The wound had seeped a little, probably from all the moving around he’d done the previous day. Susan’s lips formed a tight O. “Ow, that hurts just to look at.” He dabbed the track of stitches with wet cotton wool, followed by an antiseptic wipe. Then he applied fresh gauze and a bandage. After dropping the old dressings into the kitchen bin, he looked at his phone. He knew what he’d see – in the short time he’d been awake, he’d already checked it a dozen times – but felt compelled to do so anyway. No new calls or messages. “Come on, Jim,” he muttered. “Fucking call.” He felt better than the previous day. Stronger. More clear headed. Even after the incident with Kane, perhaps because of it, he’d slept the sleep of the dead. A sleep undisturbed by dreams or thoughts. As Susan turned strips of bacon in the pan, he lined up his pills on the table and began swallowing them one by one. “Kane,” Susan called upstairs. “Breakfast’s nearly ready. Are you coming down?”
