Maybe Lou’s right. Maybe I should get out there. See people. Maybe it will help. Maybe I should have gone on that date with Mark, or whatever it was. Or Rhys – he’s attractive. Maybe he’s single. Not that that is any more appropriate than dating a consultant.

Maybe I should download Tinder…

Maybe not.

My pad sits to my left, Rhys’s mobile number surrounded by the badly drawn procrastination. Too late to call? Or text, maybe? Slightly scared by my train of thought, I rip the page from the pad, screw it up and throw it in the rough direction of the bin, missing. Work. That’s what I’ll concentrate on. Work. And Susan. I get up and head into the bathroom. I stare at the reflection. The glasses. The hair. I google Nana Mouskouri, vowing to go back to my contacts from tomorrow.

Gripping my fringe back makes me look more like I did before the crisis kicked in. Maybe I’ll drop that box up to Daniel’s mum’s. Just in case…

Chapter Twelve

RHYS

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Pick up some flowers and a few bits and bobs. Take them over to the hospital to show Susan that someone cares. That she isn’t alone. Use the opportunity to sit for a while and chat, see if maybe I can get her to open up.

Except, as each floor number shines bright in the lift, a niggle forms in the back of my head. As the doors open I begin to acknowledge that this isn’t entirely an act of altruism. Or whatever that word is. I walk towards the ward. I’m being selfish. I felt compelled to come, like I needed to see her again, but this is less about doing something nice and more about satisfying something deep inside of me that says don’t walk away.

A nurse holds open the door on her way out. I pause, considering what Mum said. Susan’s not my responsibility. You can’t save those who don’t want to be saved. But before I can turn around to leave, she is wheeled back through the ward and she sees me standing there, flowers in hand. Being helped back into bed, she shifts her body, trying to sit up as I walk towards her. There’s a look on her face, a knowing look, and whatever my motives for being here, it actually feels like it’s right. Besides, maybe you can save people.

‘Good morning,’ I say, aware the nerves are dissolving. The questions I have are quieter, more muted.

‘Hi,’ says the nurse tending to her.

‘I brought Susan a few bits and bobs.’ I offer up the bag of stuff by way of justification.

‘Are you up to visitors, Susan?’ she asks. I’m almost certain the corners of Susan’s mouth hint at a smile. Or perhaps I just want them to.

‘Okay. Lovely.’ The nurse turns to me. ‘Just, go steady. She tires very quickly at the moment.’

‘Of course.’ I nod and take a seat beside her. She’s had her hair washed. Fine silver strands fall across the bruising, which is beginning to morph from red and purple to orange and yellow. ‘Your face looks autumnal,’ I joke. She moves her hand up to gently touch her cheek, pushing the hair away. ‘You’re looking great,’ I try to reassure her. ‘I hope you don’t mind me dropping by again. I was passing on my way to a job and thought you could do with a few things, assuming you haven’t had any other visitors who’ve beaten me to it.’ I look around for signs that I’m not required, aware of an odd relief when I see nothing. ‘So, how are you today? Have you been practising your dance moves for when you get out?’