Will pounds another three laps of the service road, his coffee cold in his hand. Fifty-eight minutes have elapsed when he reaches the landing outside Nain’s ward. Two self-conscious minutes are wasted gazing out at the grounds through the chicken-wire squares in the glass before he presents himself, on the stroke of the hour, at the nursing station.

The Other Side

Will sits next to Nain’s bed once again. His mum and Danny aren’t back yet. For a moment, no lunch trolleys rattle through the ward and no phones ring. The quiet is almost eerie, the calm in such contrast to how frenetic this room felt earlier this morning. Even that odd fleshy smell is gone. The sun beats through the high window and cooks Will’s shoulder, giving the misleading impression that it’s the height of summer rather than mid-October.

The staff nurse from earlier enters and silently crosses the room. She pats Will’s shoulder. ‘She’s comfortable now.’

Will gives her a thumbs up.

‘Sleeping so calmly.’ The nurse smiles and fiddles with Nain’s pillow.

Nain stirs, moving the sheet away from one arm, but she doesn’t wake.

‘Everything go to plan?’ Will asks.

‘Fine. Fine,’ the nurse says. ‘Doctor said it took a few seconds for her heartbeat to return by itself. That’s not unusual though.’

‘She’s going to be OK? You reckon?’

‘You’re doing fine, aren’t you?’ she says directly to Nain, receiving a single grunt in reply. ‘It’s good you’re here,’ the nurse says, addressing Will now. ‘She was a little distressed straight after. Stay, if you can. She’ll appreciate the familiar face when she wakes again.’

‘Of course,’ Will says. ‘Not going anywhere.’

The nurse is leaving the room when she spins round. ‘I almost forgot. It is Will, isn’t it?’

‘Yup.’

‘She was so agitated. After the procedure, I mean. She kept asking for a pen and paper. “Have to write it down,” she’s saying.’ The nurse does an approximation of Nain’s voice. ‘“Before I forget. Before I forget.” Keeps saying it to us.’

Will frowns. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘She was fine once she’d done it.’ The nurse passes a folded piece of notepaper to Will. ‘“Give this to my grandson Will,” she tells me. Wouldn’t relax till I swore I’d make sure you got it. God knows what was so important.’

When the nurse has gone, Will peels the note open. He feels suddenly unwell.

Dropping In

Nine days have passed when it begins.

Will unchains his bike from the beach-front railings outside Smugglers. He’d been scheduled to work the evening shift, but it’s half seven and the restaurant is deathly quiet so Mick Touch has sent him home.