‘I’ve asked Ann to clear the outdated files from the system,’ John informed Katie as he returned from the warehouse floor early on Monday morning with one of the assistants from Ladies Fashion. Taking the girl aside, he pointed to the bank of filing cabinets set between his office and Katie’s desk. ‘Remove every file that hasn’t any papers documenting transactions in the last year and place them in alphabetical order in the cupboard in the corridor. If you’re not sure about anything ask Miss Clay.’
‘I will, Mr Griffiths.’ Smiling nervously at Katie, Ann opened the top drawer in the first of the cabinets as John disappeared into his office and closed the door. Katie managed a brief nod, before continuing to type a letter John had given her that morning, the first he’d written out instead of dictating it.
She knew exactly why John had brought Ann into the office and it had nothing to do with overcrowded filing cabinets. He could no longer bear to be alone with her and that knowledge hurt. More than she would have believed possible. She finished her letter and began another. By the time she had cleared her typing in-tray she had made a decision. Glancing at her watch, she looked at Ann.
‘It’s time for mid-morning tea, Ann. Go down to the canteen, ask them to set a tray for three and bring it up here, please.’ As the girl left, Katie rose from her desk and went to John’s office door. Lifting her hand, she rapped on it with her knuckles.
‘Come in.’
Katie deliberately left the door open as she walked into John’s office. ‘Could I have a word, please, Mr Griffiths?’
‘Of course, Miss Clay.’ Not trusting himself to look at her, he kept his attention fixed on the letter he had been trying to read.
‘If it won’t cause too much inconvenience, I’d like to leave half an hour earlier tonight. I’ll work through my lunch hour tomorrow to make up the time.’
‘Take all the time you want, Katie, there’s no need to make it up.’ He set aside the letter but still avoided looking at her.
‘I’d get behind if I didn’t.’ She moved aside as Ann entered with a tray. ‘Set it on the table in the reception alcove, please, Ann, and pour it out. Mr Griffiths takes milk and two sugars, I just take milk.’
‘Yes, Miss Clay.’
Standing back so Ann could walk out ahead of her, Katie murmured, ‘Thank you, Mr Griffiths.’
As Katie returned to her desk, John looked from her to the young girl who brought his cup of tea. Ann was probably only a month or two younger than Katie but there seemed to be years and a wealth of experience between them. Experience he had given Katie, which he was finding it impossible to forget – or totally regret.
Joy stood in the street and looked through the window of her salon. Judy was engrossed in combing out old Mrs Jones’s hair, coaxing it into a style that had been the absolute height of fashion a quarter of a century before. Judy didn’t look happy but there was no trace of the tears she’d shed the previous day – and night. Two other elderly clients were sitting under the hairdryers and the junior was washing the hair of a third. As all the customers were smiling and talking animatedly, her daughter had evidently coped. Pushing open the door, Joy called out, ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ as she walked in.
‘And a good afternoon to you, Mrs Hunt.’ Mrs Jones, who could be cantankerous when she chose, beamed at her. ‘Your daughter’s a lovely little hairdresser, quick too,’ she added, making Joy feel as though she had always been tardy in doing her hair.
‘I’m glad to hear you’re satisfied, Mrs Jones.’
‘Lacquer, Mrs Jones?’ As Judy glanced at her mother in the mirror she realised she was watching her.
‘Please, Judy, it’s well worth the extra sixpence.’
Judy covered Mrs Jones’s face with a cardboard shield and picked up the plastic squeezy bottle of lacquer. Holding her breath, she squirted it liberally over the waves she’d pinched into shape, only stopping when they were thoroughly coated with a shiny crust.
‘Beautiful, Judy, just the way I like it,’ Mrs Jones complimented her, reaching for her handbag. ‘Same time next week, all right?’
‘Mam?’ Judy looked at her mother.
‘You’ll probably get me, Mrs Jones.’ Joy went to the desk and flicked through the pages of the appointment book.
‘Judy’s not come back to work for you, then?’ Mrs Jones asked, fishing for gossip she could pass on to her neighbours in Hanover Street. Despite all her quizzing, Judy had refused to tell her why she’d returned from London so suddenly. And she had pretended not to hear her when she had asked after her young man, the policeman.
