She pays attention: it is worse when it is light and quiet. When she can see and hear the unfilled spaces around her bed. It is worse when the blanket falls and she can’t reach it, and she has to lie exposed to the air until someone comes along and says, Oopsie daisy, let’s get you cosied up again. Worse when she can’t sleep and she imagines her little house dark and empty, abandoned. It makes her feel like when she was little and they watched a TV show about Chernobyl and she got so upset she couldn’t breathe. Mum rubbed her back and told her that it was far, far away, that the nuclear fallout wouldn’t even come close, that she didn’t need to be scared. Mum didn’t understand that Nic wasn’t scared; she was heartbroken. Everyone in that city took off and just left everything there. All the books and dolls and shoes and chairs and tables. The spoons and bowls and pencils and swimming caps and prams and pillows and photos. The pipes, salt shakers, eyeglasses, nails, hair brushes, clocks, compasses and coins. The buttons and wheels and fans made of feathers. All alive in there, still. Alive and utterly forgotten.

Will comes by during morning visiting hours, says Lena is busy studying. As he says it his eyes cut to the side so she knows he is lying. That he has the same comically obvious tell as he did at five years old floods her with so much love she barely minds that he’s bullshitting her. He chatters away about how awful it is outside, how lucky she is to be in this cool, clear air, how everyone’s wondering if the fires’ll ever be out.

The nurse she privately calls the Meanest One comes to check her blood pressure and temperature. Will introduces himself and the scowl dissolves. It’s so lovely of you to come and visit, in a voice entirely unlike the rasp Nic is used to. Even her hands feel warmer and gentler as she performs her checks. So, this is unchanged, too: Will’s ability to charm and cheer without even trying. It’s a gift she didn’t even know she could hope for, her Will come back after so long, older but still very much himself.