You’ll have to ask Dr Nguyen when she comes in. We like to get the tracheo out ASAP, get them talking, but …

Avril is still looking at her, expectantly.

Cooper’s inhalation burns, they’re severe. Could be a while yet. She flicks over a page on the chart. Are you staying round tonight?

Avril nods.

You’ll catch Dr Nguyen, then. But for now, go get some coffee, both of you. Please. He’s asleep.

How can you tell the difference between twilight and sleep? Laura asks.

Martine pulls off her gloves and smiles sadly. They always sleep after being given their meds.

~

Laura puts the cardboard tray on the table: two polystyrene cups of frothy coffee and two plastic-wrapped sandwiches.

Egg salad. Salad salad.

Avril pulls a face. You’re determined to improve my diet, aren’t you.

She passes over one of the cups. I’ll tell you what I’m determined to do: make you go home.

Not tonight. I want to be with Coop.

Of course you do. She takes a sip of coffee. Predictably bad. But tomorrow, Avril, when I come back, you’re going home. You’re going to sleep in your own bed, eat some decent food, wash your hair, phone Pascale, get yourself back on track. OK?

Avril shrugs. Then surprises Laura with a resigned OK.

After a silence, Avril asks, Have you read your grandmother’s last book?

No, my eyes … A gesture of frustration. But tonight.

I finished the second one … A long pause.

The little boy?

Um, yes. And … and what happened to Kitta. She turns away.

Laura puts her sandwich down. Avril?

But Avril is running the sleeve of her shirt across her eyes. When she turns back, she speaks to the floor. And what it did to Meggie. God, when you can’t help someone you love. When you fail them.

Laura studies her daughter-in-law’s pale face, the lids of her eyes pink and shiny. And then Avril does one of those about-turns typical of people under stress.

But Meggie, she makes me laugh too. You know? Some of those words she uses, and the way she slips in and out of them. Did she used to talk like that?

She did, actually. ‘Canna’ this and ‘canna’ that. She always had a strong accent, though I suppose it must have been even stronger when she first arrived. I remember how cross she used to get when people asked her to repeat herself. ‘Laik I’m talkin’ in anither tongue!’

A smile from Avril.

But when I think about it now … how ironic.

What do you mean?

Well, Grunnie was someone who loved reading, loved poetry. She found such pleasure in language. But language tied her to people she apparently never forgave, a place she tried for a lifetime to leave behind.