Joy smiled at Judy as she took the half-crown Mrs Jones handed her. ‘We’re opening another salon, in Mumbles, Mrs Jones. I’ve just signed the lease on it. The decorators and plumbers are moving in there tomorrow and if I can get the equipment delivered by Saturday we’ll be opening first thing on Monday morning.’
Joe paid the barman for the pint of beer and cigarettes he had bought. The windows in the pub were set too high for him to see out of if he sat at a table, so he pulled up a stool and perched at the bar. Fortunately, at this time of day he’d never found the pub busy. Four old men sat crouched around the table nearest the fire, playing dominoes. A couple of labourers from one of the building sites on the Kingsway had laid claim to the darkest corner, but as both started nervously every time a shadow darkened the glass in the doors he wondered why they’d bothered to come in, as they were obviously feeling far too guilty to enjoy their drink.
He opened his cigarettes and looked towards the double doors. The top halves of both were glazed, giving him a clear view of the bank opposite. It was almost five o’clock. The bank had been closed for an hour and a half. On Friday, the first of the staff had left about this time but he knew from the number of times he’d sat at this same bar that Lily was always one of the last. She had recently been promoted secretary to the assistant manager. Not an entirely good move from what she had told Helen, because the man was a stickler for rules, regulations and procedure, and insisted on both his and her desk being as clear as possible at the end of every day.
He sipped his pint. There was an odd metallic tang to the beer but he couldn’t stay in the pub without a drink and he always felt men, particularly those who frequented pubs in the afternoon, looked sideways at anyone who ordered orange squash in a bar.
The bank door opened and he was instantly on the alert. Two girls walked out, arm in arm, wearing bright purple headscarves and identical green duster coats. From the back they could have been twins. Chattering, they headed in the direction of the bus station.
He glanced at his watch again before lighting his cigarette. If the bank timetable was running true to form, Lily should be out in the next twenty minutes. He checked his pockets for the peppermints he had bought earlier to disguise the smell of the beer. They would serve coffee and cake in the Kardomah until six. Lily would be tired after her day at work and, after what Martin had said about his finals yesterday, he assumed he’d be too busy for the next week or two to take Lily out. What girl could resist a casual invitation originating from a chance encounter in the street with a friend? Hopefully not Lily.
Katie left the warehouse at half past four. Walking into the nearest newsagent’s she bought a copy of the Evening Post. Turning to the Situation Vacant column she scanned it before leaving the shop. Monday was usually a sparse day but there were two advertisements that caught her attention. Folding the paper under her arm, she left the shop and headed purposefully for High Street.
‘Lily, how amazing to see you here.’
‘Hardly, Joe.’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘I work here.’
He glanced behind her to the bank as if he hadn’t noticed the building. ‘So you do.’
‘You’d forgotten.’
‘I’m just a bit preoccupied. Exams and all that.’
‘Nice seeing you.’
As she turned to leave he touched her arm. ‘Have you time for a coffee?’
‘After Saturday night I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘I want to apologise. I … I had too much to drink. I behaved like an idiot. I would have said something at Mrs Hunt’s yesterday but there were too many people around.’
‘Apology accepted.’
‘We are still friends?’
She hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘Of course.’
‘Then have that coffee with me to celebrate.’
‘I should go home.’ She sounded half-hearted, even to herself. Katie was never home before seven o’clock and frequently later on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday because they were her overtime nights. And she didn’t want to call in on Judy without her. Her uncle was on afternoons and wouldn’t be home until ten at the earliest, and Martin had warned her last night that he would be swotting all week and most of the next for his exams, and he’d make up for his absence after he had sat the last one.
‘How long will a quick coffee with a friend take?’ Joe smiled disarmingly and she relented.
‘One quick coffee.’
‘If we go to the Kardomah they may have some of those chocolate cream cakes you like.’ He almost offered her his arm, then thought better of the idea. The more distant and gentlemanlike he behaved, the more likelihood there was of her trusting him and building a foundation on which he could re-establish their relationship.
‘And you, of course, hate.’ She laughed, referring to an evening when he had met her from work, taken her to the café and eaten four of the cakes himself.
‘No lady should remind a gentleman of his failings or fondness for sticky cakes.’ His smile broadened as he pushed the café door and held it open for her.
