I put my head in the doorway. Flo is where she always is. I can see the top of her head above the back of the chair. ‘Knock, knock,’ I say. ‘Hello.’ She half turns. Not all the way. She raises a hand in greeting. I walk in and sit next to her. She nods at the window. That is the way she acknowledges me now. Anything more is too much effort. It’s the stroke. She’s not been the same since then. She keeps saying the same word to me. Only half her mouth moves so I couldn’t work it out at first. Incapacitated. That’s what she’s saying to me. It’s a difficult word to say at the best of times. I pat her hand. ‘I know,’ I say, ‘I know.’ She does turn her head now and glares at me. She’s angry. There is fury inside of her, shining out of her eyes. She’s furious about her situation, her condition, and she’s furious with me too. I look away quickly. At the boats. There are no boats. At the place where the boats would be. Anywhere but at her. I know what her look is saying to me. Demanding of me.
‘You’re letting me down.’
I get up and make us both a cup of tea. I know she won’t drink hers. What she will sip at she’ll spill down herself. It’s just something for me to do. I sit back down. It’s a cold day but the sun is out. I watch it moving across the sky. Now and then clouds pass in front of it and an ominous shadow rushes up the sand towards us. It’s just a shadow. I say ominous only because of the atmosphere. It’s been getting closer. This day. We both know it. I sip my tea. It’s stone cold. As I put the cup down I take the opportunity to steal a look at her. She’s still awake, but only just. Her eyelids are half closed. She’s fighting it. I want to stroke her head. To look deep, deep into her eyes and tell her it will all be okay. I want her to say the same to me. Because this is happening to both of us. We’ve both been waiting for it.
There are boats now. Or a boat. A single trawler floating above the swells. I wish for an instant to be on it. To be any of those fishermen instead of myself. But I was never made for the sea. I still don’t know why I ended up living beside it, right here. Maybe for this very moment. I am listening to her breathe. It’s not a snore. Not yet. It’s on the way to becoming a snore. I look again at her. Her mouth is hanging a fraction open. There is a string of spit between her lips. It moves in and out with her breath. Okay. Enough time has passed now.
I get up and go to the bed. It’s a double bed, with two pillows on each side. I wonder which side is Len’s and which is hers. It will still be that way. These things don’t change. I pick up the pillow nearest to me. It’s soft and light. Some pillows are heavier, but this one feels perfect. I press it over my face for a few moments. I try to breathe while I’m doing it. I keep pressing harder until I can’t breathe. I look at Flo. She’s not moved. I’ve never done this before. I wonder how it will change me. I walk towards her and without hesitating for a second I lean over the back of the chair and put the pillow over her face. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch. I expected some sort of physical response, but there is nothing at all. I’m holding my breath. Like I do under water. So I can gauge the time. I hold it longer than I ever have before, longer than I even thought I could. She still hasn’t moved. I’m hoping she has just passed straight from sleep. My arms are shaking now. I can’t keep applying the same pressure to the pillow but also I don’t want to take it away yet. I lean right over and hold it in place with my body while I hug her towards me. I keep reminding myself that this is what she wants. That she’s asked me for it day after day.
Incapacitated. Her word.
‘I thought you were my friend,’ she said. Tried to say. ‘I’d do it for you.’
I take the pillow away and stand up. For a few moments I don’t move. I’m holding my breath again and listening for hers. But I can’t hear anything. A car passes beneath the window. I listen to it fade out of earshot and then I listen intently to the complete silence in the room. It’s over. I’m someone different now.
I walk to the bed and put the pillow back where it was. What now? I sit down. It’s a high bed and I have to turn my back on it and do a little backwards jump to get up here. My feet don’t touch the floor. They dangle above it.
I look at Flo. At the bit of her head that I can see from here. Her hair is thin. I can see right through it to her scalp, where there is a wart, bright pink against the pale, almost fluorescent white of her skin. The wart is all bunched at the top, like it’s being drawn down a hole in the middle. I think irreverently of a baboon’s arse. I get a sudden urge to walk up behind her and squeeze it.
‘What should I do now?’ I ask her. ‘Come on, this was your bright idea.’
I hop off the bed and return to the chair. I lean across, so my face is right in front of hers. I’m looking for something to be different in her. But she looks just as she did when she was falling asleep. In some way I’m fascinated. I prod her arm. I prod it harder. I almost shove her. All she does is tilt. I study her face. I can see the day reflected in bulbous miniature in her eyes. They’re open now. They weren’t. I decide not to think about that. Something flashes across them. A bird perhaps. I reach across and close the lids with the tips of my thumb and index finger, the way I’ve seen people do it in the movies.
And that’s that. I did it. I wasn’t sure I would. Even as I was doing it. But once I started it got easier. Turns out starting was the hardest part. A lot of things are like that, I think.
I sit back in my chair and consider the scene. There are no signs there either, of what has just happened. There are clouds massing on the horizon. It is probably raining there. Or it soon will be. I can see tankers out there too. I can see their lights twinkling in the gloom. Nearer shore, the trawler has gone. The fishermen will be back in port, counting their catch or heading home for their tea. My stomach gurgles. I pat it. I remember that there was a flyer beneath the phone.