He seemed to be sleeping a lot lately. And dreaming. He opened his eyes briefly and shut them again. It was so bright. He didn’t mind the darkness. ‘To sleep, perchance to dream.’ Mullen wasn’t exactly the world’s most literary person, but the words of Shakespeare floated up from somewhere in his past. His dreams were much nicer than they used to be. No visions of Ben. Not that he could remember his dreams, except as being pleasant, unthreatening. A nurse in a navy blue uniform was the only feature that had stuck in his mind. Or maybe she was real . . . When he woke next, he opened his eyes and again shut them almost immediately. He had visitors standing at the end of the bed. He didn’t feel like visitors. He didn’t want to be questioned about what had happened or how he felt. He didn’t want to be asked if he wanted anything. Not even when the visitors were Rose Wilby and Becca Baines. If anyone had interrupted his dreams to ask him who he would like to visit him, the two of them would have been top of the list, but definitely not at the same time.