Martin was walking through town on his way home when he glanced into the Kardomah and saw Lily sitting at a table close to the window with Joe. She was drinking coffee and smiling at him while he talked expansively, using his hands as much as his mouth.
He felt as though someone had plunged a knife into his stomach and twisted it. Stepping into the shelter of the porch of a children’s clothes shop opposite, he continued to watch them, contrasting Joe’s immaculately cut, black-and-white houndstooth sports coat and black trousers with the grease- and oil-stained jeans and jacket he was wearing. Joe and Lily looked perfect together. Like the young couples in the advertisements in glossy magazines, who lived in beautifully furnished homes and bought all the right products.
‘Excuse me, young man.’
As he moved to allow the middle-aged woman to pass, he caught a glimpse of the contemptuous expression on her face. He was what he looked, a filthy labourer. Putting his head down, he charged round the corner. Who was he to tell Lily who she could and couldn’t see? Last night she had insisted that it was over between her and Joe – that there was nothing left between them. Had she remembered him telling her on Saturday night that there was no way he’d be able to marry or support her and decided to give Joe another chance after all?
For all Lily’s declarations that she didn’t love Joe, perhaps he should bow out. Despite his hopes to the contrary it was obvious she didn’t love him – if she did, why was she with Joe now …
Then he realised he didn’t have to bow out because Joe was already seeing her again. The only wonder was why Lily had agreed to go for a walk with him last night after his behaviour on Saturday night. Kindness – or did she feel sorry for him? The thought that the only emotion he evoked in her was pity, hurt. But when he compared himself with Joe Griffiths he really couldn’t see why else she would even stop to give him the time of day.
‘Either of you thinking of going to the Pier tomorrow night?’ Judy looked at Katie and Lily as she settled herself in the window seat of Lily’s kitchen.
Lily shook her head. ‘Martin’s too busy swotting and I don’t want to go without him.’
‘You seen him this week?’ Judy took the tea Katie handed her.
‘Beyond shouting “Good Luck” when we pass in the street, no.’
‘What about you, Katie?’
‘I don’t want to go to the Pier full stop.’
‘What a trio we make, one boyfriend between the three of us and he’s too busy to go out.’ Judy gazed at the raindrops sliding down the window-pane as she stirred her tea.
‘You still haven’t heard from Brian?’ Lily passed Katie the sugar bowl.
‘No, nor am I expecting to.’
‘Don’t you think you should write?’ Katie suggested. Certain that Judy loved Brian, she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t doing everything she could to remain close to him. She would have thought a dismal, lonely hostel life in London a small price to pay for an occasional shared evening with John.
‘To say what? “I’m sorry I left London to return to Swansea”?’
‘You must miss him.’
‘A lot.’ Judy swung her legs up on to the seat and curled them beneath her. ‘But much as I hate to admit it, I’m not cut out for the high life of glamour at the BBC, more like the tedium of running a small local salon, which I start doing first thing on Monday morning.’
‘Is it ready?’ Lily asked, surprised.
‘It is. You wouldn’t believe how hard my mother has worked this week to make sure it would be and if you aren’t too busy to take a trip down Mumbles tomorrow you can see it for yourself.’
‘I’d like that.’ Katie sat in the easy chair opposite Lily.
‘Ice creams on me afterwards,’ Lily offered.
‘So’ – Judy looked around the room – ‘it’s back to girl evenings, exactly where we were two months ago before I went away.’
‘Not quite,’ Katie corrected. ‘Helen’s married and Lily has Martin.’
‘You and I are footloose and fancy free.’
Katie tried not to think about John as she parried Judy’s forced smile. At that moment she would have given everything she had and twenty years of her life to be closeted with John, discussing what they would do as soon as his divorce was finalised.
‘Mr Griffiths.’ Katie left her desk as John entered the reception area of the outer office. ‘May I have a word, please?’ She glanced at Ann, who was removing the last files from the bottom drawer of the third cabinet. The girl had taken nine and a half days to clear three four-drawer cabinets; a task she could have accomplished in a fraction of the time.
