On their arrival in the town she directed him to a pharmacy by the church, which she described as a generous one.

‘Con dinero, baila el perro.’

She said rubbing forefinger and thumb together. A gesture his father used to make when he wanted a roll-up. He got the idea about money, but making your dog dance was lost on him.

Ever walked into his idea of retail heaven. Signs were displayed on the shelves in capital letter handwriting with a felt tip pen; the names of medication for sale. No prescription was needed: everything a boy could ever want.

A benzo paradise.

Lorazepam, diazepam, Valium, the Z family, Ambien, no Zimovane, those were truly his bag, his soul food, alongside Vicodin and painkillers of every name, tramadol, dihydrocodeine, and even, oh heaven, diamorphine, what a country, and the full range of erectile dysfunction pills, Viagra, Cialis, Levitra. It was endless. It was his toy shop.

He left with some diazepam and Ambien, and some Vicodin for those special little moments of pain.

He now felt medically self-sufficient; he should, he had enough diazepam, one hundred tablets, to finish himself off in one sleepy go. He popped a diazepam, the full 10 mg, as soon as got into the car.

Thrilled that he had ninety-nine more.

Other than that highlight, on his return to earth, there was a feeling of a mutual tension in the car. What condition Lomita would be in on their arrival?

‘Thank you, Manita, thank you for your help and everything.’

His wandering gratitude brought about no response, but he did feel grateful that she had taken him to the pharmacy, so made no demand for a reply. The practicalities of what had happened could not be faced by Ever, who had placed the survival of Lomita above all, but there was so much more than her health and he just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, he wasn’t sure which, be able to face the reality. It was all over, he supposed, when his brain alighted on the subject, with the momentary perch of a bird on a branch before it swoops off to new territories. A new focus was needed, one which carried a future, that was the problem he could not get beyond: there was no future. He could not perch on anything but the question of Lomita’s survival; not what would happen if she did survive.

*

The hospital corridor was surprisingly cheery for a hospital corridor.

There was a sense of life not death in the place. That was probably due to the Mexican music piped into the veins of the corridor.

They opened the door to the same room that they had left her in the previous night.

There was a nurse who was happy to leave after a few words from Manita.