He shrugged and did not reply.

‘You don’t need both of us any more, Michael. You’re not incapable,’ she said, more snappishly than she intended.

‘Oh, thanks, good to know,’ he retorted. ‘Because from where I’m sitting – standing being a fucking nightmare, of course – it certainly doesn’t feel like I’m in such great shape.’

She sighed inwardly, sorry for her impatience. ‘No, OK. I sympathize, you know I do. But you seem to have forgotten you can make your own decisions. You just wait for people to do things for you – to you – that you’re perfectly capable of doing yourself.’

‘Such as?’

‘Cleaning your teeth at the washbasin and not in that nasty plastic bowl. You can lean against the basin now. Washing yourself in the shower ‒ you just wait for Daniel to do it. You even asked me to turn out your bedside light the other night.’

Michael glared at her. ‘My bad hand is closest, that’s all.’

‘I know you think I’m being a nag. But I saw it with Barry. He just gave up after his stroke and Angie became his slave.’

‘Ha! Is that what you’re worried about? That you’ll become my slave?’ His tone was peevish.

‘No, Michael,’ she said, trying to be patient. Although it wasn’t far from the truth. It did scare her that he wouldn’t make enough effort to be independent. ‘I just want you to get better. Is that such a bad thing?’

He turned his head away. When he looked back, his face was rigid with fear. ‘You don’t understand, Romy.’ His voice rose. ‘I get so bloody terrified … I don’t even know what I’m terrified of, only that sometimes my heart pounds and I feel so scared I want to shit. But I can’t even do that because I can’t bloody get to the bathroom in time.’ He gave a sardonic laugh, leaning forward, away from the pillows. ‘Do you have any fucking idea what that feels like? Do you?’ His eyes were shooting fire and she felt she must physically stand her ground or be blown away by his rage.

‘No,’ she said quietly, heart hammering. ‘No, of course I don’t. I’m sure it’s absolute hell.’

His gaze softened and he muttered sheepishly, ‘When you’re here, I don’t feel quite so scared.’

Romy cringed. Taking a deep breath, she said firmly, ‘It’s not good, getting too dependent on me or anyone else, however harsh it might seem to you right now.’

Michael closed his eyes. ‘OK, OK.’

She sat down on the edge of his bed and took his limp hand. It was cold, as always, and she rubbed it between her own. Neither spoke for a while.