‘No problems, are there, Katie?’ John forced himself to look at her and once he started he couldn’t stop. Her face was unusually pale beneath a light layer of impeccably applied make-up, but dressed in a bottle-green costume complemented by a freshly laundered cream cotton blouse with starched collar, she looked as though she’d stepped from the pages of Vogue. The floor supervisors in the warehouse had told him that she took a keen interest in fashion and cosmetics, not only asking them for hints and tips, but also their opinion on what suited her and didn’t. It was to her and their credit that she looked as good as she did.
‘No, Mr Griffiths.’ She followed him into his office and stood before his desk. ‘I’d like to leave at three o’clock this afternoon.’
He heard the outer office door opening and closing, and assumed Ann was carrying another load of files to the cupboard in the corridor. ‘You took some time off last week.’
‘I made up the time then, as I will now.’
‘I am not concerned about the time. May I ask where you’re going?’
‘A personal matter.’
‘If it’s anything I can help with …’
‘It isn’t, but thank you for asking, Mr Griffiths.’
‘Katie …’
‘Yes.’ She leaned expectantly towards him and he retreated to the window.
‘Have you checked Ann’s progress with the filing cabinets?’ He didn’t want to know. He simply wanted to keep her in his office for as long as possible. Being close to her, inhaling her perfume, being able to look in her eyes, brought the strangest mix of emotions including pain, yet it was still preferable to not being with her.
‘She’s slow but thorough.’
They both started at a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ he shouted impatiently.
‘A Mr Davies is downstairs, Mr Griffiths. He’s asking to see you on urgent personal business. I did enquire, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.’ Ann tried to imitate Katie’s professional manner but she only succeeded in sounding faintly absurd, like a child play-acting at being an adult.
Katie went to the door. ‘Shall I show Mr Davies in, Mr Griffiths?’
‘Please.’
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
Wishing his solicitor had chosen any other time to call, John sat at his desk and lifted the pile of letters Katie had typed in front of him. Unscrewing the top from his fountain pen he scanned the top one and signed it. Then the next and the next, dropping them one by one into the out-tray, all the while conscious of Katie’s perfume lingering in the room. He hadn’t even liked essence of violets until she had begun to wear it.
He only had to close his eyes to conjure every line of her slender figure, to see her eyes lighting her face when she smiled, the graceful walk that sent his heart rate soaring every time she stepped near him. A personal matter! He had been the one to exclude her from his life. He had no right to pry, yet the only personal matters he wanted Katie Clay to have were ones that related to him. He reminded himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t see her privately; his age; his ugly, crippled body; Esme and her vicious, vindictive nature. It might be painful to see and work with Katie every day but he simply couldn’t bear the thought of the alternative – not to see her at all.
‘And how did the last exam go?’ Sam asked as Martin stepped down into their kitchen and closed the door behind him.
‘It went.’ Exhausted as much by tormenting thoughts of Joe and Lily as the exams, Martin sank down in an easy chair.
‘Put your feet up; I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘Why are you being nice?’ Martin questioned suspiciously as Sam filled the kettle.
‘Because I thought you might want to include me and Katie in your plans to celebrate with Lily tomorrow night.’
‘And who says I’m celebrating with Lily tomorrow night?’
‘You’re not taking her down the Pier?’
‘There’s a class booze-up to mark the end of the exams.’
‘You prefer to go out with the boys than Lily?’
‘I haven’t thought about what I’m doing yet,’ Martin muttered. If he joined the boys on their night out he wouldn’t have to face Lily and that meant postponing a decision on the jealousy that had gnawed destructively at him ever since he had seen her with Joe.
‘We could take Judy, You never know, she might be able to appease Adam,’ Sam coaxed.
‘I doubt she’s forgotten Brian that quickly.’
‘Has he mentioned her in his letters to you?’
‘No.’ Martin had the feeling that Brian had only written to him in the hope that he would mention Judy. He had told him about the salon Joy had opened, because he had heard about it from Katie when she had come down to collect his washing in the week, but he had said nothing else, simply because since he had started his examinations he hadn’t seen anything at all of Judy and very little of Lily or his sister.
‘So what do you say?’
‘I’ll let you know what I decide tomorrow.’ Taking his notebook, Martin left the kitchen for his bedroom and closed the door.
‘Smart secretary you have there, John,’ Mark Davies observed as Katie deposited a tea tray on John’s desk and closed the door on them.
