The curtains had been carelessly drawn and a shaft of light pierced the gloom of the small, sparsely furnished room. Dust mites streamed onto an empty glass, a pill box, the carpeted floor. The drone of a lawnmower could be heard through the open window. He walked over and tugged it closed with a bang. The figure in the bed moaned, but didn’t move.
‘Water?’ The word was said in a whisper. Parting her lips slightly, she ran the tip of her tongue across parched, cracked lips. The skin had fallen back from her cheekbones leaving her face deceptively smooth, her hair incongruously dark against the pillow.
‘Water?’
With consciousness came distress. Her eyes flickered open and met his. But her thirst was greater than her fear and she moved her hand feebly on the blanket, her fingers flickering in the direction of the bedside locker.
The glass was smeared with fingerprints and felt lukewarm to the touch, but it was the only one in the room. He held it to her lips.
‘Thank. You.’
She raised her head for a moment and then let it fall back again. Her voice stronger now, she spoke again. ‘So, are you going to help me?’
‘Yes.’
He replaced the glass on the bedside table and sat delicately on the side of the bed, careful to keep a distance from the emaciated body.
‘How is she?’
He said nothing, just looked at her and the pale blue eyes opened wider and fixed on his.
‘Please, tell me that she’s well?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Ah.’
The answer seemed to give her strength and she made a ball of her fist, grabbing a handful of blanket before continuing.
‘Can I see her? Will she come here?’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’
The blue eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained steady.
‘Please.’
‘Have you had a chance to think about things?’
A dry, cracked laugh.
‘Not much else to do in here.’
‘No.’
He didn’t return the smile, but placed one hand on top of hers, cupping the claw. Outside the window, a siren wailed, increased in volume and then retreated.
‘Life goes on.’
‘Yes,’ he said again, and waited.
‘What we talked about …’ She began to cough then and he held the smeared glass to her lips for a moment, before she waved it away. ‘It’s fine. All of it. As long as she’s looked after.’
‘Good. Good woman.’ He patted the hand then before releasing it. ‘You won’t regret it. I’ll bring in the forms tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Her face, taut against the pillow, clouded. ‘Will I still be here tomorrow?’
He stood up. Dust swirled.
‘You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.’
Her eyes had closed before he reached the door.