Home. He put his hand on the door knob and paused, was momentarily surprised by the loose old skin. Inside, the house sat emptily around him. There was a note on the kitchen table and he held it to him, counted to three under his breath before turning it over.

D –

Ishbel’s in labour! I’m off to Inverness to become a granny. Soup in the pot & I’ll call when I’ve news.

Love M

Donald took the stairs at a speed he hadn’t managed for years.

At first glance the room seemed empty, until he noticed the fingers on the bed. Malcolm was slumped on the floor on the far side, one hand stretched up against the cabinet, presumably to pull himself back up. He gave off a strong, strange smell. He was dead, and he’d died alone, falling out of bed, in pain.

Donald gathered the bent body in to himself, scooped it to his chest, then eased it onto the bed, foetal. He didn’t want to look at the face. He wanted Morna, or someone else, anyone, to be there and take care of this.

This is what you get, he thought. No more than you deserve, shiter.

‘Almost as if he’d just given up,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ve seen it before, with patients who know they’re terminal. The emotional weight of it can be a lot to bear, and they can seem to bring it on themselves, decide to embrace it. Even though the body might have lasted a few more months, if the will’s not there – well, it often seems like a mercy.’

It. It. She patted his arm awkwardly, trying to spread comfort. Donald thought of the hand gripping the bedsheets, trying to pull itself back up. If that were true, Malcolm had changed his mind. He said nothing. Just the effort of making the call to summon the woman had exhausted him.

‘Have you got someone who can be with you tonight?’

‘Yes, yes. My wife will be home this evening, I’m sure.’

She signed the papers and let him herd her out of the door.

Morna phoned at nine, teary and tired. Ishbel had had severe complications, and the baby had been cut out of her, half-choked, in emergency theatre. They were holed up in separate special units.

‘She canny even be with her baby. She’s lost that much blood and the wee one needs to be in an incubator. She was just lying there too weak to even cry. They won’t even let her be with her baby.’

He couldn’t add to that load. He couldn’t. And yet, he found the words coming out of his mouth regardless.

‘So, Malcolm died today.’

As though he was telling her a piece of village gossip.

‘What? What? Oh Donald. When?’

‘Sometime before you left and before I got back. The doctor says he just gave up.’