‘I know, but I doubt you came here to compliment me on my staff. Take a seat.’ John pulled out a chair.
‘I had a telephone call from Richard Thomas half an hour ago. Esme is withdrawing her petition for divorce.’
John stared at him in disbelief. ‘She can’t do that! I’ve admitted adultery.’
‘She can do it because she’s the petitioner.’ Mark lifted one of the cups of tea from the tray. ‘Richard also mentioned that Esme asked you to consider a reconciliation.’
‘She asked, I considered, I refused.’
‘When?’
‘After Helen’s wedding.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
Stung by the reproach in Mark’s voice, John explained, ‘As I had no intention of doing anything of the kind, I didn’t think it was important.’
‘Your wife suggests a reconciliation when you’re in the middle of divorce proceedings and you don’t think it’s important enough to mention to your solicitor!’
‘It’s not as if she’s had a change of heart,’ John said impatiently. ‘It’s simply that her friends in the Little Theatre don’t regard divorcees as socially acceptable. Could my refusal affect the divorce?’
‘What divorce?’ Mark asked flatly.
‘You can’t be serious.’ John frowned. ‘Esme has agreed to a settlement. Everything’s sorted.’
‘Was being sorted. We had your wife’s verbal agreement but she has signed nothing and according to Richard Thomas, she is not going to.’
‘What can I do?’ John pleaded.
‘Tread very carefully. If she comes to see you make sure you’re never alone long enough for her to state that a reconciliation has taken place between you. And if she insists on moving back into the matrimonial home …’
‘I’ll change the locks.’
‘If you fail to keep her out, move somewhere else.’
‘And in the meantime, you’ll try to speed things along.’
‘Frankly, John, I don’t hold out any hope.’
‘Esme has had affairs …’
‘Anything you can prove?’ Mark interrupted.
‘No,’ John conceded grimly.
‘We’d need proof to bring a counter petition, and even if we had we’d be placed right at the bottom of the queue again. You could be stuck in the courts for at least another two years.’
‘There has to be something we can do.’ John felt sick at the thought of remaining tied to a woman he neither loved nor respected and who had nothing but contempt for him.
‘I could try asking for a formal meeting with Esme and Richard Thomas. If they agree, it will be up to you to try to persuade her to change her mind.’
‘If it’s a question of money …’
‘In my opinion you’ve already made her a far too generous offer.’
‘Money means nothing to me.’
Mark pushed his half-drunk cup of tea aside and left his seat. ‘As long as you remember there’s no guarantee she’ll agree to a meeting. You’ll be careful with Esme until you hear from me, won’t you.’
‘That’s one piece of advice I don’t need,’ John assured him, as he showed him to the door.
‘I can’t believe we’ve been here for fourteen days.’ Helen flung back the sheets and rolled naked to the edge of the bed as Jack returned to their hotel bedroom from the bathroom.
‘Not even when you consider everything we’ve done?’
‘Like visit the Tower, Westminster Abbey, Harrods … and’ – she smiled beguilingly – ‘the huge advances we’ve made in getting to know one another.’
He looked down at her. ‘Stop teasing, you know what it does to me to see you like that.’
‘Yes.’ She held out her arms to him.
‘We have to pack if we’re going to be out of here by eleven.’
‘All done.’ She slipped her hand between his thighs.
‘I’ll need another bath.’
‘We can have one together.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘We’ve plenty of time before breakfast.’
‘If you carry on like this when we get home, I’m never going to want to leave you to go to work.’
‘Then it’s just as well I’m the boss’s daughter.’
Stripping off his dressing gown he lay beside her. As his lips travelled over her throat and down to her breasts she fought a sudden and unexpected twinge of pain but their lovemaking was far too important to interrupt for yet another bout of morning sickness. Pulling him close, she kissed him back with a ferocity that drove all thoughts of trains and timetables from both their minds.
‘Sure you don’t mind?’ Martin asked Lily, willing her to tell him what was going on between her and Joe.
‘Of course not,’ She hid her disappointment behind a smile. ‘Judy and Katie were saying only yesterday they wanted to go to the pictures. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is on in the Albert Hall.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
‘What about Sunday? You did say you wanted to go down the Gower.’
