“Dorset, did you say?” said the sister.

“Yes. That’s right,” said Harold, adopting the same tone, so that it sounded for a moment as if they were both shouting over the sea wind. “Down south.”

“Shall we offer him tea?” she asked Queenie, without looking at her. “You sit yourself down, Henry, and catch up while I make us all a cuppa. It’s been pretty busy for us, hasn’t it? There have been so many letters and cards. Last week a lady even wrote from Perth.” She turned to Harold as she left. “She can hear you,” she said. He thought that if Queenie could really hear, it wasn’t considerate to go talking about it. But he didn’t say that. They were down to basics now.

Harold took the chair at Queenie’s bedside. He scraped it back a few inches, so as not to be in the way. He slotted his hands between his knees.

“Hello,” he said again, as if they were meeting for the first time. “I must say, you’re doing very well. My wife – do you remember Maureen? – my wife sends her best regards.” It felt safer now that he had conjured Maureen into the conversation. He wished Queenie would say something to break the ice, but she didn’t.

“Yes, you’re doing well.” And then: “Really, really well.” He looked behind to see if the nun was on her way with the tea, but they were still alone. He gave a long yawn, although he felt wide awake. “I walked a long time,” he said weakly. “Shall I hang up your quartz? In the shop, they had it at the window. I think you’ll like it. It’s supposed to have healing powers.” Her opened eye met his. “But I don’t know about that.”

He wondered how much longer he was going to have to go through this. He got up, with the quartz swinging on its thread between his fingers, and pretended to look for a suitable place to hang it. The sky beyond the window was so white he couldn’t tell if it was cloud or bright sun. Down in the garden, a nun in a straw hat pushed a patient in a wheelchair across the grass, talking gently. He wondered if she was praying. He envied her certainty.

Harold felt the stir of old emotions and images from the past, buried for all this time, because living with them every day was more than a human being could bear. He gripped the windowsill, taking deep breaths, but the air was hot too and brought no relief.