His grandsons occasionally come with her, clearly press-ganged and eager to run away as soon as they can, citing films to see, girlfriends to meet. They are in their twenties now, tall and well-nourished, speaking the uninflected dull English the young all seem to use. Janet’s husband put in a perfunctory appearance right at the start, but he’s busy with his grassroots work, and as the hospital is far from his constituency there isn’t much point being seen here. He has a lot of ground to cover.

Visiting hours go on till eight, and every evening Janet dutifully sits by her father’s bedside until the nurses begin asking people to leave. Sometimes she tells him about her work or the boys’ accomplishments, but for the most part she is happy to sit in silence, making quick notes on a policy document, as if her presence is all that’s required. Each visit ends with her reading from The Daily Bread, a handbag-sized booklet of devotional tracts she gets free from her church. Jason has told her he’s not religious, but she brushes that aside. There’s nothing wrong in being reminded how to behave well, she tells him. Although neither of them will say this, both know she is thinking about the small amount of time he still has on earth, her tiny opportunity to save his imperilled soul.

•

As a civil servant, Jason ran his life along orderly tramlines—each day as like the one before as possible. His department gained a reputation for efficiency. Meetings started on time with no deviations from the agenda. Projects finished exactly when they were supposed to and never over budget. At the retirement dinner on his 65th birthday, even the Minister joked about how they’d had no need to look at their clocks with Jason around to keep them on schedule. They gave him a gold watch and engraved plaque. He’d always done everything exactly as he should. Was this his reward?

His current incarceration feels like a hellish version of this earlier life: wide empty days punctuated with regular, worthless events. Even Janet’s visits, which should be the highlight of each day, feel cloying and airless as soon as they commence. He knows his daughter is prompted more by duty than affection. At least his sense of obligation has passed on to one of his children. He has tried asking for sleeping pills to get through the afternoon, but the nurse will only give them out at night, with a doctor’s approval.