I bite at my cheeks; my heart rate quickens.

If I knew her better, properly, I’d pull her face towards me and search out a response to what I’ve just said. I’d ask her how that makes her feel. I’d ask her if she just tried to do the same. I’d ask her why.

But there’s a breath of air across my face and I don’t.

I look around her bed. A change of mood is needed. ‘Do you want anything?’ I ask. ‘A drink? Your cup’s here, and some water. Shall I…?’

Susan reaches out for her cup, eyes pinned on mine.

‘Here.’ I pour, pass, then watch as she sips, grimaces and returns it straight away. ‘What? What’s up?’ I sniff, then take a sip myself. Stagnant water coats my throat, and I fight back a cough as I swallow. ‘Jesus, how long’s this been here? You can’t drink that. Just a minute.’ I escape her bedside, pulling the curtains behind me. My legs feel weak; my lungs empty of air. I take a deep breath to renew my strength before heading off in search of water.

Kat is in the corridor, deep in conversation with one of her colleagues. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Erm, Susan, she needs a drink.’

‘She what?’ she says, distractedly.

‘Susan. She wants a drink.’ I signal in her direction; the water slaps in the jug and I just manage to steady it before any spills. ‘This water, it’s a bit…’ I pull a face. ‘Rank. Where would I get fresh?’

Kat looks confused. ‘Did she actually ask you for a drink? Did Susan speak?’

‘Well, no, but…’

Kat awaits further explanation. ‘You left us alone, so I was just trying to make small talk. I offered her a drink. She had some, but this water’s been there too long,’ I say, raising my eyebrows accusingly.

‘Right, well, great, that’s… The water cooler is in the kitchen.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll be back with you both in a moment.’ She turns back to her colleague, giving instructions for the patient who took a tumble.

‘Sorry,’ I say, practically doffing a non-existent cap as I catch her eye again. ‘Where’s the kitchen?’

‘It’s just there.’ I follow Kat’s very slow line of sight to the closed door right beside us. Unmissable letters on a sign make up the word ‘KITCHEN’.

‘Oh yeah,’ I say, pointing. ‘Kitchen.’

I push through the heavy door, letting it swing shut behind me. There’s an open window at the end of the room. I lean over the worktop to hang my head out of it and wonder how long I could hide here for. And then maybe escape. Shin down the drainpipe. I glance down the seven or eight floors to the ground… Maybe not.