Conclusion number three: seeing as Brigitte replied from a distance that no, she hadn’t done 405 yet, but there was no rush and it wasn’t dirty, I guess it’s about doing the cleaning in room 405.

I decided to wait a bit – so to speak, since I had no option. In the meantime, I listened out for the slightest sound. I was like Ali Baba entering the cave of wonders, like Harry Potter discovering his magic powers, like Cinderella dazzled by her coach, like . . . OK, you get the idea. Every sound was a jewel; I was all excited, even though I knew that nothing showed. From the outside, I must look super-poker-faced – the famous expressionless, unfathomable look of the professional bluffer. Apparently, I wasn’t very expressive, that was the least that could be said. A quick analysis of the surrounding noises: regular beeps; breathing (mine, maybe); a vague din of voices and cutlery, like a far-off canteen; Brigitte’s friend, who was humming a tune I didn’t recognize, broke off and said, ‘Good morning, doctor.’ I’m in hospital. You knew that, too? Shit. So, if you know other things, tell me, because this is beginning to be a pain. Anyhow, I’m sure you didn’t know I’d begun to hear again, seeing as I’ve only just discovered it myself.

Several people came into the room I’m in, and the sound level increased. A man’s voice, two women’s voices. New ones. I admit I didn’t catch everything, but I understood a lot, all the same, and not only good things. They were talking about me; I heard my name several times. I gathered that my condition was stable. Not better, not worse. Nothing particular to say. Stable, how? That’s when I heard the word. Coma. It was a shock. Coma means you’re in a bad way. When, in a film, people are told, He’s in a coma, they burst into tears, faint, scream or hit the doctor, who ends up seducing the grief-stricken mother. I immediately thought about Mum. Did she know I was in a coma? Of course she knew. Had she already punched the doctor in the face? That would be just like her, and the thought made me smile – inwardly, of course; externally, I was poker-faced.

What stage of the coma drama were we at? I felt bad for Mum. Me, I hadn’t known I was in a coma, so it wasn’t so bad for me, after all. I wanted to know how long I’d been there, but, seeing as no one could hear me, there was no way of getting them to tell me. I concentrated very hard and, at one point, one of the ladies said, ‘What day is it?’ Tick-tock, tick-tock, I was going to find out. The other one replied, ‘It’s Thursday.’ That didn’t tell me much. Then she went on: ‘The nineteenth of January.’