I am trying my best to be patient.
In the face of Romilly’s delusions though, it’s hard.
When I’m tired in my bones. A newborn, a mental health condition, a flight. Talking, all day, to a brick wall.
With them all out there in the car, waiting for us, refusing to leave, manning the dirt track like security.
My head pounds with it.
It has been hours now since we got here. Feeds for Fleur, cooling her down from the heat that worries both Romilly and me with a chilly bath, nappy change after nappy change after nappy change.
Anyone with a baby knows how long days can be in a flow of change, eat, sleep, repeat. Try slinging in a conversation like this.
And somehow enough time has passed that it is dark outside.
I see Romilly wilt.
The car is still there.
I pull the curtains over.