she ran a hand through her hair and wished she’d had a large vodka. She clenched the fist of her left hand so tight she could feel her short fingernails digging into her palm. And gently rapped on the door.

A voice that didn’t sound like Chris said, ‘Come in.’

Carol opened the door and stepped across the threshold. She’d barely registered that the figure in one chair was Chris when the woman in the other chair jumped to her feet, a look of welcoming enquiry switching in an instant to one of hostility. ‘I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong room,’ Sinead Burton said, her voice warm and polite, her face the diametric opposite. She held a finger to her lips. ‘Can I show you the way?’ She crossed the room, practically pushing Carol out through the door. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, love,’ she called over her shoulder to Chris, who had turned her head towards them, her face a twisted pink and purple mask. Carol had tried to prepare for it, but still it shook her.

Sinead closed the door firmly behind her and shooed Carol down the hall with her hands. As soon as they were far enough from the door not to be overheard, she started on Carol, her voice tight with suppressed anger. ‘What the hell are you doing here? I thought you had the good sense to stay away. What the hell are you playing at?’

Carol backed away. Her previous encounters with Chris’s partner hadn’t prepared her for this. ‘I wanted to say sorry,’ she stuttered.

‘You wanted to say sorry?’ Sinead’s Irish accent grew more pronounced as her anger rose. ‘You don’t think it might be a wee bit late for that? My wife nearly dies instead of you and it takes you all these weeks and months to get round to saying sorry? Talk about a day late and a dollar short. Jesus.’

Carol felt tears closing her throat. But she knew she had to hold it together. It was obvious that tears would cut no ice with Sinead. ‘I know. Believe me, I know. But I couldn’t handle it.’

Sinead cut straight across her. ‘You couldn’t handle it? What the hell do you think it’s been like for her? The excruciating pain. The loss of her sight. The loss of her face, for God’s sake. Couldn’t handle it? You should have crawled on your hands and knees the day after and begged for her to forgive you.’

‘I’d just lost my brother and sister-in-law,’ Carol said.