‘I’m not sure,’ he hedged. ‘Jack will be back tonight …’
‘I understand.’ She didn’t understand at all. He was pushing her away just as he had the last time they had gone to the Pier and that was the last thing she had been prepared for after their discussion on the beach.
‘See you.’
‘Yes, Martin.’ She closed her front door as he went to the basement steps. ‘See you,’ she echoed dismally …
‘What’s wrong?’ Jack watched, alarmed, as Helen grimaced. ‘And don’t say morning sickness. It’s five o’clock in the afternoon.’
‘I have a pain.’
‘Where?’
‘In my stomach, but I’m sure it’s nothing. It comes and goes …’ She blanched as a stronger stabbing pain took hold.
‘You taken anything?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t like to, not with the baby.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought an aspirin could hurt him.’ He looked out of the window. They’d just left Cardiff. There wasn’t another station until Bridgend, at least half an hour away. ‘If you’d said something earlier we could have got off the train.’
‘Not when we’re returning home from our honeymoon,’ she protested tearfully as another pain shot through her. ‘I want tonight to be perfect. Our first meal together in our first home …’
‘I’m going to ask the guard if there’s a doctor or nurse on board.’
‘Don’t leave me,’ she begged.
‘I can’t sit and watch you go through agony.’ He went to the door and opened it. A man was standing in the corridor looking out through the window. ‘Please, could you find the guard for us.’ Jack looked back at Helen. ‘My wife is ill.’
Lily sat between Katie and Helen in the back row of the Albert Hall and tried to concentrate on the film. Howard Keel was singing really well, the colour was wonderful, the dancing terrific, and the film must have had its amusing moments because the people around them laughed from time to time but all she could think about was Martin. Why had he cooled towards her again? Was it something she’d said or done – should she ask him or hope he’d come round and tell her himself?
Carefully unfolding a bag of sweets she’d bought so as not to rattle the paper, she turned to offer Judy a peppermint cream. Even in the gloom she could see tears trickling down her cheeks.
Deciding against disturbing her, she looked at Katie. If anything her cheeks were even wetter. Perhaps it was just as well they’d decided to see a musical, not the melodrama The Night My Number Came Up at the Castle. None of them would have survived the experience.
‘There’s no doctor or nurse on the train.’ The guard peered apprehensively at Helen who was crouched double with her eyes closed. ‘We’ll be in Bridgend in five minutes. I could call an ambulance as soon as we get there.’
‘No,’ Helen gasped in pain. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Swansea’s another half-hour away, sweetheart,’ Jack pleaded, ‘and the pain is getting worse.’
‘No, it’s not.’ As a spasm subsided, she smiled weakly with relief. ‘And I’m sure it’s nothing serious, probably just something I’ve eaten.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, miss, I think your young man is right. I’d go for that ambulance if I were you. Better safe than sorry.’
‘I’m her husband,’ Jack corrected.
‘Sorry, sir. Do you want me to call an ambulance when we get to Bridgend?’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, I want to go home to my own doctor.’
‘I’ll look in again in five minutes. If you change your mind, let me know.’
‘Let me take the guard up on his offer,’ Jack pleaded as he sponged Helen’s face with eau de Cologne and a flannel he’d taken from her toilet bag.
‘I want to go home,’ she gasped, fighting pain again as the train pulled into the station.
‘You’re insane and I’m just as bad for listening to you.’
‘But I love you.’ She tried to hold his hand as the train pulled out, but her fingers wouldn’t respond. Black spots wavered in front of her eyes. The tide of pain was no longer ebbing and flowing within her. She was pain. Nothing existed outside the blinding haze of agony that enveloped her, hot, burning, consuming her entire being. She focused on Jack’s face, white with strain, almost unrecognisably grave. It was too much effort to keep her eyes open. She would close them – just for a moment.
‘Helen!’
Jack’s voice, shrill with anguish, yet muted as though he were on a boat and she at the bottom of the sea, echoed through her pain. She struggled to open her eyelids but they no longer responded.
‘Helen!’ His voice grew harsher. She could hear him, feel him tapping her hand but, strangely distanced from the whole proceedings, she could neither respond nor stop herself from sliding effortlessly downwards through thick grey swirling waters to a blissfully pain-free place where she could truly rest and nothing mattered – not even Jack.