Milly spoke next, her voice trembling like it always did when she was upset and trying not to show it. ‘She’s barely recovered from the bleed and the sickness. She’s lost so much confidence.’

There was a rustling, somebody moving, and I imagined Scarlett closing in on Milly to offer a gesture of support. A squeezed shoulder. Maybe a hug. ‘You’re an amazing friend,’ Scarlett said, ‘but she won’t want to hear it. He’s got her completely brainwashed. She doesn’t sneeze these days without his permission.’

‘It’s hard to look at,’ said Milly. ‘It’s hard to be around her right now.’

Milly. That was my Milly. Saying those things of me. Feeling that about me.

‘Joanne keeps saying she thinks he’s charming,’ Scarlett said. ‘She thinks Holly’s lucky he’s so protective, that she doesn’t appreciate him, doesn’t deserve him.’

Milly mumbled something. I played it again and again, but it was impossible to hear it clearly, so I let the recording run forward. ‘Did the healthcare assistant make a formal complaint?’ Milly asked.

‘Yep. Said he pressed up against her.’ It was Scarlett’s voice again. ‘Said he made comments about her breasts.’

Milly groaned. ‘What exactly did he say?’

‘That they were ripe,’ Scarlett said.

‘Please excuse me while I puke,’ Milly said.

As my heart sped up, listening, my baby seemed to wake up too, and it was the strangest co-existence I had ever known of despair and pure joy. I hit pause for a minute, to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Then I steeled myself and pressed play again.

Scarlett went on. ‘He denied it, of course – it was her word against his. They moved her to Care for the Elderly.’

Milly sighed. It was a sigh I knew well, and one that she got from Peggy, who used it when the state of the world made her sorrowful. ‘Don’t you love it? He harasses her and she’s the one who has to move.’

‘I’m so sorry for Holly,’ Scarlett said.

The last few seconds of the recording were the creak of the door and my own footsteps as I hurried away, stunned by the expression on Milly’s red face.

Now
Persistence

Two years and one month later

Bath, Wednesday, 3 April 2019

After the events of yesterday and that grand finale of a late-night visit to my grandmother, I need the stress relief of this morning’s trip to the gym more than ever. My heart rate is a steady 135 beats per minute. The speed of the treadmill is held at 10 kilometres per hour. It has taken almost two full years to get this strong. When I first moved here, I wasn’t allowed to exercise properly. Once the doctor said I could, I would clasp my side and gasp for breath after one minute of what could barely be described as a slow jog.