Her main clinic is at the same hospital Hank lies in. She has lunch with him every day, where she talks to him, tells him about what’s going on, about her patients, her life without him. When she’d first told me she was doing that I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I’ve changed my mind. I think it’s brought her to this point now, which although terrible, is maybe for the best.

I reach down and scratch behind the dog’s ear. It would have been easier if the shots had killed Hank outright, but instead they hit his leg, and I’d staunched as much of the bleeding as I could until the ambulance got there. But by the time he arrived at the hospital he’d slipped into the coma he’s lain in ever since. I’ve often wondered if I should have left him to bleed, if it would have been better that way. But hindsight’s always twenty-twenty.

And irony on top of irony, we were busting a grow room.

It’s been years now, and there’s never been any change in his condition. Nothing that hinted at a recovery. Whoever said hope’s a cruel mistress was understating it. Hope will tear you apart, prey on your nerves till you’re a wreck. I can only imagine what it must’ve been like for Nellie, second by second, waiting for the call telling her that Hank’s woken up. Or that he’d died.

This isn’t what anyone signed up for.

‘Will you be here when –’

The emotion takes over, forcing the tears she’s been holding in for so long. I reach out for her hand and she grasps it tight. We sit like this until she’s cried it out. The dog makes his move, pushing into her leg. She reaches down, strokes him and he lets out a low growl of pleasure.

I’m feeling sick now, and guilty too, because this isn’t really the time to ask, and yet I need to. She takes it well, though, and tells me Hank’s old case notes are up in the spare room on the first floor. I leave her with the dog and go upstairs.

The room looks back towards the shore, a narrow window framing the golden minaret on top of the turquoise-tiled Elmouhssinine Mosque. The walls are covered with framed photos; one of them is of Hank and me the day we graduated posing in our uniforms. It strikes me that we look like kids. If only we knew what was coming, we probably wouldn’t be grinning like idiots. It prompts one of those moments where I don’t even know who I am, how I got here. The rest are of Hank and Nellie, their story played out in pictures from when they first met to their marriage at De Koepelkerk, and beyond.

Until that day.