And though it’s obvious, that even as we toasted our relationship he wasn’t quite present, it still hurts. I still hurt. And I don’t think I want to anymore.

Chapter Fourteen

RHYS

‘I’m back, as promised, and I brought you something,’ I say to Susan, offering up the flowery notebook it took me forty-five minutes to decide on. Most of that time was actually spent trying to work out if this was even a good idea, I suppose because part of me now accepts this isn’t about her. This is one hundred per cent about me, trying to get close to someone who can answer the questions I’ve now worked out how to articulate. What prompts someone to opt out? What makes someone give up? Why can’t those who love you make you feel it’s worthwhile keeping on? Why can’t you see what’s good in life? Is it selfish or strong to want to end things? How do you stop it happening? In the end, I just shut my eyes and picked one off the shelf. The design was irrelevant; the potential contents were not. I lift it a little higher, urging her to reach out. ‘It was this or one that looked like an old-fashioned book. Or something with owls. Anyway, I hope you like it.’

She doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you could draw or something. I don’t even know if you can draw. Can you?’ I open it up, click the matching pen and scribble a terrible pig. I look at it for a second then add the word ‘Oink’ in a speech bubble above its head, just for added clarification. ‘I’m better with pipes,’ I say, passing it to her. ‘If you can’t draw, maybe you could write in it. Poetry? A short story?’ she looks blankly at the pad. ‘A shopping list, maybe? I could pop out and get some bits and pieces for you.’

I rub my hand through my hair. Susan shifts to look at me. It’s the first time since I arrived today that we’ve actually met each other’s eye.

‘Susan.’ A guy in a white coat, with both stethoscope and ego, approaches her bed. ‘Oh, you have a visitor.’ He checks his watch and I look at my own: 3.30 p.m.

‘I’m Rhys.’ I stand, offering my hand for him to shake.

‘Rhys, yes. I didn’t recognise you without the chainmail.’ I stare and he stiffens. ‘And the white horse?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Knight. In shining armour. I’ve heard all about your visits.’

There’s a beat. A pause as we eye each other up. Or maybe that’s just me eyeing up him, trying to work out if he’s friend or foe. To me or Susan. Not that it matters. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘Sister Davies told me everything.’ He rolls the sleeves on his arms, wiping his brow. ‘I’m Susan’s consultant, Mark. Hi.’ He finally shakes my still outstretched hand.

‘Shall I go?’ I ask her. Though she doesn’t answer, she does slowly reach for pad and pen. Perhaps I’ll stay.