Since the accident he has slept deeply, almost dreamlessly he claims, although Nadia, lying awake beside him, hears him groan and feels him struggle and sometimes clutch her as if to save himself. Nadia puts on a short flowery dress, a gesture to summer, and then she stands beside the bed, looking down at Simon’s sleeping face. He is peaceful now, flushed; the sunshine falls across his face, lighting the filaments of stubble so that they glitter like fuse wire. He is so pink and gold and alive that it is impossible to believe that he nearly died. He stirs in his sleep, turns over, and the quilt falls away from his shoulders, revealing the angry red ridges of his scars. She runs a fingertip very gently along the length of one, stretched like a grin across his shoulderblade. The scars will fade to white but they will never disappear. Apart from the scars he is better, physically he is better. He wakes with a start. This is the way he wakes now, always, his body stiffening, his eyes wide with fear.
