‘I’m all right.’‘You were whimpering in your sleep again. Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? I’m really worried about you.’‘Please, Gordon, will you stop going on about doctors?’ she says, standing up and pulling on her bathrobe. ‘I think I know my own mind!’‘Are you quite sure about that? You think seeing the ghost of your dead husband is normal?’She goes to the bathroom and bolts the door, running the shower to drown out the sobs that begin to rasp out of her. Morning light filters through the patterned glass, muting everything. There’s a sudden volley of banging on the door, followed by Gordon shouting for her to come out.‘Leave me alone!’ she snaps, ransacking the cabinet for some Valium she knows is in there somewhere, suddenly reminded of the day, a year ago, when she’d asked the doctor for something to help her cope. And they had, for a while. She counts them. Eighteen 10mg tablets. Enough? She takes one and replaces the box, closes the cabinet door; stares at her bloodless reflection, looks deep into the black of her pupils, trying to find someone she can recognise.
