‘I’m sorry,’ Dani said, hanging her head, not wanting to look him in the eye. He’d done nothing wrong, really. The problems between the two of them were all down to Dani and her stupid messed-up brain. Well, and her damn murderous brother who’d caused the injuries in the first place.

‘Why do you always push everyone away from you?’ Jason said. ‘I can help you through this. I want to help.’

‘I don’t need your help!’ Dani shouted. ‘I don’t need anyone’s help. Jason, I’m sorry, I am, but I think you should go.’

‘That’s it?’

‘I need more time.’

‘I’ve given you plenty of that already.’

‘Just go.’

Jason shook his head, disappointed, and angry too, she could see. He felt like the aggrieved party, but he wasn’t really. Dani was the one whose life remained in disarray. If Jason really wanted to help, he just needed to suck it up and wait for Dani to find her old self again. If she ever could.

When the silence had dragged on long enough, Dani reached forwards and opened the door. Jason held his ground a few seconds as though weighing up whether he would fight any more. Eventually he just turned and walked out, leaving Dani slightly disappointed that he hadn’t tried harder, even though she’d meant what she said about needing more time.

After she’d closed and locked the door, Dani went back to the kitchen and over to the fridge for the bottle. She plonked the wine down on the counter, then opened up the cupboard again. Sod it, she was going to need a bigger wine glass after all.

Chapter Twelve

Day 90

‘Dani,’ the woman says.

I hear her voice but my head feels foggy and although I know I’m awake, I don’t want to open my eyes.

‘Dani, it’s Lucia. It’s time to eat.’

Lucia. One of the nurses in the rehabilitation ward. She’s from Poland. In her thirties, plump and matronly with a stern face but a kind and safe manner about her. When I first met her I struggled to understand her English, her accent was so thick. Apparently I would repeat the words she said, taking on a Polish accent myself in a strange attempt to converse with her, much like a toddler might. Much to the amusement of others. I wasn’t trying to amuse them, just trying to do what they wanted me to – talk, communicate.

I finally find the strength to open my eyes. Lucia is sitting by my bed in her dark blue uniform. She has a tray of food in front of me. A tuna salad. Tomato pasta. Apple pie and custard. Orange juice.

‘Can you manage?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ I say.